I have this document where I keep my ideas (the collection of things I want to tell you about). In the shuffle of moving, I lost it. Panic set in—hard. I’ll never have an idea again!
Clearly I found comfort in the backlog of random ideas. Even ridiculous things like “potato vs. potato chip” or “total yearly mileage of a mailman” meant I’d never be idea-less.
Evidently chickpeas, body wash and vitamins aren’t the only things I hoard. (Thankfully I didn’t lose them too. Only one safety net at a time!)
Well, I should probably be more careful with my idea vault? Bigger picture: Sometimes, the-way-we-do-things gets thrown off-kilter. But our processes don’t define us! We gotta have faith. As sure as the mailman gets more exercise than I do—we will prevail!
Want an idea vault for yourself? Here’s how:
- Stockpile ideas for upcoming newsletters and blog posts: include random thoughts, silly sentences, inspiring words, puzzling topics and questions clients ask you.
- Keep it someplace safer than I did.
With enough body wash for everyone,
I had this adorable little idea in my head:
Finding a house would be like it is on HGTV’s House Hunters. We’d find three suitable homes and agree on the perfect one over a glass of wine—all while my hair looked perfect. Plus, I’d be far less annoying than the usual house hunters. I don’t care about granite countertops, I’m not scared of a little wood paneling, and I’d never utter the term (that makes my fists rise in fury), “price point.”After seeing the world’s most claustrophobia-inducing box (house #12), only Cadbury Creme Eggs could keep hope alive. Realtor, hubby and I ate them while I muttered, “At least there’s chocolate…”
Words are easier to find than houses. Each house has its gems, for sure, but I can’t exactly smoosh them all together into the perfect abode. It’s not like writing web copy—where we tour the inner hallways of your brand empire and I build a house that authentically represents you. Need a web-word chateau—complete with stunning views (into you)? I’ll be your extremely patient and thorough guide.
Wood paneling: Bring it on,
This morning, as I’m drinking my nutmeg-spiced coffee (it makes every day taste like Christmas!) I’m thinking about connections. I think all of life’s goodness comes from connections. That’s why I named my business Connect with Copy—because connecting is everything.
When you read these notes, partner with me on projects, or reach out to say hello, it’s you who keeps my business moving forward—and you who keeps me smiling. You make my day more often than you know. With nutmeg-spiced gratitude,
Every summer, I go on vacation with my parents. Inevitably, at the absurd hour of 5:55 AM, there are bagels and coffee on the kitchen table—and my dad is waiting in the (already packed) car. Does he even sleep? My dad insists on driving because the rest of us operate a vehicle like we’re “half asleep,” plus, “We don’t have all day!”
As my husband pulls our car up, I jump out and run inside. My brother is wearing pajamas and my mom is scurrying around, throwing chargers and Chapstick into a bag as my father (who has come back inside to collect his tardy family) carries the bag to the door. I succeed in buying everyone 10 more minutes.
You see, there are rules when going on Rienzo family vacation! We depart at 6 AM to beat traffic. Bladders must be entirely emptied before leaving because “Rest stops are for babies!”
At 6:10 AM, we are all in the car. My dad smiles and says, “We’re late!”
My dad is easily the most productive person I know. If he were writing this newsletter, it would have been done two weeks ago (at 6 AM, of course). To add a (clearly) scholarly element, I interviewed him:
- Me: “Dad, what’s the key to getting stuff done?”
- Dad: “Why are you always asking me crazy questions?”
- Me: “Come on, Dad, I’m serious.”
- Dad: “You just do it.”
- Me: “What if you don’t feel like it?”
- Dad: “You gotta suck it up and do it!”
So if, like me, you are struggling to make the transition from summer, let’s suck it up and do it. And if you need help getting to your writing destination, I promise to get you there at a reasonable hour, with no dilly-dallying.
Don’t worry—I write better than I drive,
Why can’t I be blonde?
Covered in stickers and stars, my diary from seventh grade fell to the floor. Inside I discovered pages of nonsense I’d written about my crush, Frankie. I was dismayed because Frankie only liked girls with blonde hair. With my full head of jet-black hair (that happened to be cut like Elvis), our love was obviously not meant to be. But I pined anyway. The anguish!
I laughed so hard while reading. Poor seventh grade me. I didn’t understand the importance of authentic branding! It’s plain as day—Frankie was not an ideal suitor. (Why was I trying to impress a cigarette-smoking, fight-starting 12-year-old anyway?)
Marketing is about impressing the people who will appreciate our extremely hot Elvis haircuts.
Here’s to the wonder of you,