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. ❤

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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)

🙂

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

Inside and inside out.

I fucked up. I made mistakes. I regret them. I am learning from them. I am losing from them. I am dying inside from them. Inside and inside out.

I thought I had figured out more about myself than I have. I thought I had figured out more about you than I have. All of you. But mostly you.

I look for the silver lining without getting carried away. There are shiny things to reach for and hold onto. Forgivenesses wrapped in all the things you don’t want done to you, all the things you don’t want to do to others.

I wade in the sludge of the black inside the silver lines. Before any changes can be made.

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.

Petrichor.

my clothes were 5 lbs. from soggy sidewalk to garbage bag. I pretended it was normal stuff. I always fold laundry on the sidewalk. in the rain. And I cry. It makes me happy. Brings me joy. to do this. with an audience. spontaneous performance of raw moments. Only people like me are able to experience. I had no ring leader. No rehearsals. No music sheet. Just a nose. eyes. a mouth. The ability to see the rain. and smell it perfume the street. eau du realité. I relish the taste. of you. leaving me.

Appropriate shapes. at apropos times.

I don’t have the luxury of knowing I’ll feel OK today.

I’m not assured that my confidence won’t waver
to an adolescent level tomorrow.
or that I’ll cancel plans tonight

because I feel like I can’t get up.
because showering and picking out clothes.
and seeing my image in the mirror
all sound so exhaustingly exhausting.

socializing would be frightful.
and I would be the plastic wall flower
on the fringes again.
bench pressing smiles on my face.
desperately lighting synapse wicks in my brain
trying to keep up with

what’s going on around me.

around all of these smiling faces
and laughy laughs.
listening for cues
to scrunch and stretch my cheeks.
lips.nose.forehead.chin.eyelids.

into appropriate shapes.
at apropos times.


– Written Friday, March 21st, 2014.

Teal i imagined.

teal. i imagined a teal skirt.
twirled over tile.
cold tile under bare feet. 2 pairs.
one pair up in the air.
plucked by tickling fingers.
tickled by a tug.
a tug of teal. a tug of
a twirled teal skirt.

Written Sunday, May 12th, 2013 @ 4:19pm waiting for the ferry in Kingston.

Through the pages.

I thought I had lost a leather-bound journal given to me by a friend in 2002. I thought I had lost it in a fire. but I didn’t. It was in one of the boxes of things I stored at my parents’ house. I probably stowed it away because it was too painful to keep around. It was given to me during one of the most difficult times in my life. And here it is. spine ready for a backbend. to show me its insides. and remember. This is the last piece I wrote before tucking it away. on a page marking a third of the way through the pages.

nothing for the weak at heart
pastel walls to soothe the nerves in blues
watch out for the claw traps
when you’ve just kicked off your shoes
powder puff in muscle tees
shined up shoes with wounded knees
try the chicken Bolognese
and listen for the wake-up call tomorrow
desert winds on parched skin
the babies snooze in tuxes
and momma in her sequined evening gown
strolls him around the slot machines.

Written Sunday, May 25th, 2003.