Category: Uncategorized

After a friend shared Sunni Brown’s “Doodlers Unite” TED video with me, I decided to be more intentional about doodling. I thought I might share some of the results with you.

 

Last week Paul and I were stressed out about money. We didn’t have any clue how we were going to get jobs. We felt the dreadful deadline of March approaching (since that was how far we approximated our funds would last).

This week Paul and I hopeful about our finances. I was offered a job today and Paul has an interview on Monday. March seems like it will be just another month to usher in springtime.

What a difference a week makes.

It started on Tuesday. Paul had seen a flyer looking for help at a market near the house where we live. I had also seen a gallery for jewelry made from repurposed objects. So armed with all the optimism we could muster and six of my floppy disc books we headed out into the big wide world.

And fell flat on our faces.

The market was looking for someone who could at least speak German but would prefer if they could speak both German and Russian. That put Paul out of the game. The gallery we went to was very nice but only wanted to sell jewelry and accessory items. No books. Dang.

Paul and I wandered the streets of the Altstadt while recovering from our wounds. Double denial, double slam. It didn’t feel so good.

However, as we wandered around I found a shop which was interesing. It had hipster written all over it. I went inside and introduced myself to Nora, one of the shop owners. I told the very very very brief version of my story: I am an artist who moved to Düsseldorf from California and I made books. I showed her my floppy disc books and she seemed interested in possibly selling them. I left my contact information and a book with her for an example. I will check back next week.

We left and I felt a little proud of myself. For me, the hardest part of the art world is being my own promoter. I usually leave this up to Paul or my friends. The problem right now is Paul doesn’t speak German and my friends aren’t here. I have to do it myself.

While I was basking in my own bravery Paul and I passed an Irish Pub with a sign in the window, “English speaking help wanted. Apply within.”

Within we went.

We met Anna, ordered two cokes and inquired about the jobs. Anna was very nice and asked us to write down all our information on a Bitburger notepad. This was our application. She seemed pretty confident we would be contacted by the owner soon.

I also decided to try posting some proposals for writing gigs on a freelance site. Imagine how stoked I am two of the three proposals have responded! Someone is going to PAY money to ME to WRITE! It’s not much, but it is alot of practice and a way to bolster my writing portfolio. Either way I will be getting PAID to WRITE!

As if I needed all my good news in one afternoon, the owner of the pub called that same afternoon. He didn’t have a job for Paul right now, but he did have one for me. He asked me to come in today to do a three hour trial (which seems to be standard procedure for these types of jobs in Germany). I went in, did my trial and will be starting next week!

Today, while I was doing my trial by fire, Paul was hustling too. He went door to door looking for a job. He has a trial of his own working in a kitchen on Monday. So if all goes well we will both be employed by next week. It may be small starts but it at least gets our feet in some doors.

What a difference a week makes.

 

Paul and I are in Paris.

We are in Paris.

“We’re in Paris!” Kate’s exuberence spills over from the back seat. I have a knot in my stomach and a grin on my face as I try to help navigate Paul through marathon of Parisian traffic; all I can think is “please don’t send us to the arc, please don’t send us to the arc…”

The Arc De Triomphe; it is one of Paris’ most iconic monuments. The roundabout which circles it is one of the most iconic examples of driving in Paris: fast, laneless and eating tourists like us. “I got this.” says Paul, who is comfortable weaving in and out of the traffic, “It’s just like driving in LA.” 

But we’re not in LA.

We’re in Paris.

Grandma, our navigation system who is named so for the hungarian voice which was downloaded onto it, guides us to Rue De Lille where our destination is located. We begin to search for parking as soon as we turn left onto the street. Soon we pass number 48; the gallery where we are to meet our group. In the next block God performs a miracle and a shiny coup pulls out of their spot. Paul parks and the knot in my stomach relaxes. Now I let my eyes roam the cityscape of Paris.

Paris is much.

It is the hustle of pedestrians. It is the feeling of being full in your mind. Everywhere you look your gaze is sweetened; the city is massive and too small at the same time.

Paul and I are staying in the apartment of a young lady who is out of town. Our guide shows us the way; the first leg of the journey is to walk through the Louvre. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. We arrive at the apartment building, number 15. Through the main door into a courtyard then up a staircase which greets you like a grandmother; worn, warm and welcoming. The door to the apartment looks as though it is carved out of the wall. The apartment is miniture; as if it was an after thought to the builder. It is perfect.

“I want one.”

“I know you do.” Paul smiles.

The muchness of Paris could be overwhelming if you are not careful or carefully guided. Luckily on this trip we are both; but this is best left for another post.

Continuing the adventure,

Jessica 

 

 

The other day, I tried to capture our local forrest in words. Today I went back and tried to capture it in image. Enjoy.

Everywhere we walk is a blanket of leaves.

Where there are not enough leaves more float down from above us like butterflies which have fallen asleep in the air. If we look to the arcs of branches above us sunlight filters through their pattern of color like church windows. Greens, reds, and yellows become transulecnt and draw your eye higher to the clear blue above them. Somehow you know God is in this place.

Everything here seems gentle. The way the breeze tangles it’s fingers around the leaves; the way our foot falls are softened and the city noise is forgotten all fill the air with breath like a child sleeping. I hear him sigh and look up; suddenly I am caught in a flock of schmetterlings. 

We are surrounded.

The leaves fall faster now and I can hear them chatter above my head. I pause; smile and look at Paul. He must see something reflective of joy in my face. He shines the way he does when he knows I am happy.

He asks me what I am thinking about.

I tell him that you can hear the leaves talk. He wants to know what they are saying. I don’t know. I tell him I can’t understand them.

But they speak in a language which makes my heart happy. 

For those of you who don’t know, I’ve written a novel.

It was a great and crazy experience, and something I attempted with a bit of smug pride. I will totally admit that after reading a certain vampire series the thought which went through my mind was, “If she can do it, so can I.”

The good news is the result was my first novel.

The bad news is the result was my first novel.

What I mean to say is that I took on an ambitious goal and I completed it. However, the book has some flaws in it which point out my lack of experience in writing something 60,000 words long. So now as I find myself ready to delve in the process of writing a new book I am trying to take a more critical look at my process and how I can write a better novel this time.

First of all, I want to get to know my characters better. I want dive deep into who they are and maybe do more excersices in allowing them to speak. One of the constructive critisms I received about my first book was about how my characters were not defined by the words they used, the uncle could have been the father, could have been the main character, could have been the villian.

Second, I want to know where the story goes as I write. I wrote the first book without much planning. I started at the beginning and wrote it through to the end, or more accurately until I cut it off. Since I did not have a plan the story could have kept going on forever and it does actually leave the reader in a serious cliffhanger. I also had some major holes in the story and places where the timeline didn’t always meet up correctly, so I had to go back and fix them. The experience was a little like plugging holes in a sinking ship; as soon as I fixed one issue there was a new one.

Lastly, I want to get help. When I wrote the first novel I had a cheerleader which is one of the reasons why I was able to finish the book. I sent chapters as I was writing them to a friend of mine who loved everything I wrote. This was very encouraging, however, I am dreamy sort of writer who is often not bothered by things like grammer and my spelling is atrocious. This was another criticism I received and which I find important to correct.

So tell me, do you have any suggestions on how to write better? What does your process look like?

Paying bills is important.

Being a responsible adult who can contribute to my family’s wellness and overall care is important.

Sometimes I fear responsibilty will drown me.

It is this tension in which I live: the necessities versus the dreams. It is the place I lived when I studied German and thought I would never use my actual degree. It is the place I lived when I opened my own business and was a waitress. It is the place I lived when I was working in ecommerce and trying to finish the last edit of my book. It is the place I am living in as I scoure want ads in another language.

This address of mine is sometimes enthralling and very often exhausting. It sometimes makes me wonder if I ever made a right decision in my entire life, you know, all 26 years of it.

I, like so many people in my life, am trying to find a balance. How do I be an adventurer and a tax payer? How do give my time to neccessities without robbing my dreams? How do I make it work?

The only answer I have come up with is to keep on trekking. Keep going. Keep perservering. Keep writing, creating, and feeding the flame which burns inside. Oh, and go to work the next morning; that is, as soon as I get a job again.

Continuing the adventure,

Jessica