My Top Six Things from Top Six Things, a list of lists by Clinton Forry:
Only two months old and I’m already excited for the book deal.
Hey, you guys. Remember back in November when I said I was starting a content strategy blog and that I was pretty excited about it?
Well, I started a content strategy blog. And I’m pretty excited about it.
What are you waiting for? Go visit Eating Elephant. And learn about content strategy, you nerd.
Issues Considered: Blogging, Career, Content Strategy, Eating Elephant, Meta
A blog is measured by its productivity. Or, it’s measured by its quality. It’s measured by different things by different people in different situations, and those different factors lead to different differences. No one knows what a successful blog is, outside of “this blog makes me money, dawg.”
So you make it up. And that’s okay, because this is blogging, people. This is ego massaging. This is free-form writing, and there aren’t many rules, and if you think there are then you’re probably doing it wrong.
But sometimes, we get stuck looking for rules.
Which is why this is the first blog post on Black Marks on Wood Pulp in two weeks. (Official meta note: that’s the longest stretch without content the site has seen since not being a site at all.)
Why? Dunno. It’s 100% mental.
Because I read a lot of blog posts from a lot of people who are very good at writing blog posts, and a constant stream of great blog posts gives the illusion that every post is perfect and that I need to pick up my game.
Instead of getting hits when I can, I’ve been aiming for home runs. I’ve been waiting for the perfect pitch. I’ve been striking out looking.
I’ve tricked myself into thinking that there’s this one blog out there that posts something brilliant every day. Nope. Not true.
Instead, there’s thousands of blogs out there that, as a collective, through sheer numbers, post one or two great things each day. And fail. Hundreds of times each day.
Fail? Nah. That’s not right at all. They simply don’t resonate as far as those great ones. But they’re still there, and they’ve still done something, and that consistency of hits goes a long way toward making the home runs worth something.
In other words: sorry I’ve been gone. Crisis averted, I guess.
On Friday night, Kerrie and I talked about how great it would be to have a service that compiled your recipes, instinctively reading and separating the ingredients and organizing them through some tagging structure. Because as fantastic as Epicurious is, it’s limited to its recipe box, and we have a lot of recipes that aren’t in that box.
“That would be great,” we said. “I can’t wait for someone to figure that out,” we said.
Today during her presentation at Confab, Mandy Brown of Typekit/A Book Apart mentioned, offhandedly, that she would love – and would totally pay for – a Pinboard-like service for recipes. Like whoa, I was just talking about that, and, like whoa, I am thrilled someone else is looking for that type of service. Like whoa.
And then I ran into Daniel Eizans, and mentioned how funny it was that the “recipe compiling service need” was brought up, because, OMG LIKE ME TOO, and Daniel says, “OH HAI YOU MEAN LIKE THIS?”
Like this = Pepperplate.
And yes. I do mean like this.
The Internet, you guys. You say “I wish this was a thing” and it responds by saying “Dude, it already is.”
Fourteen years ago, I went to the Lincoln High School senior prom. Tonight, I went back.
Then, it was the El Riad Shrine Mosque. Then, I was dressed in a black tux with a blue pocket square, with my date and then-girlfriend wearing a matching blue dress. My friends were there. My future wife was there. And though I’ve never been much of a dancer or public performer, I gave in. I loosened up. I had fun.
Tonight, it was also The El Riad Shrine Mosque. Tonight, I was dressed in a black vest, weighed down by a camera and flash, sweating as much as I did in that tux but for a COMPLETELY different reason this time.
I didn’t participate. I only took pictures. And I had a blast.
I had forgotten in the past 14 years just how fresh faced we were, and what’s amazing is that these kids are no different. Senior prom is the last step before graduation. It’s the last stand for teenage butterflies, our queasiness shifting from girls and boys to “life after high school,” our friends becoming memories and our relationships becoming real.
Everyone smiled. Everyone danced. Everyone sang. The DJ would drop another song, and the crowd would rise as one. With a kind of solidarity I know we didn’t have, they jumped and moved and acted in one movement. As a cohesive unit. Everyone, from the uneasy loners to the homecoming queen.
This wasn’t a class. This was a family. I’ll be honest: I didn’t think things like that happened in high school.
A lot has changed in the past 14 years. The music has changed. The trends have changed. My customs are no longer relevant. But there was still the same optimism and puppy love and excitement and bravery on that dance floor tonight. And a little grinding, yes. But mostly excitement and bravery.
Fourteen years ago, I went to my senior prom. I remember it for looking across the dance floor and falling in love with Kerrie. But it was also when I gave every last ounce I had, because it wasn’t long until graduation and who knew when we’d see each other again after that.
Tonight, they played Lady Gaga. The crowd roared in approval. The student body jumped in unison, their fists pumping the air as if they were forming a mosh pit at an Earth Crisis concert.
Then, goosebumps. Not from nostalgia, but from pride.
Issues Considered: Vilhauer