Laurustina

Professional Bloggers write for money. Personal Bloggers write for pleasure. It's a beautiful thing when the two intersect, when a Pro-Blogger gets to write on subjects they're personally passionate about or a storyteller gets paid for weaving the stories of their lives.

I am interested in what Professional Bloggers do, but have never considered myself one of them. I can (and do) write “informational content”, marketing copy and reviews, but for the most part, I've got an old-skool attitude when it comes to this site.

I've been blogging with some regularity since 2001. I was around when Heather B got Dooced. I remember when Diablo Cody was just a peep-show girl telling stories on the sly. I was one of the everybodys who read Plain Layne before we knew she was merely the smoke and mirrors of Odin Soli. I wasn't big or brilliant, neither famous or infamous, but I was there and I am still here.

We were purists back then, my Peeps and I, scoffing at the idea of monetizing our blogs, selling ad space, hawking products or promoting ourselves with any particular business savvy. This is not to say that we weren't obsessed with expanding our audience. We worried our stats, we read and commented on other blogs, we made and remade long lists of links which included bloggers we were connected to and bloggers we wanted to be connected to. But for the most part, we'd write, post and then sit back and wait.

This habit, while perfectly sensible at the time is unimaginably unproductive to the Social Media savvy Pro-Bloggers who excel at the dreaded “driving traffic to your site” stuff. My sister is a highly-engaged Social Media whiz. She burns up the Twitter and was an early adopter of Triberr. She has built a network of uber-creative-types and participates in writerly exchanges on a wide scale. 

These days I work to find a balance between the old and new. I blog because I don't know how to NOT blog any more. I have expressed myself in this way for so long that it feels strange and suffocating not to. That said, I have distilled all the blogging advice I've ever given or received into four basic tenants:

1. Write as though no one will ever read a word of it.

2. Edit as though everyone you've ever known will read every word of it.

3. When the idea of hitting the PUBLISH button makes your stomach hurt and your palms sweat, do it anyway.

4. Promote your work shamelessly because there is no shame in wanting to be heard.

If the only thing I ever get out of this personal blog are the relationships I've formed and conversations it has prompted, then I am truly blessed. Connecting with people beyond your small everyday circle is an amazing and rewarding experience. One I cannot recommend enough. 

sometimes Bob Dylan on Mother's Day, 'cause he's a cool cat like that.

…beautifully

Found last night, handwritten on a slip of paper stuffed into one of my favorite books: Even if you get her back, you'll never deserve her. Just as long as you don't forget that.

She's coming home by train. I'm late getting to the station. Not that she's expecting me, but I wanted to be there anyway. The platform is deserted by the time I arrive, but as I come around the back of the building, I see them. Reunited and hugging so damn tight.  It's such a private moment that I feel embarrassed and voyeuristic watching.

He sees me first and a brief flicker of a smile crosses his face. It is not a nice smile. She turns towards me then, and her arms fall from around his neck. She's uncomfortable, like a child who just got caught, who's trying to act like she didn't. That's so like me, heart racing, laughing too loud and trying painfully hard to be casual.

She knows she can only please one of us and knows I am already displeased, or at the very least, disappointed. But she also knows that there is nothing she could do that would make me not love her. He, on the other hand is nearly impossible to please. She has the scars to prove it.

I stand there, a few feet away, mumbling some pleasantry or another. She responds in a voice so childlike that it frightens me. I can almost see bits of her crumbling away, crushed beneath the weight of his arm. For me the ache is double-edged because I understand all too well how longing and passion can, for a time, eclipse pain.

"It's nice that you came, but I think I've got it from here." He says, smiling at me again with narrowed eyes, letting me know that he knows I am now the enemy. I ask her if she'll call me when she gets settled in. She nods. As I walk away, I am whispering under my breath; You'll never deserve her. Even though you've got her back. Just as long as you don't forget that motherfucker, just as long as you don't forget that.

I was thirteen when I ate my first bagel. At the time, my mother worked for an Optometrist and we received invitations to a brunch at his Temple. There, we were presented with a bountiful display of gloriously unfamiliar foodstuffs. Among them was a basket of bagels, already halved and nestled in beside a tray of toppings.

Oh what what what is this wonderful dense bready thing? And this brilliant cheese which spreads so creamy on top? You don't say! You can have your sweets, dear children, your donuts and muffins and coffee cakes. Just leave this basket of glory alone because it's me and these bagels and philly from here on out.

At eighteen, on a trip to San Francisco, I was treated to my first fresh-baked bagel, sprinkled with a flurry of Kosher salt flakes. I don't remember much about that trip, beyond the fierceness with which I clutched that bag of bagels on the drive home.  Bagel-making is an art form and there are as many different schools of thought on the process as there are ways to flavor your bounty. The one thing all serious bagel aficionados can agree upon is that Real Bagels Are Boiled. New York and Montreal-Style (smaller and sweeter) bagels have been duking it for top honors for quite some time, but both originated in Poland with references as far back at the 16th century and arrived in the Americas via Jewish immigrants. I cannot thank them enough for that glorious gift.

I'm not going to post my bagel-making process here in its entirety but will direct you to some of the best basic bagel recipes on the web and let you in on the super-secret ingredients for my all-time-favorite variety: the Sun-Dried Tomato Bagel.

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