Tag writing

Just get it out there

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

Since I lost my job at Stitch Fix in September, I’ve been working hard to build my business, Parisian Phoenix Publishing. And it’s not easy. I have a lot of long days and many things– like reading and creative writing– that used to be hobbies are not work.

I’m constantly balancing what to do with my time. Should I work on personal projects? Paying clients? Unpaying clients? Authors? How much time do I spend at Barnes & Noble versus Book & Puppet (my local independent bookstore)? How many titles should the publishing company release this year? How much freelance journalism should I pursue? How many events should I attend? How many self-published and/or local authors can I support by buying and reviewing their books, especially when only about 20% return the favor?

But one choice that was easy to make was attending last week’s Podcasting 101 community education class at Northampton Community College at their Fowler Center in Southside Bethlehem. My friend and trusty photographer Joan suggested it, with her musical background, my past obsession with podcasts and my hope to start recording miniaudio books.

We invited our partner-in-crime Gayle to join us beforehand at El Jefe for tacos, though we all got burrito bowls.

Podcasting 101

Our class was led by Demetrius Mullen, host of The Single Parent Conflict, and covered a basic overview of all of the elements of creating and uploading a podcast. He’s also a bit of a voice-over actor so imagine my surprise when I heard his “professional voice” versus his everyday one. I now understand what my daughter always meant when she said, “You’re using your journalist voice.”

I love exploring new topics and ideas in classes like this one. They are usually inexpensive and offer a safe environment to dip proverbial toes in the water. I’ve taken other community education classes– like vegan cooking (have the best cobbler recipe ever from that one) and six weeks of Irish Gaelic (my first foray into impractical languages).

At the most basic level, making a podcast involves six basic steps:

  1. Have the mindset. This means not finding excuses. It doesn’t matter if you record, edit and upload your podcast 100% from your phone if you have to, challenge yourself to do it. Accept that you will learn and grow and perhaps be embarrassed by your initial attempts, but keep in mind that it takes time to build momentum, market and develop a following.
  2. Gather your hardware. To simplify this, this means having somewhere to record and edit the podcast. It could involve computers, XLR cables, and microphones, but it also could be simply you and your phone. Demetrius’ advice was to invest your energy in learning and honing the content of your podcast before spending money on equipment that might not even be necessary or before you know exactly what would suit you best.
  3. Learn your software. If you want to have a decent podcast, you’ll have to learn to edit it. There are a variety of free or inexpensive options on the market. And if you’re an Apple user, you have Garage Band.
  4. Record. Sit down and record your content.
  5. Edit, save and export. Again, there are a variety of podcasting services from Buzzsprout to Spotify for Podcasters (formerly Anchor.fm), some with free and some with paid plans. All you need is an MP3 and an ability to read and follow directions.
  6. Upload. Once you have your MP3, release your creation into the universe.

Perhaps this will renew my interest in creating a show author interview show involving a craft topic, followed by an excerpt, short story or poem from the Parisian Phoenix catalog to demonstrate the principle. My larger goal is to use this as a training ground for audio editing and speaking for audio so that we can start production on Parisian Phoenix audiobooks.

Podcast Workshop with GLVWG

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Yesterday I presented a workshop at the Greater Lehigh Writers Group on the use of podcasts to research, improve and market your writing (at least, that was the morning program) and how to be a good interview guest, whether you are working with journalists or podcasters.

It was a super fun day with my partner-in-crime William D. Prystauk, who wrote The Kink Noir series and the new horror novel The Hanging Girl.

I wasn’t sure if my audience would embrace the idea of using podcasts as a source of inspiration and information, but they did. And we had a fun time writing materials and doing mock podcast interviews.

I received a few thank you emails after the presentation and that meant a lot to me. The day went very quickly!

I share snippets of the information I provided in the sessions in the Greater Valley Writers Group newsletter column I write every other month.

Stream of consciousness: real talk

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

It’s almost 8:30 on a Saturday morning. This post will probably be babble, but I have a feeling it might resonate in a “real life” way. Like let’s not talk about Facebook perfect lives or fun on YouTube.

This is life with a teenager, a stressful job, three cats, three budgies and a Goffins cockatoo.

This is life. I have had the divorce papers in my possession for months but I just don’t want to sit down, fill them out, and file them. Not because I want to save my marriage but because it’s one more thing to do. It sometimes feels like my choices boil down to “file for divorce” or “do the dishes.” Neither situation will resolve without me taking the lead.

I can’t even articulate the chaos swirling around my head right now, let alone the chaos in it.

I have two parakeets flying around my head. One still timidly standing in his cage singing, not ready to come out. Wink, the blue budgie, has decided to eat the molding above my bedroom door (luckily not the visible side but the top) and fling chunks to the floor.

The big dumb cat raced into my room to sleep on my bed, and he looks just as perplexed as Nala does that critters are flying over head.

I did learn parrots can be potty trained. If you’re interested in that: Parront Tip: Potty Training. I also learned parrots need a lot of sleep. I should probably move my supper time to 6:30 or 7 so I can spend time with her and then put her to bed before I eat.

Today, I crawled out of bed at 6:30ish. In part, because Nala already knows when I get up for work and plucked a feather and screeched. The night before I had a bout of insomnia, not sure if it was hormones, work-stress or home stress but I only got five hours sleep. So getting seven hours last night felt magnificent.

Nala pooped on me right away, and all I had on was a t-shirt and underpants. We went to make coffee, feed the cats, and I made her tea. She pooped on me again. Time for a clean t-shirt.

I stepped on the scale and saw that I am almost back to my pre-holiday weight. I’m happy with that. I’m in a comfortable range. Now I just need to get back into routine with my weights.

I read one page of Zazi in the Metro (which I bought more than a month ago). The book club meeting is Friday. So much for that new social activity.

Booboo keeps investigating Nala. Speaking of Nala, between her and the kitten (whom the teenager now firmly believes is a boy) I think I have to cancel the trip to DC I was planning next weekend. I’m really disappointed. I know the teen can stay home and care for the pets. But it’s too soon for me to leave Nala. And I can’t take her to be boarded because that’s where I got her and she’ll think she’s been abandoned.

And I also noticed she’s not banded. Most birds are registered and have a band on their ankle. Nala does not.

Journaling across generations

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I started keeping a journal after a writing workshop at University of Pennsylvania that I attended as a high school student. I kept them faithfully for at least a decade, tapered off in my consistency after the birth of my daughter, experimented with forms (most recently adapting a bullet journal style) and renewed my habit in the last few years but still not with the same devotion I once did.

I used to fill a standard cheap journal in a month. Larger, fancier volumes took longer. I color coded a lot of my text. One color for fiction, one color for poetry and another for personal experience. That sort of thing.

The blank ones included sketches. Briefly, I used calligraphy pen and even briefer a fancy fountain pen.

My current fascination is Alphabooks, blank journals in the shape of alphabet letters. I found the A on clearance. My husband had recommended his mother buy me the N for Christmas as it is the second letter of my name, but I fooled them and mentioned if I had the chance I would continue the series with B and write alphabetically.

I also have an affinity for Sharpie pens. I bought a set in August 2016 and they are still going strong.

Eventually, my journals ended up in a box in the attic. Or, several boxes, more accurately.

My now 13-year-old daughter has always been captivated by the written word, always written in notebooks, constantly starting projects and ripping out pages (and never finishing). She has started working on her own stories, but journaling hasn’t held her interest.

 

But she keeps asking to read my journals. I cringe.

I tell her she needs to remember that journals have a lot of angst in them, a lot of unfiltered, unedited thoughts and that what I say in these journals might not always be… well… nice or even what I would say on a different day. And some of my tales might color her opinion of the people she knows, even her own family.

But she keeps asking.
I bought her a nice journal for Christmas. And a HUGE set of Flair pens. She has journaled for 15

days straight. She starts on her journaling journey as I wonder if mine has been worth it. Who wants to read that drivel? There are so many volumes are they worth sifting through? Do I say hateful things?

She asked again. She volunteered to get them from the attic. We sorted through the boxes and at some point I had labeled the cover of the journal with the major events of that time period. I selected a pile of about ten I said she could read.

She started with the journal that included when her father and I got married.

She’s read me excerpts: story ideas I’d forgotten about, adventures and misadventures,

my life as a vegetarian. My favorite thus far has been a poem about my nephew when he was about 3, and a page where he scribbled in my journal. Then my daughter found a journal where she was 2, and I let her scribble in my journal.

So I guess those journals are worth something.

The wonder and brilliance of children

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

I am far from a perfect parent. I show my daughter my strength and also my weakness. 

I love children. If I had more patience, I would have spent more time with as many of them as possible. 

A little boy occasionally comes into the store where I work in the café. I believe he comes with his grandmother and by the time they reach me, she seems exasperated. And I know why.

They have their shopping bags. They are ready to leave. She offers him a pizza.

He’s about four and he never stops talking. And I try my best not to interrupt him because my manners need to demonstrate how people listen to and engage others. Then the questions start.

It’s Easter week. The store is busy. At this particular moment, I’m momentarily caught up and there’s no one waiting. 

So I answer his questions. These aren’t dumb questions, these are “how things work” questions. What is that light? What’s that sound? I explain everything he asks about, even though his grandparent clearly wants to go. But he’s processing, he’s learning, and maybe someday he’ll be a scientist or an engineer because of this interest in how things work.

But now, my daughter.

I frequently help my friend Nancy with her writing career. Nancy is an essayist and poet. She’s also blind so sending an email, managing submissions and finding writing markets can be challenging with a sighted person at a computer. Her diligence and prolific work habits inspire me so the relationship is mutually beneficial.

My daughter is on spring break so she joined Nancy and I at Dunkin Donuts where I sipped iced coffee flavored with pistachio and Nancy drank her vanilla chai. And we even had donuts!

When we were done working, my daughter piped in.

She thought it would be interesting if we all wrote flash nonfiction about the morning to see the different perspectives. Nancy and I were thrilled. We set word counts and pledged to write and submit this piece.

Daughter and I did ours. We love them. Can’t wait to see what Nancy does.

Made possible because we listened to a child. 

Good doesn’t matter

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Like any human, I have good days and bad. This weekend was hard for me. Blame hormones. A sick cat. Family members who don’t see eye to eye with me. Whatever you like. Reality is… Such is life.

I have been focusing a lot of time and energy on diet and exercise recently, but today (and yesterday) I couldn’t bring myself to lift my weights or go for a walk. Instead, I went to Dunkin Donuts. Had a 250+ calorie iced coffee and not one but two donuts. Some people get drunk, I prefer a sugar high. It didn’t work.

So I talked to some friends. Thanks to them, I felt more myself. My family challenged me to the first day’s training session from the app “Couch to 5K” (C25K). We did it. As a family. Now I can eat something small for dinner and not feel badly.

Looking over some of my notes from today I am reminded once again that the things that make you feel accomplished are those achievements outside your comfort zone: going for a run when you don’t think you have the physical strength, tap dancing when you’re really awful at it…

Or for me, even fashion illustration. And sharing it with the world. My fiction manuscripts are set in the high fashion world (and oddly enough, Francophone Africa). I have always designed dresses and clothes for the characters.

I am not an artist. But, while feeling poorly today, I designed the dress in the photograph. It’s worn by a French woman who marries a half-French, half Issa-Somali Muslim man from Djibouti. She’s a trouble maker who lost her left leg (and some other body parts) to an IED in Afghanistan.

Doughnuts might not be good for me. I might not draw well. I must look like an idiot running around my local park. But today, these things soothed me.IMG_1262.JPG