It's finally happened. The result of dissatisfaction in customer service and not using my degree and professional experience to work for me has led to creating a profile on a ghostwriting job site.
I did a little reading before setting up the profile. Ghostwriting is obviously not the place to go for public recognition of ability and isn't steady work for a newcomer. But I miss writing. Lack of blog posts aside, there's a creative buildup in me that Pinterest, reading and cooking haven't been able to alleviate. I want to create something again. My first attempt at NaNoWriMo was a gigantic flop, I admit, but it did make me realize how much I miss creating stories or informing people through the written word.
There is also a secondary reason for pursuing the ghostwriting opportunity. The amount of money that goes from my earnings into paying off debt has begun to bother me. Several websites suggest securing a second income and devoting all earnings toward paying off debt. If I can start getting gigs writing things for other people, it would be a nice way to start really chipping away at student loan or other debts.
So while I wait for my profile to be reviewed, I'm browsing the job posts, seeing what might be easy to break into, while visions of creative bliss and freed-up income dance in my head. Goodnight!
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Monday, January 18, 2016
Short post about a short trip
I've had a case of wanderlust for the last few years, and this past weekend I finally got to indulge it a bit. Brian got some time off work and I took off coordinating days for a trip to the French Quarter in New Orleans.
We had intended to take an Amtrak package deal and ride the train out there, but the schedule (and price) didn't really line up for what we were looking for, so we did an a la carte trip ourselves. It was a ball.
In the interest of not driving in an unfamiliar area, we stayed in a hotel on the Quarter and opted to just see what we could from walking everywhere. We arrived after midnight Sunday evening, and there were still people wandering the dark, rough roads. I could only imagine what it would have been like if it had been February.
Mardi Gras decorations were already going up and folks were gathering up Christmas lights in Jackson Square the next morning. We were out early enough to see the art vendors and fortune tellers just setting up their tables.
We wandered into the cathedral, where several other tourists were looking around and workers were picking up poinsettia plants and trying to sweep up all the dead leaves. I'd never been in a Catholic church before, and the grandiose-ness was more than I'd bargained for.
Brian asked a tour guide to tell us "everything" about the church, so we got about thirty minutes with him telling us about the history of the city and the church, including it being rebuilt several times, lessons on the portraits and statues all around, connections to the convent a few blocks away and the meaning of a lot of items in the sanctuary that us non-Catholics didn't recognize.
We tried to go to the oft-mentioned Cafe du Monde after leaving the cathedral, but the crowd was bigger than I anticipated for late on a Monday morning, so we kept wandering around. We booked a ghost tour for that evening and eventually found the Mississippi River.
We tipped a man playing gospel on a guitar who sounded (to me) a lot like Willie Nelson, and eventually found our way to a French Market Cafe. It was cold, so we went in.
Being late morning we weren't sure whether to go lunch or breakfast, so we ended up with a latte, gyro plate and side of red beans and rice to split. Of course, everything was quite good.
We talked a little to the waiter, who told us his family was Nicaraguan, but he lived his whole life in N.O. and loved it. The first of a few friendly faces we met there.
Near the cafe was the actual French Market. Unfortunately the farmers market wouldn't set up for a few more days, but there were a lot of food and souvenir vendors set up. If we hadn't been so full, I'd have sampled a lot of the interesting looking food.
We perused a few souvenir shops, including a vampire boutique, and eventually went back to the hotel to relax a little before dinner and ghost touring. In seeking out souvenirs before dinner, we ended up buying some fudge from a shop and snacking on it while we figured out which restaurant to eat at. We decided on a place called Coops for the rabbit jambalaya. It wasn't what I anticipated, but Brian loved it enough to order a second helping.
Taking our (very strong) rum-and-cokes with us, we went back to the hotel to finish them before heading to the meeting place for the ghost tour. A man from Las Vegas with a degree in French and Spanish history led us around the Quarter telling stories from N.O. history and locations. Some sent actual chills down my body (that were unrelated to the brisk evening), like the story about the Sultan's Palace massacre and the story of a man leaping from a rooftop bar following the Hurricane Katrina tragedy. But all in all, it was a very colorful lesson in local history that was interesting to compare to the version we learned at the cathedral earlier in the day.
The next morning Brian found himself in a political discussion with a man from Indiana and a man from Florida. We had to excuse ourselves to check out in time. On the (NINE HOUR) drive back to Texas, we stopped at a specialty meat market and picked up some hot sausage, rabbit and alligator (for Jacque), as well as a cooler to keep it all frozen.
But New Orleans was a fun time. If I were to go again, I'd take more photos of the residence architecture, sign up for home, vampire and/or voodoo tours, and try MORE food. I will never regret trying more foods, and there were an awful lot of ads for pralines and bread pudding that I never sampled.
We had intended to take an Amtrak package deal and ride the train out there, but the schedule (and price) didn't really line up for what we were looking for, so we did an a la carte trip ourselves. It was a ball.
This dude was sure ready to party.
In the interest of not driving in an unfamiliar area, we stayed in a hotel on the Quarter and opted to just see what we could from walking everywhere. We arrived after midnight Sunday evening, and there were still people wandering the dark, rough roads. I could only imagine what it would have been like if it had been February.
Mardi Gras decorations were already going up and folks were gathering up Christmas lights in Jackson Square the next morning. We were out early enough to see the art vendors and fortune tellers just setting up their tables.
We wandered into the cathedral, where several other tourists were looking around and workers were picking up poinsettia plants and trying to sweep up all the dead leaves. I'd never been in a Catholic church before, and the grandiose-ness was more than I'd bargained for.
Brian asked a tour guide to tell us "everything" about the church, so we got about thirty minutes with him telling us about the history of the city and the church, including it being rebuilt several times, lessons on the portraits and statues all around, connections to the convent a few blocks away and the meaning of a lot of items in the sanctuary that us non-Catholics didn't recognize.
We tried to go to the oft-mentioned Cafe du Monde after leaving the cathedral, but the crowd was bigger than I anticipated for late on a Monday morning, so we kept wandering around. We booked a ghost tour for that evening and eventually found the Mississippi River.
Cheesin'.
We tipped a man playing gospel on a guitar who sounded (to me) a lot like Willie Nelson, and eventually found our way to a French Market Cafe. It was cold, so we went in.
Being late morning we weren't sure whether to go lunch or breakfast, so we ended up with a latte, gyro plate and side of red beans and rice to split. Of course, everything was quite good.
Myself and the latte.
We talked a little to the waiter, who told us his family was Nicaraguan, but he lived his whole life in N.O. and loved it. The first of a few friendly faces we met there.
Near the cafe was the actual French Market. Unfortunately the farmers market wouldn't set up for a few more days, but there were a lot of food and souvenir vendors set up. If we hadn't been so full, I'd have sampled a lot of the interesting looking food.
There were a lot of apartments around the Quarter, and we learned
later why signs like this were actual selling points.
We perused a few souvenir shops, including a vampire boutique, and eventually went back to the hotel to relax a little before dinner and ghost touring. In seeking out souvenirs before dinner, we ended up buying some fudge from a shop and snacking on it while we figured out which restaurant to eat at. We decided on a place called Coops for the rabbit jambalaya. It wasn't what I anticipated, but Brian loved it enough to order a second helping.
Taking our (very strong) rum-and-cokes with us, we went back to the hotel to finish them before heading to the meeting place for the ghost tour. A man from Las Vegas with a degree in French and Spanish history led us around the Quarter telling stories from N.O. history and locations. Some sent actual chills down my body (that were unrelated to the brisk evening), like the story about the Sultan's Palace massacre and the story of a man leaping from a rooftop bar following the Hurricane Katrina tragedy. But all in all, it was a very colorful lesson in local history that was interesting to compare to the version we learned at the cathedral earlier in the day.
The next morning Brian found himself in a political discussion with a man from Indiana and a man from Florida. We had to excuse ourselves to check out in time. On the (NINE HOUR) drive back to Texas, we stopped at a specialty meat market and picked up some hot sausage, rabbit and alligator (for Jacque), as well as a cooler to keep it all frozen.
But New Orleans was a fun time. If I were to go again, I'd take more photos of the residence architecture, sign up for home, vampire and/or voodoo tours, and try MORE food. I will never regret trying more foods, and there were an awful lot of ads for pralines and bread pudding that I never sampled.
Saturday, January 9, 2016
On dancing
I am not, and probably never will be, a dancer.
Well, a partner-type of dancer. I feel pretty awesome breaking it down solo to some 2000's pop-punk music.
However, throw in a second person with some expectation of synchronization, and it all falls apart. This is something I discovered with Brian after watching a few seasons of Dancing with the Stars. Watching the celebrities struggle with their partners to learn different styles of dance, he would tell me about the steps and rhythm of waltz, quickstep, salsa and whatever other dance was on the show. Then he would try to show me.
It's not as much a "two left feet" kind of thing as much of an "I can't tell what your motions are telling me to do" sort of issue.
However, unlike the plethora of other things that I'm really really not good at, I still pursue dancing. I love grabbing Brian's arm at events, while cooking or when a good song comes on and making him dance with me. Just now, when the Avicii version of "Hey Brother" started, I decided it was time for him to put down Skyrim for a couple minutes and dance with me. Even though I constantly miss the cues to turn under his arm or step on his feet, I spend the whole time laughing. It's one of those weird things I enjoy being bad at, which confuses me, because most things I'm bad at I simply avoid as much as possible.
I'll never be a dancing queen. I'll probably never feel like one. But for some reason, in this instance, that's okay.
Well, a partner-type of dancer. I feel pretty awesome breaking it down solo to some 2000's pop-punk music.
More or less like this, but with lots of directing my hands at the dog.
However, throw in a second person with some expectation of synchronization, and it all falls apart. This is something I discovered with Brian after watching a few seasons of Dancing with the Stars. Watching the celebrities struggle with their partners to learn different styles of dance, he would tell me about the steps and rhythm of waltz, quickstep, salsa and whatever other dance was on the show. Then he would try to show me.
It's not as much a "two left feet" kind of thing as much of an "I can't tell what your motions are telling me to do" sort of issue.
However, unlike the plethora of other things that I'm really really not good at, I still pursue dancing. I love grabbing Brian's arm at events, while cooking or when a good song comes on and making him dance with me. Just now, when the Avicii version of "Hey Brother" started, I decided it was time for him to put down Skyrim for a couple minutes and dance with me. Even though I constantly miss the cues to turn under his arm or step on his feet, I spend the whole time laughing. It's one of those weird things I enjoy being bad at, which confuses me, because most things I'm bad at I simply avoid as much as possible.
I'll never be a dancing queen. I'll probably never feel like one. But for some reason, in this instance, that's okay.
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