GULP!!!!!

Dear Ether,

It’s really quite strange.  One of 365 is a very small, anonymous blog.  A lovely and loyal group of chapettes leave kind comments, and occasionally I’ll get a few newbies leaving their P.O.V’s.  But, in my working life, my writing is published under my real name.  The articles are very public in well-known titles. Publications always post what I write online after it goes to print.  Standard these days.  I’m not used to having anyone really Tweet my work or write anything that I can’t censor before they leave a comment.  However, with this new situation, it’s my name and my writing standing stark naked for the world to judge.  

Often I get wonderful re-tweets and kind words.  And then I get shitty comments really attacking what I’ve written.  Total cringe.  I’ve recently been asked to start blogging for a national newspaper in addition to writing articles for them.  Well, it’s certainly a change of pace from One of 365.  My voice is 100% different, as are my topics and my word limit.  No swearing, nothing too daring and always having to mind my p’s and q’s.  I also have an editor making sure what I submit is proper.  

It’s so weird living this double life.  I can’t check the back-end of these sites to see hit rates or stats.  I can’t pick images.  I feel so out of control.  I also really want to reply to people who leave their opinions, but I’ve been instructed that this is off limits.  So, yes, silenced from any kind of interaction.  

As a writer…as a PAID writer….the sacrifice you have to make is once you hand over you work, it often no longer belongs to you.  I need the money.  That’s the truth.  So, I have to shut my trap and keep on trucking.  Look, I’m not likening myself to a celebrity, but you know how they say they don’t read what the tabloids say about them?  BOLLOCKS!  I am obsessed with comments about my articles and reading reviews about my writing.  My articles are posted on more than a few blogs and I wish so badly that I could write to bloggers—either thanking them or explaining to them what the truth is.  Hey, everyone has a right to their opinion.  But, the more public my work becomes, the tougher it is to just be quiet.  C’mon.  You guys know me.  Have I ever seemed like the type to be shy?  Exactly.  I think many of you Ethers, if you knew my real identity, and read my work, would laugh at my pieces.  See a whole other side of me.  

Right now I am at the stage in my career where I need to start marketing myself and getting my name out there even MORE.  Oh yeah.  MORE.  That means opening the door to a whole lot of extra opinions.  I don’t have the thickest skin, and maybe this is a good time to grow it.  And if I want to be a winner in this media game, I better start to play harder.  But I gotta tell you, the pressure and anxiety—always trying to please everyone—make the right decisions.  I feel like I’m in a fog.  

Right.  Back to my latest feature.  How very odd indeed.  I wonder if it will be loved or hated?  Or, actually, when I’ll start to not give a shit?  I’m never going to be the next Austen or Roth………..shit, I never thought I’d ever work again as a paid writer.  But I have to say, even the little bit that I add to the recycling bins of the world, well, it can be surreal sometimes. 

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Where have I been? In dreams of sweet smelling lavender.......or so I one day imagine.

Dear Ether,

No. Please. Don’t be frightened.  I mean, not that you were or anything.  (Clearing throat) It was just in case there might be one or two of you who MIGHT have wondered where I’d been, that’s all.  

I’ve missed blogging.  Before I became a “blogger” I never knew how good it felt to be able to write and speak my mind and heart.  Sometimes say wild things. Write in stream of conscious.  Tell stories that no one knew but myself.  And since Friday (my last post), I have missed this form of expression dearly.  

My days have consisted of 14 hour sessions of research and writing about a subject that is so bizarre, so controversial—yet to the outside world appears foolish and cut and dry.  I have been writing about UGG boots and their phenomenon.  From my research, I have found so much history, so many lawsuits, so many opinions from so many rich and powerful people (in a multi-BILLION dollar trade) that this has turned into a full-fledged investigative reporting piece.  My piece is going to really make a huge impact when it is published.  I’m really quite scared.  You have to remember, I write about mascara and Sienna Miller, not counterfeiting and fraud.  A lot of people I’ve worked with have been so kind to me.  So generous.  There are so many players in this boot game.  I want so very much to represent everyone fairly.  But, for the first time I have not been able to write magazine cheeriness. I have had to write like a newspaper reporter.  I want to disconnect my phone and computer on Sunday.  Am I proud of this piece?  I don’t have a fucking clue.  I am numb.  I, when I agreed to write this, never expected it to be a 3,000 word expose.  If I fuck this up, I could be out of a job and blacklisted from a lot of tick-lists for a long time.  And that’s NOT what I need.

Why couldn’t I have been good at math?  Then I could have been an accountant or a broker?  Or better at standardized tests and deductive reasoning?  Maybe I would have been a swell lawyer?  Science—a doctor?  But, alas, I have none of these talents.  And a career switch for me is impossible.  I don’t even LOVE writing.  I love ideas and coming up with themes for photo shoots and working with a team and researching ideas.  But when it comes to the craft of sewing a piece of work together, nope, don’t love it.  It upsets my stomach, I never feel terribly confident and Ethers, it ain’t gonna make me rich!

I find life confusing.  I find my brain muddled and cloudy and it is often difficult for me to think and categorize my life.  I live in a world with half-drunk mugs of coffee, warm soda cans and a desk filthy with old business cars and eyebrow tweezers.  My coaster is a “Last of the Mohicans” CD soundtrack I must have bought 10 years ago (fuck knows).

I dream of lying in a field of lavender in Grasse.  The oils are released in the baking of the sun’s heat.  They calm me like a drug.  The sky is a perfect hue of crisp blue and I am wearing a full skirt made of white cotton.  I can’t visualize the top.  My hair is loose.  My dog sits beside me just a few feet away under a tree.  I no longer have a hump on my back from my days sitting at my computer desk.  No black circles under my eyes are seen on my now tan skin.  My cuticles have healed because I am no longer nervous.  I owe not a single E-mail, phone call or time-limit to anyone.  I am a stranger.  They truly address me as One of 365.  There is no English gent, no family.  I am ageless.   I am a polyglot.  I have endless credit in the bank.  I never gain weight.  I never feel pain.  I drift in and out of consciousness.  It’s like being given a second chance….maybe a re-birth.  

How sad to always escape into a hopeless dream.  Why can’t one be content?  That’s for another night.  This evening, my tired body has to rest and maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in Grasse for a short, sweet minute, smelling lavender.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

A "comedic" approach to how I feel. The modern "deer in headlights."

Dear Ether,

Have you ever been afraid to face anything so you do the absolute worst thing possible—-nothing at all?  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  I’ve been researching my assignment for about 10 days and have felt disorganized, confused, unmotivated and anxious ever since I began working on it.  I’m not like this. I’m normally very organized, pushy and get things done with precision.  With this job I’ve felt like a deer in headlights.  Stuck just staring at oncoming traffic waiting to be hit by a car.  All I ever talk about is how desperate I am for a career, a future.  I’ve spent the past few months killing myself trying to make contacts, and now that I have something that I should be psyched about, I’m panicking.  Why?  What’s wrong with me?  Why can’t I ever be content?

So, this piece has to be about 2,000 words (it’ll probably be cut down…but that’s what I’m going to present).  My god, many of my past blog entries have been 1,500 words!  Should be a snap, right? I need to write this in a day and a half.  And yet, I feel like I need a lifetime.  And the joke is, this feature is about FASHION. Not Iraq or the plague. A fucking trend in the shoe world.  And yet, I’ve had to take anti-anxiety medication, had to stay in bed with a lavender candle lit and ponder the article in my famous duvet prison uniform.  

Am I this delicate?  How the hell am I going to survive in this world?  I mean, I really seem to be falling apart.  English gent, my family, my psyche.  What’s next? I thought as we got older we got wiser.  I feel just as stupid as I did a decade ago, except I need Botox and a good personal trainer.  God.  Even my blog has turned into a soap box for me to stand on and moan.  What’s happened to me? 

People are probably disgusted by me.  Insulted that I’m even complaining.  There are real problems out there.  But (and I know this seems so self-indulgent), for me, this IS my world and it is overwhelming.  No, I’m not starving or homeless—but can’t we argue that things are relative?  That in our own small circles things are painful?  What may seem stupid to you, may be like a huge phobia for me.  I miss the girl I was who posted 2 weeks ago.  I want her back.

So, tomorrow is D-day.  The start of my article.  God, my heart just started beating out of my chest when I looked at the screen and saw that I wrote that.  Me and this computer, boy.  This ol’ Mac has seen me through every state possible.  If this sucker could talk, I’d have to remove its larynx.   

Off to, fuck knows, think about the inevitable.  What a fool I am.  I’ve wasted so much of my life worrying about stupid things and yet I keep perpetuating this lost time and can’t stop myself.  Like a fucking Greek tragedy—yet not even that epic.  

Hey, if you’re sick of my rants and complaints and miss the old One of 365–check out my sidebar and catch up with some old posts you haven’t read.  That’s my best advice for now.  Again, sorry gang.  Read my “mission statement” for this blog.  I never said it was always going to be pretty.

PS: Happy 1st night of Hanukkah.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Blecchhh. Tell me about it, Banksy.

Dear Ether,

4 days of rain the forecast.  Yep.  Dark days ahead.  As you know, I suffer from terrible seasonal affective disorder and the dark, wet skies aren’t going to make things pleasant.  These are the days that I wonder what the point of being in “sunny California” is?  Yeah, yeah.  I know I can’t have good weather all year round, but when it rains here, I find this place to have very few endearing qualities.  

When it starts to hit heavy, I tend to put on Bach, light a candle and stay under the covers.  But, I have a serious deadline for a huge feature due on Monday.  The feature is on a subject that’s–well–let’s just say it isn’t rocket science.  Yet, it requires a ton of accurate research and pressure and when you can’t stand the subject you’re writing about, it becomes utter agony. This, coupled with the weather is gonna be a toughie to pull off.

I’ll try not to be a miserable git.  I can’t promise the happiest of posts, but hopefully you guys will act as a nice break from the monotony of writing about a certain brand of shoes that are anything but glamorous.   In fact, I’d like to give this article the “boot.”  

To all my fellow Jewish friends, Hanukkah starts tomorrow!  Awwww, how lovely.  So, for those of you who get there before I do (living in a different time zone) spin a dreidel for me and eat a tasty latke!  

Not much to this entry.  Just wanted to check in and let you know I still had a pulse.  I’m exhausted from doing research and speaking to “experts” about vacuous things.  I’m hoping my next assignment will be a nice reward–a piece with some depth to make up for this moronic topic.  Hey, you win some, you lose some.  For example, my book feature comes out this Sunday.  Can’t wait!  I wrote over 2,500 words and reviewed 14 books (hey, I got attached and couldn’t choose!). My Editor told me 3 books would be cut (sniffle).  I wait with SERIOUS angst to see which ones got sliced (again, major attachment issues).  After the bad boy is published I’ll tell you what books I recommended (really fab and unique stuff that is tick list worthy for gifts!).  

A more boisterous post tomorrow I hope.

YAWWWWN! STREEEETCH!  (I think I just felt my Quasimodo lump snap!) 

Time to hit the hay a bit early.  Guten Nacht gang.  I begin early tomorrow (and you KNOW how much I love to rise and shine).

PS: Sorry I haven’t Tweeted in a while.  Will be back on form once this fucking piece is done!  I’m also trying my best with comments.  Do be patient…please

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

This article is going to be the end of me. And on shoes, nonetheless....and I LOVE shoes! So, sorry for the rambling below (I needed the break from writing!).......but hey, how badass is this Chanel heel that our Queen Of England, Madonna wore? Now these really are KILLER heels!

Dear Ethers,

A really short one tonight.  My apologies.  Tomorrow could be the same (yes, the victim might be the Wish List!).  I have two enormous feature pieces I am writing that are both due on Tuesday and I am having a really rough time with them.  One is re-working a piece that was really creative (written like a story). It was  bought (yes!) and then my Editor wanted me to add a philosophical element to it that required getting quotes from major companies (which you have to chase, chase, chase) and re-arranging the piece to keep its integrity and also allow it to make sense (no!).  It’s tricky when you sell a piece to a major newspaper.  Once they buy it, they can be cheeky and keep asking you to make little tweaks until it has elements in your work that you never intended.  I really loved my original and wrote it on a whim when a cool event in the fashion world caught my fancy and made me wonder.  It just poured from my fingers and I was so pleased with it.  So was my Editor, but then she wanted to turn it into a leading feature for the week before Christmas—a very savory slot—and needed it to be a more powerful statement story and not as “fun.”  Hey, I get paid per word and am pretty damned psyched, but still, I feel stuck because I don’t think what she’s asking exactly works.  Sighhh…but, this is going to be a big deal and I just started working with this paper (and lord knows I need the dosh and exposure) so I’m not going to say no.  And, hey, a good writer is always one who can take a deep breath and hit the delete button and make edits.  

As for the other piece, you’d think it would be so easy!  I had to interview 3 major shoe designers and ask them each the same 7 questions.  Then, all I have to do is formulate a story about shoes—and hey, even easier, I get to pick the idea of the theme.  I’m allowed a two paragraph lead-in and then I have to weave their answers in cleverly.  Simple, right?  WRONG.  I can’t believe of all things SHOES are giving me a nightmare (maybe it’s my new relationship with shoe gal!).  I think I’ve written and re-written this feature about 4 times and have erased them all without saving one draft.  It’s the main story for a special on shoes for the November 15th issue and I am having is-SHOES!    It’s my first assigned piece from my Editor and I want to show her I’m really good.  She says she’s tried out loads of freelancers and they’ve sucked and I don’t want to fail her.  Maybe she’s cursed me like many a women have cursed a man.  You know, talking about how past boyfriends have stunk in bed right before you and she are about to sleep together.  All sorts of thoughts probably go through their minds and then it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.  UGH!

Anyway, the fuckers are both due Tuesday, 9AM PST and I am shaking in my boots.  I’ve never been this nervous about my work before.  I think I’ve had the confidence kicked out of me by so many Manolo’s (ha ha…ermm…ha) that I’ve lost my One of 365 pride.  It’s also nerve wracking when you know that one company you work for just fired a shed load of people and are making serious budget cuts which trickle down to you and this might be a way to make up for that loss of much needed cash.  

So, will you forgive me today?  My eyes are crossing from staring at my Mac—I even got desperate enough and tried to distract myself from writing by taking crazy pics with my Photo Booth on my computer.  I’m proud to say that I have wonderful Warhol-esque images of me cross-eyed and sticking my tongue out.  

I have to dish about the party. Some nutters were there and I’ll let you now Mr. Depp, sadly, didn’t show.  But a few famous faces did and a crazy Arab prince arrived and I have a hilarious story about that which will make you wonder if I am lying about some of the crazy shit that happens in my life.  

If you asked me when I was a kid if I would be 29, sitting in front a computer on a Sunday night ready to burn all my heels as a coup d’etat against the governing body of shoes or that I would even be obnoxious enough to use the expression coup d’etat instead of speaking English, then I think I would have tried to buckle down on my math and science skills and tried to become a therapist (I’m nuts, remember—and they say it helps one to know one—maybe I would have been great!).  

Jesus, for a quick post this thing is already almost 900 words with my ramblings.  I can’t ever write a short tid-bit, can I

Sorry for complaining, but it sure was nice to write about something else besides heel height and balls of feet.  And, seriously, no matter how bad this writer’s block is, it certainly beats the red carpet.  BLECHHHHHHHHH!  Sighhh……crystal ball, I beg of you, where will I be in the next 5 years??

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365