Social Media Maven (in-the-making)

Oh, this poor blog. How I have neglected you so!

When you check your #WordPress site stats, do you ever see images run through your head, of people all over the world who’ve read your blog? In my case, the scant peoples who have read your blog.

If you’re like me, you’ve barely kept your blog alive with the occasional, sporadic and random ‘CPR post.’ When I birthed this blog in 2008, I wanted a place to share my creations on the interwebs. I was writing poetry, composing and recording songs, and taking a LOT of photos with my phone and the D-SLR camera I purchased on a whim, circa 2009.

However, as you can see in the graph below, my writing has been erratic and declining over the years. Note: I started graduate school in 2013. Not that I’m looking for an excuse.

Screen Shot 2017-06-29 at 1.29.49 AM

I’m in my last month of graduate school and, omg am I ready to exert my energies and brainpower toward what I want to do: Write.

Write and get paid for it. More specifically, I’ve been spending my days learning as much as I can about social media marketing and/or management. I want to utilize my writing chops as well as my systems-oriented skills.

I started in the Couple and Family Therapy Program at Antioch University Seattle; a year ago, I discovered that being a therapist was no longer my goal. When in internship, I felt anxious and insecure but now I know that those feelings were my body and subconscious mind trying to tell me something.

I changed course and transferred to the Non-Clinical Psychology Program. In lieu of working with clients, I’m conducting research for my final project. Research geek alert! The current title is, Examining the Potential of Utilizing Social Media to Address Employee #Depression. (It’s my study, I get to put a hashtag in the title of a research paper if I want.)

All this to say, I am soaking up social media like a sponge on a hot summer’s day.

It occurred to me that I can share the little tips and tricks I’ve been learning with all of you wonderful readers, but not on silent retreat (this blog.)

I’ve decided to close this chapter of my #bloglife and start anew. This blog’s not going anywhere, though.

My new blog will be on odawni.com (don’t look yet – it’s not ready!), where I’ll share my social media ventures, pearls and perils. The huge roadblock of not having professional experience has earned me many kind “thanks but no thanks” responses. It’s frustrating!

On my new blog, I plan to write articles that I curate to learn and practice skills that’ll get me closer to my goal: To metamorphose in to a Social Media Maven.

What you can expect: infographics galore; practice creating products like landing pages and white papers (stuff I don’t know – yet); a series of logos I make for imaginary brands; my frustrations and insights; bad puns and poetry about social media. It’s gonna be geekalicious. (I’m joining the GeekGirlCon team this year as a volunteer copywriter, so the nerd factor is gonna be at an all-time high, folks.)

In the meantime, you can check out my latest pieces in my writing portfolio.

When odawni.com is ready, I would love your company. ‚̧

Screen Shot 2017-06-28 at 4.49.50 PM

My first practice logo. Made with #OnlineLogoMaker.

 
 

A salvo of magic into the world.

I’ve been sleeping terribly the last few days.
(or do I feel that way every day?)

I just realized why.
(and it’s a good reason why)

ūüôā

There are so many creative project ideas in my head.
(thatIwanttothrust a salvo of magic into the world!)

I want to do it all.  (I feel good)
and that makes me happy.

{that’s not a hyperlink, #beeteedubz.
#bluetext
#iwonderhowmanypeopleclickedon”good?”} ¬† ¬† ¬† ¬† anyway

That’s why
I’ve been getting
terrible
sleep.

[HASHTAG]nightynight

Image128

Let it fall.

October 6, 2015

This song is part of a final assignment I wrote, performed, and submitted for my Buddhism Psychology class.

On the outside, you see:¬†showered, dressed, freshly brushed teeth.

Here’s the thing. I’ve been stumbling through the past couple of years of grad school in the unpredictable and impervious current of depression. I have managed my way through. I’ve stood upright at least once every day. I take my medication with food. I reach out to friends and family sometimes. sometimes. I see my therapist. On the days I want to hide away and bury my head in my cat’s soft, warm tummy, I push myself to walk the 20 feet to the mailbox across the driveway. Other days I run my 3.2 mile route to¬†Meridian and bounce¬†back on the Interurban Trail. Sometimes I force smiles at passersby. Sometimes the smiles are spontaneous. Surprises. they’re real. Felt.

This dichotomous existence of depressed and ‘un-depressed.’ It’s exhaustive. It’s distracting. Its splindle-y fingers like to play with my hair. and tie knots in my clothes. Some days I stick my tongue at depression. And then. again.¬†I find¬†myself at the edge of its undertow. Grabbing¬†my tongue from choking my throat. Clenching¬†my neck¬†from tearing away. In my head, my mush-of-a-brain swirls and squishes out thoughts. black sticky thoughts that barely convince me that I’m not whole and I can’t be. that I’m broken and bruise easily. that I’m not worth the wait and it’s easier to cut loose. that I’m not meant for this world. and it’s not meant for me. it’s not my oyster. it’s not my playground. it’s not my anything.

And in my head, where these wicked mumblings meander through mush. I tap it on the shoulder. scream in its ear. and I say what I always say, “Shut the fuck up!Shut the fuck up!Shut the fuck up!” “You’re not winning.”¬†We’ve had this conversation before.

Persipacious.

Coaster poetry for Christi, who provided the inspirational word:

Persipacious.

You say blue, I say gray. You see the sun, I see turbulence, vitriol, and mangled decay. You always wanted to live then. French Revolution. In your sodded petticoat and shaved matted hair, swept down cobblestone streets in this week’s ferment. Will you regret that you pushed me out the window? or do you just like the sound of “defenestration”, the way it rolls off your forked tongue? You use to scrub your eyeballs clean.

Sublime.

Coaster poetry for Rachel, who provided the inspirational word:

Sublime.

wait. yell my name in to the ceiling. I’ll do it too, with yours. but you have to look up. up up up up. they watch us through the rafters and let them go. the sounds. if. we push just perfectly. Do you hear them laugh when we pretend? Winks are echoed through eyelashes. eyelashes dance upon cheeks like trees on breezes. You are my favorite tree. I don’t give words to the truths I carry. They’re just for us. just for us and scream when I scream.

Homeopropriostasis

Coaster poem for Natasha Livesly, who provided the inspirational (and homegrown!) word:

Homeopropriostasis.

place the stone. you place the stone. it balances. the way the tufts do to the core before you blow. they dance as newborns before they walk. they dance to words they don’t yet know. to be words or other things. a garbage truck. an ice cream truck. they smile anyway. pick your nose like you pick flowers. with care and calm. craft your moments. share your wishes. crawl to allow mute to speak. Frankenstein your life. freezer pop your lips. look at all this bliss. it’s an old country buffet. cake bits mixed in with everything. everything. go on. pick up a spoon.

Perfect plastic limbs.

the place i thought was just a dream. a bad one. the place i thought that’d shut its gates. rusted shut. encrusted in messy overgrowth. the place i thought that wasted away. recessed past the gray. matter-of-fact. place that i can’t touch. don’t want to touch. that hurts to touch. has extended its pricks and pins and needles. to pierce my flesh. again.

here is dark. here is an empty heavy lofty dark. no laws. no ditches. no perfect plastic limbs. no juicy sweet. no salted rims. no cataclysmic jellyfish. to wrap and tangle. strangle. choke. giving you a Heimlich. to upchuck the wicked sticky ball of reality. that tries to kill you. kill you slowly. as it makes its way up.

My lips upon your warm powdery cheeks.

my lips upon your warm powdery cheeks.
closed eyes,
i think of these

moments:

1) kisses on your forehead
2) nibbles of your feet

before
i know
if you will be
here.

Written Thursday, September 26th, 2013.

The love he found.

of my 3 dear brothers, i’ve spent the most time with Anton (Tony). we used to fight as kids. all the time. but, just before he left for college and i was starting high school, he and i formed a bond. seemingly, all of a sudden. we got along. we composed songs. he played guitar, i sang. the lyrics were fraught with teenage angst-y metaphors like being locked in a tower. and someone threw away the key. (deep stuff) he never judged.

over the past 10 years, tony and i have lived together 3 times. we lived together for a few years recently, until he moved out early this year. and moved in with the love of his life: Sarah.

i’ll miss his infectious laughter. his frustrating logic and solution-oriented responses when all i want to do is vent. i’ll miss lobbing back-and-forth the made-up words and strange sounds we’ve acquired over the years.

i’ve been hoping for Tony to find his partner. and i’ve often wondered what she would be like. i wanted her to be fun, kind, intelligent, caring, social, a traveler, and family-oriented. Sarah is all of those things. all of those things and more. she’s a beautiful person. she has become one of my best friends. and now. she’s my sister. she’s the love that Tony found.¬†she’s the love he married on July 13th, 2013.

i have never seen him happier.

tonysarah_kiss

saraho_hug

Photos by Molly Landreth.