This past Sunday, I got to see something truly amazing.

I watched someone’s dream come true. Quite literally. Well, it had come true a few months ago, but this was the first time I actually got to see it.

Ten years ago, I met my best friend at a small college in northern Minnesota. During what would be one of the hardest years of my life, Amy became a source of constant companionship, someone that I could whine with and bitch at and cry on and, most importantly, laugh with and share life with. It was during this year that I was introduced to another phenomenal woman, Jennifer Knapp. Amy expanded my musical horizons exponentially that year. She introduced me to the likes of Jennifer Knapp, Sixpence None the Richer, and Plumb (among several others, including Limp Bizkit, but that served a very specific purpose).

I have long said that Jennifer Knapp’s first album, Kansas, is the only album I own during which I do not skip a single track. That’s a hard feat because I am particularly choosy with my music…there are very specific things I look for, but I probably couldn’t put a name on those items. Regardless, Kansas remains in the top 5 of my favorite albums of all time.

Anyway, Amy and I spent the greater part of our year in Minnesota singing along with Jennifer at the top of our lungs, trying to pick out new harmonies (which, frankly, Amy and I kind of rule at…she’s an alto, I’m a soprano…it worked out well almost every time). That was the year that Amy also decided to really start honing her musical skills…she taught herself to play the guitar and the piano and tried (with wild success) writing her own music and lyrics.

Three years later, Nashville had a new resident in the form of my best friend. There were tears and struggles and anger and general angst as Amy tried to gain a foothold in the music industry all the while trying to figure out who she was in a new and very different city. I was there for the first show and had the pleasure of hearing some of the first recordings (to this day, the “ruff stuff” – as they are labeled in my iTunes – remain my favorite cuts). I got the out-of-control phone calls when she met “famous people” for the first time and when she would switch producers or fight with labels or re-design web sites.

The first tour Amy embarked on was a big effing deal. She toured around the country with another lovely lady called Katy Kinard (they stayed at my house when they passed through Denver and I managed to lock us out…whoops!). Amy’s EP sales were above and beyond what she’s expected and she also enjoyed the priviledge of using her “stage” to bring information to anyone who would listen about the plight of the Ugandan women, something she has grown increasingly passionate about. She now partners with an organization, Mocha Club, which collects donations (monetary and otherwise) to aid the Ugandan people. Several months ago, Amy had the opportunity to join other musicians in a mission trip to Uganda which, among many other things, inspired a whole heap of new emotions and lyrics.

My best friend is, without question, the most passionate, daring, competitive, and driven person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. When she wants something, she goes for it, no questions, no hesitations. She dreams much bigger than most people allow themselves.

Not so many months ago, I got the following text message from Amy: JENNIFER KNAPP IS AT MY SHOW!!!!!!!

A few days later, there was a follow up: I’M DOING BGVs FOR JENNIFER KNAPP!!!!!!!!!

Then, the most unbelievable text message I could have imagined: I’M GOING ON TOUR WITH JENNIFER KNAPP!!!!!!!!!

Amy dreams big. She had, at one point, told her husband, “Wouldn’t it be rad if Jennifer Knapp came back? Wouldn’t it be even more rad if she went on tour and I got to open for her? What if Derek Webb did another album and we all toured together?”

Last Sunday at the Bluebird Theatre in Denver, Amy Courts opened for a returned, renewed, revived Jennifer Knapp and a snarky yet poignant Derek Webb.

One of my only tweets that night was: Watching my bestbud do BGVs for @jennifer_knapp is both surreal & totally regular all at the same time. We pretended to do this in college.

So many times, we stop ourselves short of dreaming big, telling ourselves that it’s unrealistic and that, for whatever reason, we don’t deserve to achieve our dreams. I officially dare you to dream big. Not just big; dream AMY-big. I can assure you that you will get hurt (she has). I can almost certainly guarantee that things will fall through (they have for her). But what I can be absolutely certain of is that, sometimes, big dreams force the great planet alignments and you end up on tour with one of your biggest musical inspirations (she did).

If you enjoyed this post, Follow this Blog or subscribe (below) to receive updates.

a2a_linkname=”Use.The.Clutch.”;a2a_linkurl=”http://usetheclutch.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default”;

var gaJsHost = ((“https:” == document.location.protocol) ? “https://ssl.” : “http://www.”);
document.write(unescape(“%3Cscript src='” + gaJsHost + “google-analytics.com/ga.js’ type=’text/javascript’%3E%3C/script%3E”));

try {
var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker(“UA-15614730-1”);
pageTracker._trackPageview();
} catch(err) {}

In less than a month, I’m turning 30. I know there are some people that either freaked out when they turned 30 or think that I should be freaking out about turning 30, but the truth of the matter is that I couldn’t possibly be more excited! Husband and I are moving into our first house and I’m graduating from university, all in my 30th year. What’s not exciting about all that? Plus, he’s throwing me a bash for my birthday and I get to buy a new slinky gown or something. I mean, honestly…how could I NOT be excited?

I’ve watched my mother hit some pretty major milestones…30, then 40, then 50. She hit all of them with a great deal of grace and ease. I most remember her turning 40. She informed my dad that if he threw her any sort of party that involved anything black or “death-y”, she would be more pissed off than he’s ever seen her. She actually made all of us – dad and the 3 kids – very aware of that threat. And we were bright enough to take her seriously. Dad ended up taking her our for a lovely dinner while us kids and all their friends set up a graveyard in the garage (my parents and all their friends turn 40 in the same year) complete with dry ice and nonsense. Mom was PISSED when she was welcomed home to that. She almost started crying…until she walked into the house and saw literally HUNDREDS of colorful flower arrangements, a giant cake (seriously probably could feed 200 people), and all her friends. It was magical!

All that to say that my mom has really nailed every single milestone. Knocked ’em outta the park. By the time she turned 30, she had three kids, a solid career, and was *this close* to literally owning a home….like, outright paying off that damn banknote. It was a remarkable year. When she turned 40, well, you read how that went down. And when she hit 50 just a few years ago, she started learning to ballroom dance with my dad. Now, they actually compete…and they’re GOOD!

So when people talk about dreading turning 30, I’m a bit confused by it. I don’t understand the fear of hitting those milestones. Having my mother hit all of them while I was young enough to miss whatever fear might have been there, but old enough to remember how she reacted has probably been empowering for me. My mom is really a remarkable woman. Lots of self-respect, decency, intuition, and hilarity in that woman. I can’t imagine my parents as “old” because of how they’ve floated through life, not willing to let it get the best of them. Rather, they take life by the horns and really f*ck with it…they throw life for a loop most of the time. My mom is a 50-year-old in a 30-year-old body…and that’s all I really want for myself. I just want to embrace life and everything that it has to offer.

Here’s what 30 means to me: I’m still young enough to party, but old enough to have enough not to need to troll for drinks at a bar (i.e. I’ll just get ’em myself, thanks). It means that I’m young enough to have fun and old enough to know the consequences (good or bad). It means that my life is truly my own and that I can feel as old or young as I want to. It means that I am fully capable of knowing that I am my mother’s daughter in every sense imaginable and I can finally, without hesitation, say that I love when people tell me I’m “so much like my mother.”

Turning 30, scary? Hell no. Let’s rock this!

If you enjoyed this post, Follow this Blog or subscribe (below) to receive updates.

a2a_linkname=”Use.The.Clutch.”;a2a_linkurl=”http://usetheclutch.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default”;

var gaJsHost = ((“https:” == document.location.protocol) ? “https://ssl.” : “http://www.”);
document.write(unescape(“%3Cscript src='” + gaJsHost + “google-analytics.com/ga.js’ type=’text/javascript’%3E%3C/script%3E”));

try {
var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker(“UA-15614730-1”);
pageTracker._trackPageview();
} catch(err) {}

Confession: I am a chronic procrastinator.

I always have been. I blame it on my ability to function extremely well under pressure and stress. I do some of my best work on a serious time-crunch. If someone gives me a deadline, I manage to push the work to the very last minute. But I wonder if the stress and procrastination go not only hand-in-hand, but are cyclical? Do I procrastinate only to become unduly stressed thereby producing amazing work? What would happen if I planned more appropriately and gave myself time to do a really bang-up job? Would the quality of the work be the same? Worse? Better?

In a meeting at work several weeks ago, my boss made the comment, “If it can be done now, just do it and be done with it.”

I have a “bad” habit of being very efficient at the office so I often have to push things off so that I have something to do tomorrow. But ever since the Boss Man made that comment, I’ve been working in that manner. So what has that done for the quality of my work?

It’s better. I know that may seem not at all shocking to some of you. In fact, some may be saying, “Of course it’s better! Why wouldn’t it be?” It seems like a purely logical conclusion to come to, but for someone that has worked her entire professional life under serious pressure, I wasn’t really sure how quitting procrastination cold-turkey would affect me.

One of the most stressful projects of my year came to a close yesterday. There are a few loose ends that I need to tie up, but about 90% of the work is complete. Not once did I feel pressure or stress. I just did my job (and a little more than was asked of me, or SHOULD be asked of me) and everything went incredibly smoothly. It was hard, don’t get me wrong, but taking the time to get ahead of the game proved invaluable for this project. For the last few years, I’ve been doing these projects as I was taught to do them, which involved pushing things to the last minute and basically running about like a headless chicken. What a completely ridiculous use of my time, don’t you think?

And so I now find myself about six months “ahead of the game.” I feel substantially more in control of my work life which is beginning to make a nice transition into my school life. It’s a little harder there as I have spent the last eleven years pushing projects and papers to the last minute. It’s taking time to get rid of the procrastination there, but I’m finding myself doing things immediately, more and more often. It’s quite a nice change of pace.

The only arena that is still being plagued by my chronic procrastination is that of packing up our house to move. But that’s just because packing and moving are like my personal seventh inner circle of hell.

If you enjoyed this post, Follow this Blog or subscribe (below) to receive updates.

a2a_linkname=”Use.The.Clutch.”;a2a_linkurl=”http://usetheclutch.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default”;

var gaJsHost = ((“https:” == document.location.protocol) ? “https://ssl.” : “http://www.”);
document.write(unescape(“%3Cscript src='” + gaJsHost + “google-analytics.com/ga.js’ type=’text/javascript’%3E%3C/script%3E”));

try {
var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker(“UA-15614730-1”);
pageTracker._trackPageview();
} catch(err) {}

At what point in one’s life does “drama” become both unnecessary and unacceptable?

For a long time, I figured that by the time I’d reached 25, it would have all ended. I went through a lot between the ages of 17 and 25 so I guessed that I’d be out of the thick of it by then.

I was wrong.

There was more and more drama, more and more heartache, and, in general, just more stupid.

So as I approach the end of my 20s and the beginning of the next chapter, I’m considering what a drama-free life means and how to achieve that.

It’s very simple.

Choose to be drama-free.

It sort of goes back to taking and having control of your own life. We’re the only ones that can decide how our lives are going to turn out.

I honestly believe there are people in the world that crave drama. They just love having something to bitch about or cry over or complain about or whatever about. I’ve been one of those people. Early on in my 20s, I loved when people were shitty to each other, in fights with each other, talking about each other….half the time, I was either causing the drama or the drama was coming to me. And I loved it!

But as time went on, it just became too much. I was exhausted all the time, I couldn’t sleep at night, I was drinking probably more than I should have been. It just wasn’t worth it. The people weren’t worth it and the drama wasn’t worth it. So I cut it all out and off. I was just done. But no matter how hard I seemed to try, the drama kept coming back. Except that it would come back and the people WOULD be worth it. So we all deal with the drama and sometimes friendships are strained, but (most of the time) are not broken.

Drama takes on a life of its own, if left unchecked. It comes around when you least expect it and often times at the most undesirable moments. And the feelings from my early 20s come screaming back…not the desire for drama to be around, but the exhaustion, the lack of sleep, the zombie-like facade. It’s complete nonsense and I absolutely detest those feelings (and I find myself thinking, “I’m too old for this crap!”).

Then I remember that I am the only person who can and is allowed to control my life so I choose to do just that. I block the drama, I cut it off, I mock it, and finally, I ignore it. I have better things to do with my time and my life. I refuse to be controlled by something that can just as easily be ignored as paid attention to. I have too many other important and exciting things to deal with drama. Honestly, who needs to?

And as a very brief message to the Drama Queens of the universe: please consider the possibility that nobody gives a shit.

There have been some fun changes going on in the office as of late.

My desk got moved, which means that in the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve lived at five different desks (and have had three different job titles). The move happened while I was taking some time off to ski…I got a call from my boss as a follow up to the text, “Call me asap. Don’t worry…just need to run something by you.” Well, PHEW!

So Monday morning, I walk to my new desk and it’s a total Charlie Foxtrot. My computer is in shambles, my personal items and various files are strewn about my desk, and all I could think was, “I have space again!” You see, my previous desk, while lovely, was designed more for an executive who doesn’t require a bazillion files to be on his or her desk at any given moment. My new desk probably almost triples the amount of space that I had a week ago…oh happy day!

I think some people thought I’d be really upset (or, at the very least, somewhat perturbed) that I’d been moved. The truth is, I couldn’t be happier. I have more space, my own space, some sense of privacy, more movement…there are a lot of reasons I’m glad my work space has been moved. I got what has been termed “the shittiest cube in the office” and when asked if that was an issue, my only response was, “Do I really have a choice?” There’s no where else for me to go and, beyond that, what’s the point of complaining about it anyway? I simply do not care.

All that to say, I am the only one responsible for my attitude toward and outlook on life.

I’m a firm believer that people will come in and out our lives that are capable of making us feel certain ways, good or bad. When someone hurts your feelings or is cruel, it’s hard not to ask, “Why would you do or say that?” or say “Well, that made me feel pretty crappy.” The same is true when someone pays you a compliment or commends something about your life…isn’t our immediate reaction, verbal or otherwise, “Wow, that felt great!”

People can be and sometimes are responsible for the way we feel.

What they are not responsible for is how we react to those feelings. In the purest sense, people simply do not have control over your life. You do. We all have control over our own lives. We just have to choose to exercise that control. For me, there are about a million ways that can happen. Some things require action, others inaction. Some things require that I simply decide in my head how to control my life, some things require that I voice those decisions.

Beyond what I, myself, can do, there is just no reason or sense in getting upset over things I cannot control. It takes too much energy and requires more than I’m willing to give. I can’t control if someone wants to be shitty – to me, about me, or in general. So why get bent out of shape about it? I, and I alone, know how I’m going to react, what I’m going to believe, and how I’m going to move forward and beyond. Because, at the end of the day, being shitty back accomplishes precisely nothing. It turns me into an ugly person that I have no intention of becoming.

I may not have a perfect life and I certainly don’t NEED a Stepford life, but frankly there’s nothing wrong with trying to be as decent a person as I can be. That’s something I can control, should I choose to.

I don’t have a perfect life, but I choose to have a happy life. And at the end of the day, that’s all I really need.

If you enjoyed this post, Follow this Blog or subscribe (below) to receive updates.

a2a_linkname=”Use.The.Clutch.”;a2a_linkurl=”http://usetheclutch.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default”;

var gaJsHost = ((“https:” == document.location.protocol) ? “https://ssl.” : “http://www.”);
document.write(unescape(“%3Cscript src='” + gaJsHost + “google-analytics.com/ga.js’ type=’text/javascript’%3E%3C/script%3E”));

try {
var pageTracker = _gat._getTracker(“UA-15614730-1”);
pageTracker._trackPageview();
} catch(err) {}

For some time now, I’ve been thinking about anger…bitterness…these sorts of things.

Anger is probably the easiest emotion to feel, yet also probably the least productive. Why is that? Why is it so easy to feel angry? I’ve long believed that it’s easy because it’s secondary. There’s always another emotion lying just below anger. Whatever that is, it’s probably a lot harder to deal with, put a name on, or face that just being pissed off.

And while it feels good to get mad, to fly off in a fit of rage, it feels that much more out-of-control. Any time I’ve ever gone into full-blown rage (which is rare, but ugly), it’s like having an out-of-body experience. I feel like I’m watching a weird version of myself doing and saying things that the rational me would never do or say. What is THAT about? Anger essentially takes over me, thereby transferring whatever power and control I have to the person/situation/whatever that has sent me there.

According to Verne Kallejian, PhD, “Being irrationally angry solves nothing. You are just indulging yourself with a childish temper tantrum.” Oh, burn. As a grown-up, being called a child is nothing short of offensive. No one wants to be accused of immaturity or childishness. We’ve all heard stories of what parents do to their child in the midst of a tantrum. Some of them pick the child up like a football and exit immediately. Some point and laugh. Some spank. Whatever the consequence, it’s never pretty and almost always embarrassing (usually for the parent, but sometimes for the child).

As adults, we have slightly different and more mature coping mechanisms for when something makes us angry. But what if the provoking situation is SO unbelievable that the only available reaction is anger…rage…hatred…eventual bitterness? I have found myself in this very conundrum. And it’s a very lonely, solitary place. You cannot make another person feel anger for you. You can just be angry and hope that they’ll either sympathize or empathize and make some attempt at understanding. But when you’re angry, it’s all you. Only you. Only me.

I know I have to move past anger when I’m there. It feels good, momentarily anyway. It also makes me feel incredibly defensive. I’m not sure why. I shouldn’t really have to justify being angry that someone has so horribly wronged me or that something was done to me that’s nigh on unforgivable. Yes, there are moments when I’ve been unnecessarily pissed off. I’ve tripped up the stairs or the dogs have scratched my legs or my computer isn’t connecting to the internet quickly enough. None of these things warrant anger, much less excessive anger. But I fully believe that some situations both warrant and necessitate anger in its purest form. Righteous anger, I like to call it.

Anger is lonely. No one can pull you out of your anger but you. There’s a phrase I used to tell the girls I mentored many years ago: You have to want to want to change, then you have to want to change, then you change.

It’s that simple. Well, simple on paper anyway. Putting all that into action takes a bit more gumption. Especially when the “change” you want is just plain ol’ forgetfulness. I just want to forget what made me angry. I can’t pretend nothing happened, but if I could forget about it, it would be far less consuming. And I could blow-dry my hair in peace again.

I haven’t written anything in a long time. Long, by my standards anyway. I just haven’t had anything interesting to say. I’ve had much to think about, but can’t seem to get any of it into any sort of coherent phrasing. So much for that mission to “write with intention” or whatever it was that I said the other month.

And so I offer snippets of the last few weeks.

I made my first lattice-crust apple pie, which was magical. Husband and I each downed a piece the night I made it…the rest continues to sit in the fridge. Who needs pie every single night?

I’m ready to NOT be blonde. In just a few short days (ten, to be exact), I’ll be back to a more natural color. The peroxide necessary to maintain this color on me is making my hair fall out at a rapid pace. And the peroxide is also starting to hurt my head when I do touch-ups. Time for something new and natural. I might even try that whole Ovation Cell Therapy to help get my hair back to it’s original condition (which was amazing, if I do say so myself).

Husband accidentally bought decaf coffee the other day. This week has been miserable. Not only am I suffering through a severe lack of caffeine, but Colorado’s weather is also wreaking havoc on my body. Pretty typical, but I never get used to these headaches and backaches. I’m ready for summer and fall, my two favorite seasons. But the lack of caffeine is helping me sleep better, so there is a silver lining, which I’m glad for.

House closing is less than a month away. We’re trying to figure out all the little details right now, but so far, everything is going exactly as it should. I’m ready to be in our own home…our first home. It’s going to be fantastic! Especially once I get all the furniture I want in there! We’re hosting Christmas this year, so I’m especially excited about getting a dining room table and having space for our family and friends. It’s going to be glorious! And yes, I already have the dinner menu set. It’s how I roll.

My brother is home, safe and no worse for the wear, from India. He’s got some pretty fantastic stories, some good, some not so good. India is an interesting country, by his accounts, but I’m not sure it’s a country that’s making its way up my list of “must-see” very quickly. Brother is still rather sick from everything he came down with while in India, but is on the mend. Just not allowed to have any booze yet. But he did get accepted to Harvard’s graduate program and that’s something worth having a celebratory drink over. We’ll have to hold off on that for the time being.

I am increasingly annoyed with commentary. Not everything requires or necessitates a reaction. Someone wearing their hair curly one day and straight the next is certainly not worth commenting on. Sometimes, it’s like I’m surrounded by multiple John Maddens. And I hate that. It is actually okay to not make a comment on every single thing that happens (cough cough Glenn Beck).

Husband’s first novel is at the printers as we speak! This is really the most exciting thing that’s gone on for the last few weeks. The cover art finally got, well, finalized. It took SEVERAL tries, but the result was worth the wait (“cover porn”, it’s been called, because it’s that good). The draft copy of the manuscript was re-edited and finalized and made it to the printer over the weekend…so we should be seeing a hardcover proof any day now. You should really consider buying a copy when it comes out! Especially if you a) like to read b) like supporting local artists c) are prone to the fantasy genre or d) want to help Husband become more well-know within this very exclusive community of published writers! Go to Trapdoor Books for more information…and to check out other local authors and their books!

And if you like what you’re reading on Use.The.Clutch, consider following it publicly!

We watched “Julie & Julia” during date night last week. Ever since then, I’ve had visions of kitchen ecstasy dancing in my head. I’ve been inspired, to a certain degree. I want to make the most delicious foods that anyone has ever put in their mouths. I want taste buds to dance!

I have dreams of becoming some combination of Bree Hodge, Julia Child, and Martha Stewart. I want to host the best parties when I serve the most decadent food and the décor is precisely in line with the understated theme of the party.

I’ll serve every Sunday dinner on a perfectly dressed dining room table, complete with candlesticks and wine glasses. Every Saturday morning, I’ll make French toast with hazelnut ganache or Belgian waffles with whipped cream from scratch or eggs Benedict or anything else equally as delectable. I’ll bake up the most amazing treats for any holiday you can think of, beginning with Christmas, of course, when I’ll master the art of my grandmother’s cookies and desserts. My cakes and pies will be perfection (I’m going to start with a lattice-topped apple pie…nom nom nom). And on top of all that, I’ll have a well-stocked bar for which I’ll be the most informed bar tender I can possibly be.

I already have my perfect kitchen apron, complete with pockets and ruffles. I have my KitchenAid stand mixer which, I believe, completes any kitchen. My collection of knives and other kitchen essentials is expansive. Non-stick bakeware with coordinating non-stick liners, check. Heavy-duty Teflon cookware, check. Cooling racks, check. Marble rolling pin, check. Stockpiles of cookbooks, check.

All I really need now is….nothing, I guess. Time, maybe. But I can always find time for baking! Cooking is another story and I’ll be making time for that in the very near future. I’ve always been a better baker than cook though I’m making significant strides in that arena. I do, after all, want to be the best.

I’m not sure I want to (or ever will be prepared to) work my way through Mastering The Art of French Cooking, but I certainly wouldn’t mind being a master of my own kitchen and my own family’s edible happiness!

I’m starting this new mission of mine this weekend with my most complicated baking endeavor yet. I’ll be whipping up, with the help of my husband, Irish Car Bomb cupcakes. The word “infused” is used the recipe and nothing – absolutely NOTHING – comes from a box. Bree, Julia, and Martha would all be very pleased. And as the recipe calls for all things Car Bomb – Guinness, whiskey, and Irish crème – I’m sure I’ll be wildly delighted with any cupcake outcome by the end of it.

And if nothing else, I’ll have the fixin’s for real Car Bombs.

I have no issue with saying it. I want to be a big deal. I want to be important and known (not to mention understood).

I know it’s a little late in my life to be saying this (being that I’m *gasp* 62 days away from being thirty), but I’m ready to really commit to being the person I intend to be. I’m just stuck trying to figure out how to do that.

I mentioned several entries ago that the idea of being a “Twilebrity” (Vanity Fair’s word, not mine) is more than a little appealing to me. Sure, Twitter/blogging/Facebook/social media in general can seem a little self-serving and just plain narcissistic, but I’m not sure that’s completely the case. Social media has really evolved in the last few years. We all used to have MySpace pages where we’d update our profiles and pictures and statuses so that our friends all over the country (even the world) would know what we were up to. It was really base-level, if you ask me. And people were accused of using MySpace to avoid real interaction with real people. That was probably true, to a certain degree.

MySpace has all but gone by the wayside for “regular people.” We all migrated over to Facebook (some of us *cough cough me* very begrudgingly) and now, well, who (or WHAT) doesn’t have a Facebook page? Hell, we can become fans of a pickle, fans of “That’s what she said”, fans of books, programs, shows, musicians, charities, whatever!

Facebook has become an extension of productivity for a lot of people and businesses. Now, we can really get our messages out there. Companies can not only advertise on sidebars, but can have a designated page where people can become fans of the company or it’s product; and the company can introduce to products or services to all their “fans” with a great deal of ease. Nothing says “easy marketing” like deploying one message to hundreds/thousands/millions of people in one fell swoop.

So yes, I’d like to be a part of that. I’d like my writing to be important to other people, people I don’t even know. There’s a lot of give and take involved in that, however. It means being interested in what other people are saying and taking a pro-active course in getting my name out there. This is precisely why I Twitter with a great deal of regularity. I want people to know I exist; more specifically, that I exist as a writer, as someone with things to say. So by tweeting, I’m letting people know what I do…thus, I reciprocate when someone says anything noteworthy…I re-tweet it. Maybe it’s just a nicety of social media, but I kind of like it, to be honest.

Frankly, I’d love to see someone famous RT me.