(I am a huge nerd. I would apologize, but I have to come as I am, right?)
Friends. Bloggers. Countrymen. I have a confession to make.
I really like Pinterest.
It’s quite unexpected (to me, anyway) I’m enjoying it as much as I am, being that before joining I was staring at the site blankly, confused and overwhelmed and for the love of HTML, why, what is the point?
But here’s the thing. I think I’m sort of a story-boarder by nature. I love grouping interesting and like (and pretty) things together, sometimes just for the sake of grouping (see also: my Etsy favorites or my Flickr favorites). And that’s sort of what this is: Collecting and cataloging inspiring and/or lovely and/or helpful and/or amusing items together on a board to share and enjoy.
I also realized I have at least three versions of personal story-boards in my apartment. Like this one, which reminds me daily to eat breakfast and move until I’m sore.
As a bonus, you can add friends and family to your Pinteresting circle, and thus be newly inspired and helpful together. Just this morning I snagged an awesome(ly simple) chocolate mousse recipe Torrie originally found and posted, that I’m verily going to make for upcoming sisterly baby showers.
More perks to the Pinterest:
a) It doubles as a sweet bookmarking tool you can take with you anywhere without being tied to a specific computer or browser.
b) It makes me think of both golf (Pinnacle) and climbing a mountain (Everest). I don’t know how that’s a “perk” exactly. But I find it amusing.
c) I can also see how it could be pretty awesome and efficient for work-related projects, especially in the creative circuit, as there’s a setting which allows multiple users to add pins to the same board(s).
d) All of the above.
Anyway!
I’m sure a lot of you are already using Pinterest (If you are, what’s your username? Let’s be story-board buddies!), and if you’re not, maybe I just convinced you to try it. (Do it, do it!)
I may have also just convinced you to head for the hills, running as if being chased by a rabid story-board.
In any event, thanks for still liking me even though so often I’m a Super Nerd, built in a laboratory out of parts from lesser nerds.
(Oh, and for the record, this is Pinteresting me.)
(Updated to add: Let me know if you aren’t using Pinterest and would like to be. I have invites!)
I have words washed out to sea. Words ushered quietly from my lips to my fingertips, waiting patiently for the right tide, for the moon to bring my stories alive.
I have words being reviewed, words accepted and words rejected, and I’m clinging to my favorite lines, fighting for them, and it feels strange and new and exhilaratingly infuriating, this tug-of-war of wills and how the slightest bit of caving can make me feel like I’m flirting with abandoning the sanctity → Read more...
[Alternately titled: Story, The Second: The Girl Who Moved To Washington State]
It began simply. A direct message on Twitter first, followed by texts; those texts, in turn, begat plans. With those plans came anxiety and apprehension – I didn’t know you, not your face or your voice or anything else, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to – but also something exciting, a strange and unexpected hope hovering quietly on the horizon. And then we met, conversed and laughed → Read more...
Stories I said I had. Tangential stories and life-changing ones.
Until today I haven’t known where, exactly, to begin. And so quiet this space has mostly been because some beginnings are tricky. Sometimes it’s quite impossible to denote where something ended and something else entirely began.
I’m not going to be able to tell you everything, but then the best stories never really do, do they?
(That’s not a trick question. I promise they don’t.)
(Unless the story was penned by Henry James, in → Read more...
This week I’ve been finding pieces of writing long lost and forgotten. Unearthing words belonging to me, and words penned by some of my favorite of all literary voices, collected and saved and scrawled excitedly on pages littered with foggy memories of past lives, obscured now in light of all that was and is and is to come.
Of the words not belonging to me, Lucille Clifton’s were the ones I found most often, recounted in notebook after notebook, or inked → Read more...