Looking at the list now, I see a few words I need to remove. I used conceit last night at dinner, in fact. And I’ve definitely mastered both magpie and piebald. (You can read why here.)

When the perfect word runs and hides, you can always grab a good-enough synonym. But substitutes never, ever satisfy me. When I know there’s a particular word I want, I become hell-bent on digging it up. That’s why I discovered the magnificent hyper-thesaurus OneLook.com. (It’s probably my favorite spot on the Internet and just one of the excellent writing resources you’ll find on this list I put together for you.)

Why do some words refuse to come when called? I can understand why it’s hard to master a weirdo like paraprosdokian, but what’s the deal with bromeliad or oracle? I’m generally pretty good at accessing the vocabulary I need, so when certain words consistently conceal themselves, I have to wonder if my subconscious is at work. Maybe there’s something about a fugitive word that I find repellant or troubling, and my brain does me the favor of submerging it for me.

For example: When I was a kid, my grandmother suffered a stroke that left her unable to access almost all words—a condition called aphasia that scares the sweet bejeezus out of me. So a few years ago when I couldn’t pull aphasia out of my brain-bank (XXL irony), I thought maybe I was too afraid of aphasia to even name it.

Side note: While ruminating on emotionally hazardous words, I had to wonder about the term verboten. Does that verb business at its beginning have anything to do with words, as in verbal? I looked it up, and the Online Etymology Dictionary, as always, had the answer for me: nope.

Now, back to ambitious (and its sibling ambition). Historically, this pair has evaded me like a healthy housefly. So much so, that I casually wondered if the concept posed some sort of discomfort for me. But I never really focused on that hypothesis until recently.

A few weeks back, on the recommendation of my friend Carolyn, I listened to the audiobook You Are a Badass at Making Money by Jen Sincero. And if the title of the book makes you squeamish, its thesis definitely will too. Sincero posits that money isn’t inherently evil—​au contraire! Money is what enables us to do everything we need to and want to in life, whether that’s living under a roof, traveling around the world, bestowing philanthropic gifts, or any of the countless other opportunities life presents. She encourages us to get very comfortable with both desiring and pursuing money. Mantras are involved. À la: I love money because it’s the root of so much awesome. Yikes, right? If this makes you want to unzip your skin and run out of the room, I totally understand. And yet. The woman makes a good point.

So I bought the book in paperback for both Carolyn (birthday gift) and me. And I’ve been working my way through the exercises chapter by chapter, giving thought to my long-held, deep-seated attitudes about the pursuit of money. And in the process, I realized something: I’ve always been comfortable with being industrious—in academics, in parenting, in my career. In fact, I think my industriousness is a dominant part of my character. But I’ve been far less comfortable with seeking achievement. Or, God forbid, pursuing filthy lucre.

Now, my peers and I all had well-understood goals growing up—to make good grades, to get chosen for the “A” teams in sports, to be accepted by the most prestigious colleges. Yet I’ve generally felt pretty uncomfortable saying such goals out loud. It’s always felt sort of gauche and desperate to me. But then, if I’m being honest with myself, there may be some self-protection in there. If you don’t name your goals, you can’t be a failure at achieving them.

Which brings us to that elusive word ambitious, the conceptual crux of all this striving and wanting. I think I’d like to get friendly with it and everything it represents. Writing this very blog has felt like a long date with it. We’ll see where things go.

At least I can remember the word now. That’s a step in the right direction.
________________________

Yes, I used an affiliate link for the book mentioned above. It must be my burgeoning ambition driving me to grab that nanofraction of a penny. 

Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Maybe you’re both (an ambivert), or you’re more of an omnivert, centrovert, or otrovert.

​Whatever label is affixed to your psyche, here’s what I’ve noticed: Many people feel ill at ease (or worse) when they have to talk to strangers, particularly if they’re at some sort of business event. If you google the phrase “hate networking,” you’ll find countless Reddit threads filled with lamentations about having to attend events where hobnobbing is required.

I go to a *lot* of professional events—usually one or two per week. Please believe me when I tell you that these affairs don’t have to be loathsome obligations. They can be (and really, should be) fun. 

Here are some tips:
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• You don’t have to be a debonair sophisticate who always knows what to say. You can just walk straight up to anybody in the room and announce, “Hi! I don’t know a single soul here. How about you?” You can confess, “I will probably forget your name, but it’s nothing personal.” You can admit, “I find these things fairly terrifying.” The person you’re speaking to (aka your interlocutor) will absolutely understand, will appreciate your honesty, and will probably feel an instant sense of kinship with you.

 

• Anyone standing alone would *love* you to walk up to them. Chances are excellent that the solo-stander feels awkward because they’re alone—nervous, insecure, undeserving, scared ... thank heavens you’re there! Be the friendly face who provides welcome relief. Similarly, if you’re chatting with a group and you notice someone standing alone nearby, insist that they come over and join you.

 

• Make it your goal to enjoy yourself. You don’t have to procure hot sales leads or hit a business card collection quota. Just jump into some friendly conversations with people. You’ll discover that you share things in common—or that you lead very different lives. (A few weeks ago at an Ad Club event, I got to speak with a woman who plays rugby—a sport that I, with my strong aversion to physical danger, would never attempt. I had lots of questions.)

   

• Think of the event as story time. Remember how when you were a kid, you’d beg adults to tell you stories? Stories are delightful to hear and fun to retell. You probably enjoy listening to podcasts centered on stories. Well, every human being at every networking event is chock-full of stories. You just need to ask a few questions, and before you know it, you’ll be hearing tales of a squirrel scurrying down the chimney, an FBI raid at the office, a family recipe featuring lime Jell-O and tuna, and a hilariously regrettable tattoo.

 

• Curiosity is the fuel of good conversations. No one is boring once you get them to talk. If you’d feel more secure, you can arm yourself with icebreakers you’ve jotted down. Or you can memorize them. You can opt for the basic, “Do you have any hobbies?” or “Have you traveled anywhere interesting in the past year?” Or you can get quirky: “What’s the most dangerous thing you did as a kid?” or, “Which celebrity do you find the most annoying?” Listen closely to the answers, and follow-up questions are sure to pop into your head.

 

• If you hit it off with someone, try to connect with them on social media. Here’s what social media does well: It gives you an ongoing view into people’s personalities and lives. Over time, you can sort of get to “know” them, and vice versa. That can be interesting, informative, and amusing; it can also be helpful when you need one another’s advice or assistance. I have run into people on the other side of the country who I know from social media. I’ve also gotten work from them.

At the time I’m writing this, I publish a monthly events compilation (with Colorado and online happenings). You can sign up for it here, and who knows? Maybe I’ll see you at something. Be sure to come over and say hi!​

I spend a whole lot of time on LinkedIn. It’s the place where I can procrastinate by building my business and vice versa. It’s a win-win, whenever I want.

Initially, I was careful to follow the conventional wisdom of only connecting with people on LinkedIn I knew in real life. But I quickly realized that such “wisdom” is poppycock, and you have much more to gain by consenting to connections somewhat indiscriminately—at least if you post daily, like I do. More connections means more eyeballs means more people understanding what I have to offer. Thus far, I have not been lured into a cult or lost all my savings to an overseas prince—or whatever the purported risks are of being like me—a self-proclaimed LinkedIn slut.

Anyway, every now and then, I receive messages from new LinkedIn connections that begin with some form of the question, “How are you?”

In real life, I know that such a question can be something of a throwaway line. You might walk past Dolores from accounting, smile, nod, and say, “How’s it going?” You don't really expect Dolores to answer. You two know one another, so it’s appropriate to sling and accept such niceties. Questions like “How ya doin’” are understood to be merely phatic. (👈 Great word alert!)

But when a complete stranger on LinkedIn asks me how I am, it feels both preposterous and off-putting. It’s like they’ve just asked me when I lost my virginity or had my last bowel movement. All I can think is, “Why on earth are you asking me that, and why would I ever answer you?”

Then part of me fantasizes about answering their question with the singleminded goal of rendering them speechless. I could say something like:

“So glad you asked! Are you familiar with scurvy? And scabies? And gingivitis? I have those. Plus two flat tires and a warrant for my arrest. On the plus side, a DNA test has revealed that I’m two-thirds Australian cattle dog, so I’ve filed for dual citizenship. Oh, and I’ve discovered an amazing opportunity I’d love to tell you about, and all I need is $999.99 for your first information session. No time like the present, I always say—would you rather use a credit card or PayPal?”

Alas, I never do this. Out of a mixture of self-preservation, laziness, and probably a soupçon of hostility, I simply never respond. I ghost them. So I will call this my ghost story, and with it, I will wish you a Happy Halloween—whether I know you or not.

Congratulate me. Seriously. I deserve it.

This week, I finally gave a client a logo I started working on—yes—one year ago.

Want to know why? Because I am not a professional designer.

Why, you may ask, would I create a logo for a client if I am not a designer?

Excellent question.

The answer can be found somewhere in the neighborhood of “enthusiasm” and “curiosity.” Cross street: “naïveté.”

When I began freelancing (as a copywriter, not a designer) in 2016, I quickly decided that I wanted to learn how to use Adobe Illustrator (and maybe a few other applications in Adobe Suite). I started watching instructional videos and practicing and slowly, slowly acquiring knowledge.

But I realized I needed a professional to occasionally lean over my shoulder and give me some guidance. So when a “branding design” class opened up nearby—taught by a creative director I really admire—I paid for it within approximately two minutes and eagerly awaited the first class.

I was going to get to work on logos! Color palettes! Typography! With professional guidance!

The class convened. And it wasn’t quite what I was expecting. We focused a lot on positioning and strategic branding. We worked on articulating brands with words much more than with design. 

But at a certain point, I was given the assignment to develop a brand, complete with logo.

Rather than work for an imaginary client, I thought I’d try to help out a nonprofit. I found one right in my town, met with the managing director, and got going. After some preliminary work, it came time to create … the logo.

The creative director/teacher of my branding class gave me very friendly feedback on the designs I shared, but I could tell he was being way too forgiving. I knew I wasn’t finished with the logo by the time the class concluded.

I kept working. I got help from several designer friends. And eventually, with MUCH assistance, I came up with half a dozen logos. The client chose one, and just this week, I finished creating all the requisite formats, zipped the file, and sent it off. Ta-da!

Now, let me say that part of this year-long logo turnaround has to do with the nonprofit I worked with—how infrequently their board meets, and a definite lack of urgency on their end. But a big part of it has to do with how freaking difficult it is for a non-designer to create a logo.

Yes, I’ve worked closely with professional designers for 30 years. I’ve attended countless design conferences and events. I’m a member of AIGA. I know *something* about design. But I did not earn a degree in design. And this became painfully obvious. Because designing a logo is challenging in about a dozen different ways. And every challenge was amplified by my ignorance.

I learned a lot from this adventure, to be sure. But I won’t enumerate all the lessons I absorbed about typography alignment and CMYK values and Pantone workarounds and EPS files. Instead, I want to tell you my most important takeaways from my Very Challenging Logo Project.

My Three Commandments for Hiring Designers

I’ve felt all of these things throughout my career. But never so strongly as I do now. 

1) Give designers plenty of time.

​Most non-designers have a drastically skewed view of how long it takes to do anything design-wise. The advent of Photoshop contributed to this misperception. Non-designers think everything should take just a few keystrokes to accomplish. Never assume any such thing. Every aspect of design—researching, concepting, creating, tweaking, reviewing, etc.—takes time. Practice saying this with me now so you can say it to your designer later: “How much time do you need?”

2) Give designers plenty of money.

If you are a non-designer, I promise you this: Your designer knows more than you do about design. Designers have worked hard to become educated and savvy professionals. They are artists. They are technicians. They are problem-solvers and problem-preventers. They know how to help you. They are worth every penny. Pay them. Pay them well. Pay them on time.

3) Give designers plenty of respect.

I’ve been in the advertising/marketing business long enough to know that this needs saying. Repeating. Yelling. It’s closely tied with items #1 and #2 above. Don’t impose ridiculous deadlines. Don’t ignore invoices. Don’t wait until the last minute to answer questions. Don’t request changes because your wife doesn’t care for the color green. In fact, if you’re going to request any changes, preface them with this: “Let me know if you think this will compromise what you’re trying to accomplish with your design. If so, let me know. Please tell me what you think.”

Now. Does anyone need a logo? Because I know quite a few designers I’d be happy to recommend.

When I was a kid, I had the opposite of claustrophobia. I'd call it claustrophilia, but I don't want to pathologize it. I just enjoyed tucking myself into little hideouts and cozy spots: cabinets, closets, an oversized drawer... even the top of the refrigerator, for a spell. (Maybe I don't want to scrutinize this behavior too much.)

Anyway, this proclivity has carried over to my professional life today. I've discovered that my favorite copywriting challenges are those where space is limited. A billboard that people need to take in while driving 70 miles an hour. A thirty-second radio spot. A digital ad that's half the size of a credit card. The back of a frozen entree. Subject lines. Headlines. Taglines. Tweets.

Related: For the past few years, I've been creating little language lessons about grammar, spelling, punctuation, etymology, etc. (See a sampling below.) Each of these social media posts measures only 1080 x 1080 pixels. That's not a lot of room to explain when you should use "loath" instead of "loathe," or how to avoid committing a comma splice. But that restriction is a big part of why I love creating these things. They're like Rubik's cubes. The challenge: How much memorable information can I fit into the square without it feeling like a Dr. Bronner's label?

Now, If you're one of the millions of people who freelance, you've likely heard the mantra that to succeed, you need to "niche down." (Don't ask me to say that out loud—whichever way you pronounce it, you're sure to annoy somebody.) The more specific your expertise, say all the career coaches, the better. You're supposed to specialize in some industry "vertical": dentistry, landscaping, badminton... something.

But I don't want to. I love promoting all sorts of products and services: beer and banks and boarding schools. If I particularly love the work a client does (like Invest in Girls, say), then that's just icing on the cake. (Oh—I've gotten to write lots about cake. And icing.)

So I think that rather than niching down in the usual sense, I'd like to focus on small spaces. I'll take a pass on the long white papers and ebooks. Bring on the ads. The emails. The out-of-home. I want to work on posters and postcards and packaging. Give me a small space, and I will do big things.℠ 

I am a copywriter, not a designer. But back in 2016 when I started freelancing full-time, I decided that I wanted to learn how to use Adobe Illustrator. I couldn't exactly justify it, but the urge was strong enough that I started paying a hefty chunk of change for an Adobe Suite subscription.

Copywriting always comes first, but whenever I can, I take Skillshare classes* and practice using Adobe Illustrator. One of the first classes I took was taught by Aaron Draplin. He was blazingly fast, but I did my best to follow along. Everything he did was captivating and inspirational.

When I learned that he was going to be giving a workshop in Denver this week, I thought, "What the heck—why not?" I whipped out my credit card and got my spot in a class that sold out in just a few days. It was well worth the price to get in-person teaching time from the guy who's created designs for the likes of Target, Nike, Bernie Sanders, and the US Postal Service.

My dream was that he could give me some one-on-one guidance on a logo I volunteered to create for a local nonprofit. Working on this thing has proven to me that everyone should pay good designers all the money. If you've ever gotten the impression that graphic design is easy or quick, you are woefully mistaken. It is seriously challenging, and it takes time. Lots and lots of time.

Well, at yesterday's workshop, I quickly realized that there could be no personalized guidance from Mr. Draplin. There were way too many people and not enough time. But I learned a lot, and I feel more at ease about finishing up my logo. (Fortunately, I know several talented designers who are willing to help me along.)

Note to self: Do not waste the reader's time by beating yourself up about how long it's taken you to write this blog. No one cares but you.

OK. So.

This summer I decided to take a trip to Boise. (Which—side note—the locals pronounce with a sibilant "s": "BOY-see.")

"Why do you want to go there?" many people asked, including my husband.

Let's see: Because I've heard lots of good things about it. Because I could get a direct flight on my favorite airline, Southwest. Because I've never been there before and now that I'm living in Colorado, it's pretty darn close. Mostly, because I'm a freelancer, and so I CAN.

So I got a flight, arranged a handful of meetings with Boise folks who might need a copywriter, booked a tiny little Airbnb house, and rented a car.

To my frustration, my workload burgeoned during this trip, so I spent many, many hours at the kitchen table of my Airbnb typing out persuasive prose. But I also managed to get out and about a bit. Here are a few of the things I enjoyed. 

In addition to exploring and taking these photos, I learned the following about Boise.

• Lots of folks fleeing San Francisco's ridiculously expensive real estate situation have moved to Boise and hiked up prices.
• Not a lot of bumper stickers in this town.
• No shortage of Caucasians.
• Boise has an enclave of Basque people. Next time I go, I will need to visit the Basque Museum and Cultural Center.
• Boise has license plates that say, "Famous Potatoes."

To me, traveling is one of the greatest perks of freelancing. Next stop: Austin!

That's the name of a 1935 song I've listened to a zillion times—sometimes as a recording by Fats Waller or Louis Armstrong, but most often, belted out by my father, who (as I've mentioned before) adored that sort of music. (I love this version by the fabulous Boswell Sisters.)

Unlike the protagonist of the song, however, I'm not inspired by romance. My goal is sanity. Or perspective, anyway.

See, I've noticed that, depending on circumstances, I can regard the world in drastically different ways.

When I'm approaching the deadline a large writing project, I can be filled with dread, self-doubt, and self-recrimination (for procrastinating). But then, at some point in the writing process, I find myself thinking, "Say! This is really good! I actually love this!" See the discrepancy there? Persona A: pained, fretting, reluctant victim. Persona B: fortunate, fulfilled, happy professional.

Similarly, when circumstances in my life get troublesome, I catastrophize. I am preternaturally talented at this. I can envision loved ones in prison or dead; I can enumerate all the ways my health might fail. It's not that I truly believe the worst is going to happen, exactly; but I sure can picture it. I have a terrific imagination, which can also be a terrible imagination. Eventually however, when my circumstances improve, I can recognize how silly I've been. I'm flooded not only with relief, but optimism. I admonish The Worrier in me and my whole outlook brightens.

So here's what I'm thinking. Why don't I write myself a letter?

When I'm feeling like a self-possessed copywriting pro, why don't I write a letter to the neurotic, tortured incompetent who will certainly show up at some point? I might set down assurances like, "I know you're nervous. But I promise you with absolute certainty: You are going to be fine, and this project is going to turn out great. Just keep on writing. Every word you type will get you closer to a finished result that you love. Go on."

Similarly, at one of those moments when my temporary troubles abate and I see my way out of doom-filled concern into sunshiny rationality, I should write my former (and future) fretting self: "Just cut it out, worrywart. First, it doesn't do you any good. Second, what you're envisioning is truly preposterous."

If I write to myself, I could help myself.

Come to think of it, though, maybe I don't need to write a literal letter. I believe this blog post will do the trick nicely.

Yours sincerely,

​Sara

I just returned from a full seven days in Seattle—my first time visiting. I was attending CreativePro Week, a fantabulous conference I highly recommend for graphic designers. (Next year's will be held in Austin.)

Here are a few things I loved about it.

• Within my first fifteen minutes at the conference, I ran into one of my favorite former colleagues from Publix Super Markets, Inc., dynamite designer and lovely human Neal Mitchell. As you can see, we were a good distance from the office we used to work in together. Small world and all that.

​

• I gave an Ignite talk (20 slides auto-advancing every 15 seconds over 5 minutes) about the history of "lorem ipsum" placeholder text and many other topics having to do with English, etymology, printing, and the like. I learned SO MUCH preparing this talk. Did you know, for example, that the man who gave Timex its name, according to his son, liked to read Time magazine and used a lot of Kleenex, so he put the two names together? (This is a slide from my presentation.)

That photo is a pretty good representation of my trip: just lovely. I'm so glad I went, and I'm looking forward to CreativePro Week 2020!

The good news is that I've been busy lately.

The bad news is that I haven't had time to do all the stuff I love to do, including writing for me. I've started a LinkedIn article called "Don't Write Like a Psychopath" that I can't wait to finish. I've been invited to write a blog for the fine folks at CreativePro.com but haven't had a chance to do it just yet. And I want to put together the Ignite talk I'm giving at CreativePro Week in June, but that's not happening just yet.

But dangit, I'm going to write a blog right now, and everything else can wait. I'm going to make this quick—and hopefully compelling and/or informative.

• I attended Crop last week in Baton Rouge, and it was FABulous. I'm so glad I went. In addition to learning from and meeting some amazing designers, I got to spend several hours in New Orleans eating a great meal at Atchafalaya and walking up and down Magazine Street.
• I've been binge-listening to My Favorite Murder, the wildly popular true-crime comedy podcast. I'm not sure I'm ready to call myself a murderino, but I may be getting there.
• I've gotten involved with a great freelancing group in Denver. We're going to host Freelance Business Week in Denver September 30–October 4, 2019, should anyone want to speak, attend, or volunteer.
• I got help from Drew Hornbein and I now have sign-up pages for two emails I send out. One is a listing of events in the Denver-Boulder area that freelancers, graphic designers, and other creative types might appreciate; the other is an email that includes the little grammar/spelling lessons I've been sharing on social media. Feel free to sign up!
• I attended the Ad Club Freelancer Fling this week, and it was a great opportunity to share my wonderful new business cards, designed by my friend Michael Reardon. Each card has a different fun word and definition on the back, including "sesquipedalian," "collywobbles," and "hornswoggle."
• I've been volunteering a lot lately, not only for the aforementioned freelancers group but for the wonderful Sister Carmen Food Bank, AIGA Colorado, and The One Club for Creativity Denver. 
• This weekend, I'm getting together with 11 of my friends from college--an event I look forward to every year.

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Those are the highlights. Consider this weblog updated!