The headline suggests I have not been writing at all. That’s not true. I have. I have also contributed to a couple outlets on a regular basis and continued working with a small number of non-journalism clients.
What I have not been able to be, since the fall of 2014, is in charge of my schedule and thus my career. Instead, I have been very involved in helping a parent through a series of health crises and a major life transition.
Justine Ickes, to the best of my knowledge, was the first to approach me about the Writing Process Blog Tour. We met through mutual friend and writing teacher, Amanda Castleman. I had to dodge her in this earlier virtual game of writer tag because paying deadlines took priority to stopping to reflect about my process.
I’ve not written about how I, like hundreds or maybe thousands of others, have hung on every word Eric Meyer has written about his second daughter since last August. Short of missives that say “I hear you” or “I wish I could take your anguish away,” what could I add? Eric’s always been someone who writes with confidence, clarity, and eloquence. Today, I can say something, do something.
Lit Crawl Seattle, the local offshoot of the literary pub crawl founded by Litquake in San Francisco, is taking over many boozy spaces that wordsmiths gather for a second year. Starting at 6pm on Thursday, October 24 our local literati, myself included, will be bringing stories to the streets at 19 venues mostly found in Seattle’s Capitol Hill.
Jenny Hayes, a longtime friend and the woman behind the Three Jennys grouping, approached me to emcee because, duh, my name is Jenny. (Plus, I think she knew I’d groove on the idea.)
Come hear “Three Jennys Walk into a Bar” at Sam’s Tavern,
Thursday, October 24, 2013 at 6pm
Boston. Once upon a time, this was my home. I landed there mere weeks after graduating from college. I was about as fresh-faced and wet-behind-the-ears as any kid embarking on her first professional adventure could be. For two weeks, I stayed with a family in Newton. The brother of one of my father’s clients agreed to let me stay until I found an apartment. His wife made me feel right at home, as did their tween son and the big golden lab who liked to lay his head in my lap at the dinner table. I’d come for a new job in a new city. It was a hectic time as I rushed to find an apartment before the first of the next month.
The idea for this Dunged post came from reading questions posed by another Seattle writer, Becky Selengut. The curious among you can see the original discussion in a November 2012 post in which Selengut made these inquiries: “Where did the expression bat-sh%t crazy come from? What is it about bats? Why does their excrement seem to imply some form of mental break?”
I wondered too and I asked my favorite word snooper, Lexie Kahn, to see if she could dig up the answer. I’m passing the keyboard over to her to explain what she found.
Photo courtesy of Lexie Kahn, also known as Judy Herman. Some rights reserved.