Writing about writing - the guts of me

I've worked for a publishing company for almost 15 years now. I have loved selling and producing great advertising campaigns for a WIDE variety of clients. I have lived, loved and grown up swimming in words and images.

There has also never been a single word of editorial content, not an errant byline stating Created By Marielle Howard, printed in any of our publications.

Louisiana Business Inc, which was just Business Report and its annual supplements when I started this journey, has a strict, concrete thick strict, division between its advertising and editorial teams. This has given me both pain and relief over the years. Regardless of how I felt about our line in the sand, it was there.

I guess if I hadn't loved selling and creating advertising so much, the line might have posed a moral dilemma well before now. A few years ago, I began missing exercising the art of writing and reporting. But the line was still there.

My love of writing began in high school. A brave and brash English teacher taught a poor tomboy girl how to use poetry and prose to express herself. From tentative journal pages, to collections of short poems, to full fledged contest entries and even my first foray into publishing of mine and my classmates poetry in a magazine, Margaret Goode instilled in me a passion for the written word.

Mrs. Goode so profoundly influenced my life that to this day, I want to grow up to be a high school gifted English teacher. She changed my definition of myself, gave me permission to write my own story and the courage to laugh at myself along the journey.

And what a journey it's been. I continued to write after high school. From published analyses in my political science classes, to stories in LSU's student newspaper, I managed to feed my love of writing and share that love with a wider audience. My second degree in public relations was as much about my love of writing as my awareness that I would need a real job after college and I didn't know any political scientists.

After college, my writing became about profit. My career took a turn into the marketing world and I wrote, a lot. It wasn't the great investigative or insightful analysis pieces of my college days, but it was pen to paper with a paycheck. Oddly, this stab at writing was equally enjoyable.

From there, I ended up in sales and advertising. More specifically, I was in the business of selling advertising. Probing questions, concise proposals and fast ad headlines filled my time. All the while, life was happening and I drifted further from my love of creative writing.

A husband, kids, a career, cancer, life, death, marriage, sales, goals, life. My creative energy found lots of outlets. Photography, scrapbooking, home decorating, arts and crafts, teacher gifts, coworker gifts, baby gifts. I was telling stories, just in other ways.

One afternoon while at a professional conference in rural Tennessee, I learned about Eastern Tennessee State University. This magical place actually has a master's program in - wait for it - STORY TELLING! I told everyone I knew for months after this encounter that I was moving to rural Tennessee and going back to college. I felt my calling.

Then I discovered blogging. What a perfect way to burn my creative fuel! Pictures + words + readers, I thought this was going to be my lifelong outlet for all of the stories I've collected.

As I began experimenting with blogging, my work life changed. I'd never considered it, but the art of selling was being redefined in the most amazing way. Self appointed experts were now raking in the bucks teaching sales teams around the country that sales wasn't about probing questions, concise proposals and fast ad headlines, instead sales and advertising were now all about STORY TELLING!

If you ever doubt if there is a God, then the long thread of this story should at least convince you there is some greater and infinitely humorous power bringing us all full circle. I have no doubt there is a God and he had just revealed the guts of me - shown me my core purpose and passion in life - I am a Story Teller of the first order.

So now I am exposed to the core. I know what my Purpose is, with a capital P. Now what?
Lots of little projects, a story here, a press release there, a stint writing newsletter articles later and I was longing for a byline again. Part of me really wanted to see one of my stories, presented with authority, for consumers to chew on, be dragged into and sent away from different.

This summer, completely by accident, that powerful moment came.
"Would you consider reviewing the dinner you attended this weekend?"
"Would I!?!?"
"We'll have to get permission"
Patiently waiting while banging out the lead and first 5 paragraphs anticipating getting the chance.
"OK, this once, you can do this if you still want to."
"SIGN ME UP! WHEN IS IT DUE?"
"It's here!"

I have always been a story teller. At my core, it is what I am and what I love doing. I didn't need a byline to know that.

This byline gives me something completely other than validation of my life's true calling.
It gives me the joy of work.
It gives me the giddy excitement of opening an issue of one of our magazines like it's the BIG present under the Christmas tree.
It gives me immense gratitude for the people and challenges that have given me a voice.
It gives me pride that I work for an organization that gives stories life and import.

Lucky Number 13

Be careful what you ask for.

We've all heard this caution for those who would wish too ambitiously, a reminder that it may not be in our own best interest to get everything we ask for. It also alludes to the universal truth that we often don't even know what's best for ourselves. And in the curious case of my career, it has proven absolutely true.

Thirteen years ago, as a young marketing and design "professional" (I'm using that word VERY loosely), I fell into a job interview that I wasn't looking for. I was a designer, a writer, a buyer, a marketer. I had PR skills. And I had no interest whatsoever in going into sales.

After my first interview with Business Report, I went home and told my husband these people were crazy. I hate salespeople and hate being sold to even more. On top of that, these ladies work for commission, they only get paid if they sell!

After my second interview, I was intrigued. I went home and told David that I'd always been an A student and the idea of working at a job where I got a report card every two weeks was beginning to appeal to me.

Then came my third interview, the pivotal moment when I sentenced myself to a career I never saw coming.

Julio Melara, a ball of fire and purpose to say the least, stormed into the conference room where Debi and I were meeting. He picked up my resume, looked it up and down and promptly tossed it across the table at me. Mind you, not to me, but AT me.

"Your resume looks like a shooting range. A job a year every year since college? What are you looking for?"

Whoa! Intimidated didn't begin to describe what I was feeling. I didn't even want this job, didn't ask for the interview to begin with. Why was he coming at me so directly?

Never one to back down from a challenge, I took a deep breath, put on my best "I'm not intimidated by you" face and replied.

"I'm looking for a company that will be as committed to me as I am to it." Booyah!

Thirteen years later, still occasionally intimidated by Julio's direct challenges, here's what I've learned from getting the best job I never imagined I wanted:

• Thank God for people willing to take chances on you. In one way or another, we are all a gamble. Thank God for those people who roll the dice on us for no other reason than a hunch. Debi Brand bet on me, even in the face of her boss' doubts, and I will always love her for that.
• Thank God of the people willing to challenge you. There have been days when I've imagined myself in some quiet little automated desk job. And then I get back to work. My energy and abilities have been challenged A LOT in these 13 years. And I am so thankful that this place, these people always have and will continue to push me to be better. Their challenges to my comfort zones make me a better woman, wife, mom, daughter, friend and employee.
• Thank God for telling a better story with your life than even you could imagine. When I told Julio what I was looking for, I didn't know what it meant, not really. I have learned about commitment 1,000 different ways over the last 13 years. Some have been in my professional life, some in my personal life. And these people I work with everyday have been an important part of all of these lessons. We have laughed, cried, celebrated and mourned together. This has turned out to be so much more than a way to make a living, it has been my way of making a Life.

The rest of my career may be here at Business Report. It may not. That's for God to reveal. But either way, I will love and be committed to this place, these people for the rest of my life. Because the rest of me would not be the same without them.

The truth about the trombone

Hunter was REALLY excited about playing in his school band for the first time. Even when given a choice of art, choir or band, he chose band. He even made it clear that if he had to, he would give up football to be in the band.

Even better, he announced, he knew exactly what instrument God built him to play. The flute.

We encouraged Hunter to continue to try all of the instruments and at least come up with a Plan B. So grudgingly he did and chose the drums.

Until band instrument assignment/rental night.

David and Hunter came home from what was supposed to be a happy manly bonding adventure looking both confused and unhappy. What had gone wrong? Where was the final choice that would mean many sleepless nights in the Howard house?

Somehow, Hunter's Plan B had been shifted to Plan C, he would be playing the trombone.

The trombone? Where did that come from?

"I don't know, I was terrible at the trombone in auditions. I couldn't even make a sound on it. I want to quit band."

I immediately did what any over-involved mom would do. I called a conference with the band teacher. I was bound and determined to find out where this villainous trombone had come from and why was it destroying my son's love of band.

Long story short, turns out Hunter was SUPER in his trombone audition. Better than the flute, or even the drums, Hunter SHINED in two separate auditions on the trombone. Go figure, my kid's a trombone prodigy!

Just kidding, but really, he had done really well on the trombone, earning two separate Super evaluations.

So why had he told me such a completely different story about his trombone auditions and assignment and why did he hate the trombone so much he wanted to quit band?

Turns out that Hunter was suffering from a case of poor self evaluation. You know what I'm talking about. It's like when you check yourself in the mirror before you leave in the morning, admiring how nice you look today, only to get to work and have someone point out the huge zit on your forehead you never noticed.

Hunter had done to himself what so many of us do, unintentionally, to shortcut our own success and happiness - he had misjudged his own talent and performance.

Thank God for the truer insight often given others into our purpose, abilities and performance. If Ms. Smith hadn't had the discernment to hear Hunter's trombone potential, he would have happily blundered along on the drums, never knowing he was built for better on another instrument.

When we explained to Hunter how Super he had done on the trombone and that we all really thought he should play it, he was THRILLED! He wanted to know if we could go buy his trombone right at that moment! Tragedy averted! Band was back on the new adventures list.

What a wonderful way to accept constructive criticism!


If only I had the humility and openness to hear those God put to speak into my life with such trust and enthusiasm. How much sooner or more easily would I have grown to where I am if rather than wrestling with the "They don't know me" and "Who do they think they are" moments of life, I had embraced them.

What if, when those with more wisdom or insight than I pointed out the drums I shouldn't be playing while directing me to the trombone I would excel at, I would be THRILLED to find deeper understanding of my real purpose and power.

I never age in my mirror. I don't see the toll the years have taken on my face. It makes perfect sense when people tell me "You haven't aged a day since high school!". But my brain really knows better than to believe my mirror or such platitudes.

So I resolve to make growing up easier on my self from here forward, to be at least as wise and brave as my 10-year-old and excitedly embrace good guidance towards my life's true and best purpose.

How about you? Do you have a moment when you realized your brain had tricked you into believing something not quite true about yourself that was holding you back? Please share!

Zombie Slackers

One of our favorite fall activities is Baton Rouge' family friendly Halloween Parade. My dear friend Kelley Stein created this fun event to help celebrate her favorite holiday and raise money and awareness for some important causes in our community. You can learn more about her group and the parade here http://1031consortium.com/

Getting ready for the parade lets our family's inner artists run wild. We line our fences with float sized vinyl sheets and paint our themed float decorations for Cub Scouts Pack 205's float. Late each night, by the light of a projector, we, and occasionally some friends, get our Picasso on.

Last year's float was Where the Wild Things Are themed. We were pretty proud of our pièce de résistance. Of course, we also set the bar pretty high for ourselves in future years.

This week, we began designing, sketching and painting our float wrap. In fact, in one night, we were able to sketch, in white chalk on black vinyl, the entire design of one side of the float. All we had to do was paint in the colors.

That was before it rained overnight and washed our hard work away. Turns out chalk sketches on vinyl don't hold up in the rain.

And while David and Hunter were distraught at having to start completely over, I was not.

1. The only part of the design I worked on, and liked, I had taken the time to prime. I had done my homework, realized I only wanted to have to paint my design once, and so I took every precaution to make sure it STUCK. So even my sketched outline was still there after the rain, because I had properly prepared the surface.

2. I wasn't thrilled with David and Hunter's edited version of my original idea. My zombies were on a mission, encouraging viewers to vote in the upcoming elections. Their zombies were just zombies for zombies sake. They were without a purpose. No wonder they got washed away.

Now I'm not sure if the do-over will mean that Hunter and David's zombies will get with my program. And I'm not saying that God sent a cleansing rain to wipe clean these zombie slackers. However, I do think their washing away illustrates two really important life lessons.

1. Preparation pays off.
My purposeful zombie, properly sketched on well primed vinyl, withstood what nature had to throw at it. It took me longer to get my dutiful zombie up, but I will spend less time on him in the long run because I started with a plan to create a lasting image.

So whether it's a project or presentation at work, or parade float vinyl, our best and most fruitful work depends on our preparation, our priming of our canvas.

Incidentally, had David been better focused on his preparation, he would have covered his chalk sketches for the night, because we encountered this exact same problem last year. How quickly we forget!

2. All the preparation in the world won't get you far without Purpose.
I know it's a bit of a stretch, but if Hunter and David's zombie's had known what they were made for, maybe they would have fought harder to stick around. While their creators were lacking in the preparation department, the zombies themselves were easily washed away without a purpose for being, a raison d'être.

If you ever want a great lesson in the power of both preparation and purpose paying off with big results, watch children trick or treating.

Ask a 10 year old the importance of the size of the trick or treating bag, bucket or pumpkin. Hunter won't even go out without a container big enough for 3 pounds of candy and treats. He anticipates the big haul, so he makes sure he has the right equipment to handle it.

Ask a kid the best neighborhoods to trick or treat in. They can tell you. And they will give their parents directions to make sure they're getting the most out of their trick or treating time. No wasting time on blocks where no one's home - they've got limited time and mean to make good use of it.

And on Halloween night, as you sit in your driveway welcoming the little beggars, or as you follow your own herd of them through the streets, you will have no doubt in your mind that kids can be both purposeful and passionate about work when they see the Reese's at the end of the trail.

Speaking of Reese's, what candy do you always make sure to steal, I mean requisition, out of your kids' haul each year?

Inspiration?

I used to think there were geniuses out there in the world. You know the brilliant first guy who really believed we could fly. Or the first woman who imagined she could vote. You know - the Steve Jobs of the world.

As I grew, I worked really hard to have my epiphany, to come to my one world changing idea or creation, the one everyone would remember me for. Surely I was meant to have at least one moment of pure genius in my life.

Then I decided I had lots of original thoughts, just not ones big enough to set the world on fire. Surely my perspective on or use of some obscure craft product was original. I had to be the only one in the world who could make gift wrap out of left over toilet paper roles, right?

Now? Now I've glommed onto the completely unoriginal excuse to reinvent, reappropriate and reinterpret everything around me and take credit for it that goes, "There's nothing new in the world, just a new way to use/present/purpose the same old stuff." It's distasteful even to type it, but it sure takes all that spark of genius pressure off of me.

This post is the direct result of that kind of inspiration, not of the divine nature, but of the contextual type.

Four years ago, I had the itch to blog, to put down all the bizarre and, occassionally original or so I thought, things rolling around in my head. And, like so many hobbies I've loved, I created my blog... and never wrote a single post.

Not a single post.

Until today. Today a dear friend emailed me a link to her blog post. And after reading it, I was in tears. The story she told, I knew. And I certainly had already come to the point of her post on my own years ago. But her words, her perspective on a story I'd heard and never been brought to tears by before, moved me. I shared her story, not because her thought was original in all of the world, but because it was beautiful.

http://conniemcleod.wordpress.com/2012/10/06/soul-mates-and-angels/

So, the grammar is terrible - I'll get around to fixing that. The only thing I am sure of is the title of this thing, whatever it's going to be, is still appropriate. And after reading Connie's post, and wiping my tears and snotty nose, the only thing that felt right was to give her credit for inspiring me to write something down. To be inspired by her inspiration.

I'm not committing to consistency, or even grammatical correctness. I don't know if I'll be inspired to write a single nother word after today. But hey, who couldn't love a blog you only had to commit to reading once every four years?