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- Hate to Write? 3 Ways to Start Enjoying It
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- Six Tips for Writing in Easy Reading Season
- 12 Ways to Plug the Email Productivity Drain
- Two Questions to Ask Before You Start Writing
- 6 Ways to Aim Your Arrow for the Heart
- 6 Ways to Become an Idea Machine
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Posts Tagged ‘social media’
Earlier this week at our local Third Tuesday meetup, I heard Jeremiah Owyang of Altimeter talk about the different ways to manage corporate social media activities. Well-researched and reasoned.
But what struck me were some of the terrible names that companies were coming up with for these departments, such as command center or war room. Jeremiah’s suggestion was Center of Excellence, an improvement over military-style names, true, but it made me yawn.
Thirty years ago, when Tom Peters rocked the business world with In Search of Excellence, excellence rocketed to the top of the word parade. But three decades later, with another world-rocking phenomena, can’t we come up with name that’s shiny and new?
Names are important. Seeing as social media is all about being social and connecting, can’t we come up with something that’s more personal and fun?
To help all the companies who are grappling with this dilemma, allow me to toss out a few suggestions. Like when I was naming my babies, I’m considering nasty ways the mean kids could twist the name.
Social media hubs
This complements the hub-and-spoke model that Altimeter’s research revealed is becoming the most popular structure. However, don’t forget that the hub approach forces air travelers to meander hub-to-hub before they reach their destination, so it’s probably not a good name with businesses that inconveniences customers, the people business social media are supposedly set up to serve.
Social machine
Because many social media functions comprise multiple hubs and spokes, they resemble a simple machine. Besides, the guys who came up with the war names would be placated. On the other hand, Quebec folk might think of the biker outlaw group Rock Machine.
Sweet spots
Jeremiah called one of the models honeycomb, which is mostly aspirational, as most companies haven’t yet evolved to this decentralized, individually empowered structure. Seeing as social media is mostly handled by women, as Jeremiah confirmed, the name would go over well. To facilitate the rebranding from command center, the room could be candy floss pink. Better stop this decorating fantasy before I squander the day with decor porn. What’s more, sweet names and pink rooms might ghettoize social media.
Bee hive
Sweet like the previous name, but connoting lots of activity. Only trouble is the many drones are guys and the one queen a female, the opposite of many social media departments.
Still, it has nice ring. No decorating fantasies come to mind. Though the alpha crew could rename it the B team, which implies second rate.
Hot wheels
Because the hub and spoke model comes from wheel design, maybe this one would fly. It would remind the guys of the hot wheels toys they loved as kids, though the “hot” connotation may be uncomfortable for some of the women, though the energy implied works well.
Queen bees
This involves inverting the gender balance of the bee hive, with lots of women in charge. Then again, too many queens and too few drones might lead to some nasty office politics. Or a lot of getting things done. Hmmm.
Any ways, enough musing from me. Do you like any of these suggestions? Do you have any to add? No worn-out military or management jargon, please.
If you’d like to see more about the talk, check out this sketchnote from Sacha Chua.
Hope you like the Facebook page I’e created for my book, Write Like You Talk Only Better. More ways to connect. Check it out.
I laughed when my friend Rosemary recently called me an expert in social media. I am not. I’m simply more comfortable with social media than many people our age.
Rosemary and many of my friends spend thousands hiding the gray and smoothing the wrinkles. So here are my tips for them, on how to hide their social media gray:
1. Don’t insist that Twitter is about people telling you what they had for lunch. It’s not.
It’s mostly people sharing links to articles about stuff I’m interested in too. If you don’t want to tweet, that’s fine, but stop repeating an excuse that dates you.
2. While you don’t want to tell your followers or others what you had for lunch, you can tell them what you’re planning to make for dinner, assuming some are also into cooking. Respect the fine line between no-cial and social.
3. If it’s private, don’t share it in social media, email or anywhere else on the net or near any cameras.
But do phone me or, better still, drop over if your news is too steamy to share with the rest of the world. I haven’t been wire-tapped in years. The security cameras are just for show. Really.
4. Reply on the same social media platform. I’ve had new-to-Facebook friends send me emails to comment on my updates. This adds wrinkles to their profile photos.
5. Keep sending those crazy pet videos via email. I don’t want my cool social media friends to know just how many I get. I share only the funniest on Facebook.
6. Stop talking about meeting in “cyber space,” as if it’s some exotic destination. The web is routine; Sulawesi is exotic. Do not think you compensate by calling everything “awesome.”
7. When you’re having a temper tantrum, be aware that your kids may be secretly videotaping you and posting it to YouTube and beyond.
One of my Facebook friends, the offspring of old friends who think shunning social media will prevent identify theft and financial ruin, did that just recently. His Dad threatened to smother him with his foreskin–and worse. To make sure nobody missed any nasty words, he plastered the text over the video.
I’m not going to tell his parents, though this could put me in an awkward position, but I am going to disarm my kids of phones and other recording devices before my next tirade. So should you.
The cameras to record you, and the social media to distribute it, are everywhere.
Sneaky kids, and store security cameras that catch me at a bad angle on a bad day, scare me way more than a lack of privacy protection. What I reveal on social media I control.
So keep the gray hair, red-hot gossip, blue news and black moods between us. But please join me on social media. I need more friends my own age.
Thanks for the photo, Rae Z.
I keep hearing that you need to have video on your site, but then I see yet another schmuck reciting a clunky script into a web cam. Please, I grew up on television. I expect better. At least adjust the lighting, dress the set and rehearse.
I’d rather be reading, listening or depilating. Sure, some blow my mind. But most of the DIY videos of earnest people hyping their latest breakthrough just make me laugh. As do the Flash-y promos, full of exploding type and dizzying effects, so overblown they look likes parodies of movie trailers.
But when I kept encountering places where I’m supposed to post a video to promote my book, I knew I had to go over to the dark and grainy side. I love a live audience and a microphone, but not a camera that can’t contain my energy. Even when I was younger and marginally hot, I made faces, swayed and fidgeted too much.
Then there was the issue of budget. If I were going to do a video, it would have to have the high production values of the ones I’ve worked on for corporate clients or marvelled at on YouTube. But I cannot afford a technical crew, let alone a stylist or editor.
So I went with what I know. Good old PowerPoint, that I could convert to a video and post. Not the mind-numbing, text-filled slides of corporate presentations, not masterful like An Inconvenient Truth, but fun with photos that pull at heart strings and just enough words.
And of course music. I wanted the pictures and bits of text to do the talking, not me. But I needed a soundtrack to create mood and move along the story.
I had so much fun creating the presentation that I didn’t mind working evenings and weekends on it. That is, until I ran into technical problems transferring the audio from PowerPoint to video, which took weeks to solve. Mind you, every time I tried something I had learned on Google, YouTube or a friend, I would also get better ideas for the slides.
When I would convert my presentation to a video for Windows Media Player, I would lose the music that I was convinced would hypnotize millions into buying the book. The trouble was that if I stuck with my musical PowerPoint, then Skydrive, Slideshare and other possible hosts would not only strip away the music, but also the animations and transitions.
Finally, I discovered that I could add a soundtrack to a silent PowerPoint-based video with Movie Maker. So I did. My slick transitions disappeared, but by this point I knew compromises would have to made if I was going to have time for anything else. And to get the damn thing up.
Learn to Write Like You Talk Only Better in One Minute will not go viral. But it’s better than watching my eye lid twitch. It cost only time that was mostly enjoyed.
As a professional who communicates mostly through written words, I was inspired by the challenge of conveying ideas through images. As someone who hates the technical side, I was proud of myself for hanging in.
I’m not expecting a stampede of sales because of my hybrid PowerPoint-video that I refer to as my pideo. But at least now I can tell the cool kids I have video on my site.
Plus I have accepted that video is here to stay. I have signed up for lessons. Now if only I can sit still.
Thanks for the photo, Smussyolay.
Remember when gurus insisted that email would be killed by RRS feeds, Facebook and other innovations? Turns out they were wrong. The contact lists you compile from your newsletter and other sources are now touted as solid marketing gold.
You are your lists. You need to grow yours. But how? Here are eight simple ways:
- Offer high-value content, a discount on your product or some other incentive in exchange for a new subscriber’s email. Ask yourself what your customers or community would most like from you.
- Promote your blog and newsletter subscriptions in as many places as possible, for example prominently displayed samples of past newsletters on your site accompanied by a signup form or a link in your email signature.
- If you blog, compile your posts into a newsletter. If you publish a newsletter only, revise and publish the content as a blog. This will give you more ways to meet people and fit your readers’ medium of choice.
- Ask people you meet if they’d be interested in your newsletter and sign them up. Don’t wait for them to act. But make sure you have their permission. Email them a past issue and ask if you’re not absolutely certain.
- Promote your newsletter through social media. Don’t fire to every site automatically. For example, I don’t always update to Facebook, because my personal friends who hang out there don’t give a fig about some of my business or professional interests.
- Make sure your email content is valued by your readers. If you only push products or services, people will stop reading and clicking. They might unsubscribe. If they love your content, they will pass it along. Give them terrific content all of the time so you can sell to them some of the time.
- Remember that email is the mother of social media. To keep the personal touch with long lists, offer different versions so content matches different groups’ interests. Ask questions, give prizes and think of other ways you can encourage interaction.
- Keep the design simple, following the F pattern of online reading, so your content can be easily read on mobile devices.
Thanks to Geoffery Kehring for the photo.
If you’d like to learn the secret to pulling ideas out of your head and onto the page, read my book, Write Like You Talk–Only Better, now available on Amazon and here. Learn more or check out the first chapters. An e-version for Kindle and other digital readers will be available very soon.
A quick read at just over 100 pages, the book outlines how to start building community by thinking deeply about the person you most want to connect with, writing a concise and precise summary of what you want to say to them and picking the best structure to deliver your message.
Then comes the fun, writing like you talk, pretending you’re having a conversation with that special person. By going back to your first and favorite way to communicate, talking, writing becomes easy and social.
After that, you’ll learn how to tighten your content to respect busy readers and stay focused on what you want them to remember. You’ll check for the five common grammar flubs that still matter.
To reach the next level, you’ll learn to tell stories and apply other advanced techniques from music, movies and other media.
The learning can continue as you practice and keep improving with the worksheets and checklists. All for $20 or less, tax included.
The breath mint or candy cane
If you don’t need the book, you might want to consider giving it as a reading treat to colleagues whose rambling emails, cold reports or mistake-filled content make you crazy. It’s like passing around the mints instead offending someone you care about who’s unaware that their breath stinks.
In addition to making enough money to feed my two teenagers, I want to make the world a better place, where people understand each other and are better equipped to reach their potential through clear and compelling writing. That’s my Christmas wish.
I have never been a private person, partly in rebellion against my parents’ insistence on presenting perfect family portraits, a reflection of the times. Yet, when I decided to go public about my history of addiction, I worried the reaction would be shock and awe. It was more like bored and ignored.
Most people would nod politely, then steer the conversation back to themselves. So I decided it was safe to go further, with a post about how stories change lives, as I’d learned listening to thousands at 12-step meetings.
I wanted to share this evidence of the profound power of storytelling, which we knew long before the neuroscientists. Also, I was tired of pretending the ginger ale in my glass was scotch, to prevent well-meaning people from pushing booze on me.
I’m on the side of people like author Susan Cheever, who argue that the insistence on anonymity is keeping us recovered alcoholics in the closet of shame, much as it did with gays. The anonymity of Alcoholics Anonymous was essential when it started in 1935 and for people newer to recovery today.
But the blanket rule is a reflection of times past. Besides, I am proud of what I have overcome and become.
With my misspent youth so far behind me, I don’t have much to hide. Of course I zealously guard my bank password and other information people could use to rip me off. I’d prefer people didn’t know my age and weight, but when it slips out, most people are nice enough to say I look younger and it must be mostly muscle.
I don’t offer a lot of personal information on my online profiles, where I’m warned that evil forces will attack. I prefer to reveal on whim, like my attempt to be funny about my too-frequent need to pee, inspired by the hilarious shit-free diarrhea scene in the movie Bridesmaids.
We keep hearing that people won’t get hired if they share too much on Facebook. But as I discovered when my daughter got a part-time job with a large retail chain, recruiters don’t rule out everyone who is tagged in photos with a beer bottle or a bong. There wouldn’t be enough candidates left.
I think our privacy commissioner and other government officials overreact. They should focus on keeping private what needs to be guarded, not information that I have chosen to share on Facebook or other public forums.
I’ve been reading Public Parts by Jeff Jarvis, where he discusses how the right to privacy is a relatively recent social construct, not a divine right. By going public about his prostate cancer, even though it meant disclosing problems with peeing and sex, he was able to connect with many other people going through the same things. And it made him human.
Because I’m not famous, I don’t worry about the tales, some true but many false, that were discussed in the recent British investigation into the Murdoch newspapers’ phone hacking. Because I’m not a blogging celeb, I’m not concerned about twisted allegations, like those I’ve seen in the David Navarro-Naomi Dunford drama.
Although I despise this prying and exploitation, they’re the tradeoff for a mostly free press and internet.
Public disclosure helps keep corporations honest, deters pedophiles and puts looters in jail. Photos of me dancing on tables or throwing up might have encouraged me to clean up earlier. Still, I’m relieved there are no ghosts hauting me on Facebook. But what I choose to share with you today is fair game.
As long as there are restrictions to curb deceit and hate, as there always have been with free speech, the benefits outweigh the occasional embarrassment. I’m comfortable with the parts I choose to make public. And I respect your right to keep some private.
But with the proliferation of cameras, from cell phones to security systems, we all have to live peacefully with our paparazzi.
Fortunately, I’m comfortable with my public parts. Are you?
Even though it’s still summer, 
I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa to come down the chimney. I’m almost finished my rewrite of Write like you talk–only better and bursting with excitement.
But first, I need to take a break and see what others think. I’m way past being objective.
I know how valuable feedback is. After I launched it as an ebook a year ago, I listened to what readers had to say. I gave presentations and taught workshops based on my philosophy of combining the sociability of talking with the thinking of writing. I thought. I read. I rewrote the book.
Bigger and better, the new edition responds to requests for more examples, new explanations and other feedback. In the new chapter called Reach the Next Level, you’ll learn how to tell stories and apply other techniques from movies, music and other media.
Based on talking, almost everyone’s first and favorite way to communicate, the book will guide you through thinking about who you want to connect with and what you want to say, writing like you talk and making it better.
You’ll learn how to bond with the kind of person most important to you, attract like-minded people and build community.
You’ll write better than you talk by following a road map that will inject speed and prevent writer’s block. You’ll find out which five grammar rules still matter and how to avoid the flubs that make you look bad. You’ll write tight. You’ll help your readers remember you.
To get ready to sell on Amazon and for e-readers, I’m offering free preview copies to my blog readers. I’ll be asking for recommendations on how to make the book work better for you and reviews. No obligation.
So send me your e-mail and I’ll send your copy in the next week or so, as soon as my editor has finished a quick once-through.
Be the first on your block to write like you talk. Write betta, they’ll get ya.
Do you see reindeer in the sky?
Thanks to Esapekka for the photo.
Don’t you hate it when you realize you don’t follow your own advice? Don’t you get frustrated when you figure out what looked good yesterday is actually crap?
That happened to me this week after I’d written a story about myself, always the trickiest subject, guided by an earlier post on storyteling.
Then a friend sent me a story she’d drafted about having her best bike stolen, which she asked me edit. Like most people, she started her story with too much setting, or background.
I revised to start the true tale with the conflict, realizing her bike had been stolen. I noted what a nightmare this would be for any cyclist, the readers her story was intended for.
Then I added details that would vilify the thief and clarify the clues the heroes would follow to crack the case.
I was feeling pretty good about what I’d done, until I re-read my own story. I had not led with the conflict, I had not immediately set up readers to identify with my feelings. I had included details not needed to further the plot, develop character or make my point.
Because I intend to use the story as the first chapter of the next edition of Write like you talk–only better, I need to make the story less about me and more about my reader and why they should read the book, the point of my story. Back to the drawing board.
As a writer, you get used to that. Just don’t let me read any of those silly bloggers who insist you shouldn’t spend too much time on a post. They are idiots–or far more gifted than me or anyone good I know.
Here goes:
Have you ever looked in the mirror and said to yourself: “I can be more than this.”?
That happened to me when I turned 50. Sure, I had reached some of my life objectives, such as amazing kids, a nice house and loyal clients.
But there was more I wanted to do, more I wanted to become. And I only had 50 more years to do it.
It wasn’t about crossing exotic destinations off my bucket list. It was about seeing what I am uniquely capable of accomplishing.
I couldn’t use my kids as an excuse any more. Nor could I blame my stagnation on my parents’ low expectations, my ex-husband’s betrayal, my addictions, sloth, the economy, stupid people or anything else.
It was up to me.
I wanted to help people, but not by holding cold cloths on hot foreheads in refugee camps or mapping seating plans for charity galas.
No, I wanted to help all the poor people who were chained to their computers, cranking out emails, reports, dating profiles and other written communication. What’s more, I wanted to help all the people stuck reading this stuff.
It wasn’t their fault they went on too long, made embarrassing mistakes or were just plain boring.
Many had not been warned about how much of their day would be spent tapping on keyboards. They had not received the memo predicting that suits would be replaced by business casual or formal style by conversational writing.
And some of the digital kids hadn’t been taught how planning and structure could sharpen their spontaneous chatting, texting and other writing.
My quest to fulfill my potential and help other people pulls together what I’ve learned in these past 50-plus years about writing, grammar, talking, socializing, performing and thinking.
It all started in grade three, the day I first drew lines under some words and brackets around others. I understood the mechanics of language intuitively, as if I possessed mysterious knowledge passed on from the ancestors.
This gave me a way to compete with my younger brother, the smartest kid in the school, county, possibly the country. Like Brian –or Brain as we called him– I could get perfect scores in English grammar, and later in French and German.
I was also better than my brother at talking. Painfully shy, he would hide in the car when we visited friends. But me, I loved to be the center of attention, chattering incessantly, showing off my ballet twirls.
I also knew I was a better writer, though I saved my best for private diaries and fantasies. Back then, girls couldn’t look too smart.
At university, I stopped my foreign languages studies when I realized how tedious the labs were, long lonely hours answering boring questions and repeating phrases into an eight-track tape recorder.
Also in first year, a history prof loved my debut essay because I analyzed instead of just repeating the chronology. As my new major, however, I chose philosophy because it gave me more time for fun. And it taught me to think.
But I got tired of sliding into hot pants in order to earn a living as a cocktail waitress. I still loved writing. So I took a graduate degree in journalism.
After a brief stint as a reporter, with hours no better than working in bars, I ended up in corporate communication. I loved being at the center of the action, advising executives and politicians on what to say, and helping employees, customers and other people make sense of their rapidly changing world.
I also enjoyed fixing my colleagues’ writing. Just as I had no recollection of the periodic table of elements, most of them simply did not remember those grammar rules. They didn’t know how to use different structures for different goals. Worse still, they had been brainwashed by teachers, professors and bosses into believing reading and writing should be long, formal and never, ever social.
But well before Comment, Like and Follow, I knew that writing to persuade readers and listeners to respond in a certain way was ultimately a social activity. Preparing speeches and scripts confirmed the power of writing like you talk. Why didn’t they get it?
Just when I thought I’d scream if I had to read one more flat, rambling memo along came the bloggers and other social media people. Many wrote like they talked. They call it a conversation. Finally I could combine my love of grammar, writing, talking, socializing and thinking. I had found my tribe.
My flame reignited, I wrote my book, first as posts on my blog and later as an ebook I sold on my site.
I gave presentations and taught some workshops based on my philosophy of combining the sociability of talking with the thinking of writing. I listened to what readers and other people had to say. I thought. I read. I rewrote the book.
So here I am, one step closer to fulfilling my potential.
I know that some of you are not following your dreams because you haven’t had the training, mentoring or experience to help you connect with people through the written word.
In a world where people communicate so much online, where they need to stand out to be heard, writing is a means to many ends. Connecting to other people this way can help you look in the mirror and say “Wow!”
So thanks to the bicycle thief for leading me to three pieces of advice for rewriting stories:
1. Lead with the conflict.
2. Identify immediately with your ideal reader.
3. Get rid of anything that doesn’t move your plot, develop your characters or make your point.
But will I still love it tomorrow?
Thanks to Chris Devers for the photo.
When I was a girl, I lived in the shadow of my younger, smarter brother Brian. Brain, as some of us called him, was the top student not only in our school, but also the county and possibly the country. He trounced me at checkers, rummy and so much more.
But my feelings of inferiority all dissolved that day in grade three, when I first drew lines under some words and brackets around others. I understood the mechanics of language intuitively, as if I possessed mysterious knowledge passed on from the ancestors.
Like Brian in math, I could get perfect scores in English grammar, and later in French and German. I had found my place in the sun.
I was also better than my brother at talking. Painfully shy, he would hide in the car when we visited friends. But me, I loved to be the center of attention, chattering incessantly, showing off my ballet twirls.
You might think that having a brother called Brain would make me fiercely competitive. Instead, I stopped competing.
You see, I come from a family of slackers. My father Bob, a chartered accountant, was always home by 5:30 p.m. His main life objective was to escape to the golf course or ski slope. At his retirement dinner, everyone joked about how Bob spent more time talking to his stock broker or dashing off to the YMCA than working.
My mother Glady, a housewife, loved to lie on the orange couch, smoking cigarettes while watching As The World Turns or reading the latest John Updike novel. She could not understand why her two best friends went back to university when the kids entered high school. When Glady called somebody a “workaholic,” it was an insult.
No wonder Bob and Glady aspired to low-risk, suburban comfort. Glady’s father had been a grain buyer, back in the dirty 30s when the prairie drought meant no grain. They were so poor they used Eaton’s catalogue for toilet paper. No kidding.
The other grandfather had lost everything in a gold mine investment. Bob, the eldest, was sent thousands of mile away to live with a childless aunt and uncle.
With no pressure to excel, Brain grew up like Bill Gates without the drive. To shelter me from disappointment and hurt, my parents advised me not to try too hard. That left lots of time for reading, writing, dancing, playng piano and of course talking and socializing.
My parents did expect that my brother and I would attend university. Dutifully, we did. But I rebelled against my languages studies when I realized how tedious the labs were, long lonely hours answering boring questions and repeating phrases into an eight-track tape recorder. My new major, philosophy, gave me more time for fun.
But I got tired of sliding into hot pants in order to earn a living as a cocktail waitress. And I still loved language. So I took a graduate degree in journalism.
Sadly, journalism was too competitive, with all us baby boomers suddenly hitting the job market at the same time.
The relatively new field of corporate communication offered an easier road. Besides, I loved being at the center of the action, advising executives and politicians on what to say, and helping employees, customers and other people make sense of their rapidly changing world. The office towers where I worked seemed to reach out to the sun.
I also enjoyed fixing my colleagues’ writing. Just as I had no recollection of the periodic table of elements, most of them simply did not remember those grammar rules. Worse still, they had been brainwashed by teachers, professors and bosses into believing reading and writing should be long, formal and never, ever social.
But well before Comment, Like and Follow, I knew that writing to persuade readers to respond in a certain way was ultimately a social activity. Preparing speeches and scripts confirmed the power of writing like you talk. Why didn’t they get it?
Eventually the office towers soared too high for my slacker conditioning and unconventional views. My biological clock was clanging. So I turned freelance.
With the sun shining on my office in the home of me and the young Maddy and Ben and dog Cocoa, I happily pursued the same kind of work. Until I realized the sun was moving across the sky.
Equipped with computers, everyone had become a writer. Unfortunately, many seemed to waste precious time with their endless emails, reports and other yawning written communication. Others were difficult to understand, keyboarding in technical tongues instead of the plain English most Canadians grew up talking.
Soon the sun broadened its reach to bloggers and other social media people who wrote like they talked. They called it conversation. I had finally met my tribe!
When I tuned 50, I realized I probably had only 50 years more on this planet. Plus Maddy and Ben needed me much less. I vowed to explore my potential, even if it took more effort and risk to follow my place in the sun.
No longer did I need to heed my parents’ advice about not trying too hard. I had survived the world’s nastiest divorce and other dark days. I could risk more in order to see what I could do.
I knew the Synergy seekers needed to learn how to write like they talk. I knew the social media people needed to avoid those flaws that made them look bad. So I wrote my book, first as posts on my blog and later as an ebook I sold on my site.
I did not make enough money to feed and educate my kids. But this content built a stage. I gave presentations and taught some workshops based on my philosophy of combining the sociability of talking with the thinking of writing. I listened to what readers and other people had to say. I thought. I read. I rewrote the book. Amazon here I come.
So here I am approaching my hottest spot yet. Where are my sun glasses?
Brian, by the way, has at least four university degrees and teaches grade six. He’s a happy slacker, especially in summer. I still talk way more.
Bob had to give up skiing at age 84, but bikes to the nursing home every day to see Glady. She can no longer read but still loves television, even though her favorite soap opera was canned so sponsors could spend the money on the digital space.
So what is the point to my story?
Build your place in the sun. Keep rebuilding as the sun moves across the sky.
Overcome the obstacles that are keeping you in the shade, unless it’s siesta time or a rainy day.
If difficulty connecting to other people, writer’s block or fear of looking bad are among your obstacles, read Write Like You Talk–Only Better.
Now let’s all live happier ever after.