{Originally published on Velveteen Mind}

When we finally decided that we were done having babies (you know, before we found out that we were pregnant with our third. ahem.), I spent some time mourning the little baby girl that I would never have. Mourning is the best way I can describe it because it truly did feel like a loss.

I am a girl. That’s fairly obvious given the creation of babies in ze belly, but I’m not a girly-girl. Perhaps the girliest thing about me is that I have always wanted to have a girl. I’ve always had those little baby daughter fantasies.

Before we find out if this new baby is a girl or a boy, either of which I would be thrilled about (well, thrilled if it’s a boy, thrilled and terrified if it’s a girl), I feel like this is my last chance to capture these “what if it’s a girl/what if I never have a girl” feelings.

A few months before I found out about our new baby, I was watching a movie that included a scene of a mother and small daughter taking a bubble bath together. With no warning, I found myself crying. The feminine tenderness of the image knocked around within an empty spot in my heart and left me breathless. I wanted that and had decided that I would no longer pursue it. Happily decided so, with no less than a heaping helping of relief, but it was a loss nonetheless.

We all give up on certain dreams throughout our lives, often for sound reasons, but we mourn the loss of their warm glow just the same. These dreams that have kept us company and occupied a bit of our imagination for so many years. For me, it was the image of my dream daughter peeking around corners of my mind any time I would see a little girl that reminded me of her.

My daughter. The one that exists in my mind has long dark, curly hair. Her eyes are almond-shaped and deep brown. Her skin is the olive of her father’s. She is the one child of my three that looks more Lebanese than Irish. Who would have ever imagined that my Irish genes would put the beat-down on my husband’s Lebanese stronghold?

She is the mysterious princess that might not fit in quite so well while growing up but that all of the boys will clamor for when she grows into her own. She is a woman beyond her years from the moment she is born, yet full of mischief and light.

I celebrate my daughter.

{Originally Published on Food Loves Writing}

Morning, and the kitchen is quiet, with sunlight streaming across the sink and onto the wood floors, and I pour coffee, grab my lunch, take my keys from the little basket by the door. There will be 20 minutes at least, between me and the office, along expressways of commuters, and I will look at them, talking on their phones, singing with their radios, glancing at their watches, before I park and walk inside, up stairs to my desk, to begin the work day, to talk with my coworkers and double-check spellings at Merriam-Webster and watch the geese fly past my window and onto the roof.

5:30, and I’m getting in my car, like I’ve done so many times, and I’m stopping by the train station, like I do every day, and I’m walking in my front door, and I’m eating dinner, again. It’s spring here—when did spring come? Weren’t we just talking about fall and winter and how I hated the snow? The light lasts longer now, and the days are warmer, rainy. I take it all, eagerly, greedily, like it will never end.

You know, I’m only 26—I find myself throwing the only in there more and more, the way it’s inserted into excuses from guilty children like, I only skipped one homework assignment or I only said that because the other kids did. But as much as I know we are guaranteed nothing, in terms of time, in terms of living, I also know 26 is, usually, not a lot of life to have lived and, usually, it’s not enough time to warrant strong opinions or heavy reminiscing. But I do: I look at the moments around me—the way the grass looks when it’s wet, shiny with dew and fragrant with summer; how my mom makes me laugh when she does, when her mouth closes and her nose widens and her eyes slant, just slightly, as her body shakes, like her mother’s did; the kindness someone shows you when he carries in your bags, so you don’t have to—and I think, I am living this.

This, right here—the morning coffee and the conversation and the drive home in daylight to a cozy evening with a book and blankets—this is life, and it’s a gift, and I am living this.

{Originally Published on This Woman’s Work}

I am blurry on the details. Both my parents were home, which makes me think it may have been a weekend. (My dad traveled most weekdays.) Also it was summer. I know this because I was in my underwear and a t-shirt. We were not a walk-around-in-your-underwear kind of family (not like my kids who regularly streak down the hall in little else) and I remember feeling quite daring for wearing a t-shirt and underwear to bed like my friend said she did. So I know I was already feeling a little over-exposed. And it must have been evening since I was (un)dressed for bed but I’m not sure how old I was. I want to say ten, maybe. Maybe eleven. It was before the divorce (because my dad was there) so let’s say ten.

I can’t remember — did my parents call me downstairs? Or did I come down to tell them something on my own? I also don’t remember exactly what they said but I do remember their worried, compassionate wrinkled brows and their assurances that they loved me. And I remember something vague about my dad having been a fat kid and how he didn’t want me to suffer the way he’d suffered. (But this adds to my confusion — maybe my father wasn’t there. Maybe he left it to my mom to tell me and I remember him being there because I remember my mom saying this. Or maybe she said this after this initial confrontation. It’s all a blur.)

I know they told me I was putting on a little too much weight, that maybe I needed to watch it a little because I was getting, well, I was getting chubby.

This is what stays with me: The cold, cold shame freezing my stomach and making my vision turn wide then small. My awareness of my physical vulnerability in my t-shirt and underwear. My want to disappear, pull a blanket over me. And my shock because no one — NO ONE — ever told me I was fat. No one had ever said these words to me. So the irony is that my parents wanted to protect me from the cruelty of other children but the only people who had ever told me I was fat were my parents who were telling me now. And this is also what stays with me: that spinning, empty feeling around my limbs as I realized that I did not know myself or my body. That my legs and arms and tummy were no longer close and familiar but were enemies bent on fooling me. Where I had felt strong and pretty, I now knew I had been mistaken and then I realized I had been a fool walking around in the world feeling good about myself because it was a secret from me, the way that other people saw me. And that was the shame that has, frankly, never left me. And this is a shame that I still feel around my family more than I feel it around anyone else because they were the ones to tell me.

{Originally published on Chris Brogan}

Marketing a product is hard. Think about it. If you’re the chief storyteller of Skype right now, what are you going to say about the product that will encourage more usage, more uptake, more awareness? The product is fairly solid, has a known set of features, and is one of a few “name brand” products in the Voice over IP space. So what can you say about it?

Companies face this trouble all the time. What will you say about Pepsi? How will you talk about the Ford Flex tomorrow? What should Titleist tell you about their Pro V1 balls?

The Stories You Can Tell

• Talk about the people. Who drives a Flex?
• Talk about success. Who used Pro V1 balls to change their game?
• Talk about change. Did Pepsi help a community with an important project?

One often-used point of view for storytelling is of the newcomer. For instance, in the upcoming movie Coraline, the story features a young girl who discovers a mirror world where things are much darker and more strange. We see this world as she discovers it, from over her shoulder, so that we’re both discovering it, Coraline and you, at the same time.

Companies are looking at Blogger Relations programs like this. Find storytellers who can explore something and discover it with you over her shoulder. It’s a way to shut out the omniscient voice of marketing from above and to introduce the perspective of someone from the outside looking in.

If you’re Skype, maybe the story becomes how a small village in a corner of Romania learns how Skype connects them to the rest of the world. The story becomes about the people who bring the service to the village, and how things change with it in place. No part of the story talks about emoticons, video in mood, or any other features. It talks about humans and how they experience the product.

Tell Small Stories Well - Idea Handles

When I discover new things, I share what I learn. You probably do, too. When we learn new things, one way we retain them is by teaching others as soon as we have opportunity to do so. Can you tell small stories that come complete with “idea handles?”

{Originally published on Writing Roads}

I’m not sure if there is such a thing, but I’ve decided that today is make up a new word day. Honestly, as a writer, every day is make up a new word day. I feel totally fine with bending, twisting and manipulating the English language (and some others as well). My newest word is ’sarcasticate’ and it means: to make something sarcastic. It’s a verb. I like it so much, I’m writing a whole post about it, and here it is.

Sometimes, I wish I could write code or do computer programming. First of all, it would make me smarter and more able. Secondly, it would help me with an issue that I keep running into.

You see, I can make things bold. I can italicize. I can underline. I can even strikethrough. But, I can’t sarcasticate.

Even using those smiley face emotive icons, there isn’t one that means sarcastic. They have sad, mad, kissey, sick - all of those are easily visible states of being. But sarcastic? Not so much.

It seems that sarcastication, while writing on the internet must actually be conveyed through words. There is no help. And, while I do think it’s safe to say that I have the sarcasticating gene, I also think that the reader has to have that gene too…and some brain power. Not to mention the fact that you must have actual reality downpat before you can get the sarcasm. So, conceivably, my sarcastications could be missed by some readers because of their own ineptitude or because I might be having an off day.

Without the sound of my voice, I rely on my written words…because I’m a writer…that’s the point, I get it. And, I’m thrilled that while code and program can’t currently help me sarcasticate, I can mold my meaning with my words (those that are real and those that I’ve composed).

The nature of blogging is temperamental, as the nature of bloggers tends to be willful and unpredictable. The really enthralling ones, at least. You see it in your favorite blogs: wildly passionate daily posts one month, barely connected erratic ramblings the next.

Blogging, for the most part, is best enjoyed when you can afford focus and energy, on both the parts of the writer and the reader. No one really enjoys those “I’m too busy to blog” posts, but bloggers usually have “real” jobs and responsibilities that result in our being “too busy to blog” occasionally. What to do… what to do?

I’ve always been a big fan of the unplanned hiatus, personally. My friends say it is because I prefer a sense of mystery. I say I just loathe those “I’m taking a break” posts.

Therefore, rather than plate a pile of misshappen half-baked cookies for you the last couple of months, Blog Nosh Magazine has been on a bit of an unplanned hiatus. We kept thinking we were going to update, then we got busy. Life. Who knew?

More precisely, 2008… Seriously, who knew?

The end of 2008 has come and all of us at Blog Nosh Magazine are looking forward to an energized and focused new year in 2009. Our resolutions? The return of daily featured posts, new NoshTube videos, and the launch of the promisingly tempting channels Race & Ethnicity, Travel & Expats, Personal Finance, Military, and more. We are finally revamping our Editors page and sprucing up the “About” information you all crave when considering submitting your work.

In the meantime, I am insanely proud to introduce you to one of our new Politics Channel Editors: Mr Lady from Whiskey in my Sippy Cup. Now that we see how well Blog Nosh Magazine can work, we are actively fleshing out the channels with as much diversity as we can get our hands on. Naturally, the flip side of the political coin was at the top of our list. Mr Lady’s post, What a Dream I Had, Pressed in Organdy, is the ideal introduction and hint of what finds you may expect from her.

Look for delicious daily posts beginning again January 5th! Until then, nosh on!

Nosh Notes by Publisher & Editor-in-Chief Megan Jordan from Velveteen Mind

{Originally published on Bird on a Wire}

This is not a plea for comments for THIS blog. I talk about my chronic commentitis here. I use my blog only as a reference point. Instead, this is a reminder that comments are like chocolate, really good if they’re rich and have some substance to them. And that if you can’t comment, you can still help out the bloggers that you like. A big shout out to Mommie Pie and Bloghernot 2008. I’ll be participating in a big way!

At the time of this blog posting, over 543 people receive this blog in their RSS reader (or via email).
Another 2,000 - 4,000 come to the site directly, depending on the day and the post. Add those up, and let’s say that around 5,000 people come here daily to read my stuff. (Hey, don’t laugh, I’m pretty jazzed about those numbers.)

If 1% of you commented, that’d be 50. (I’m bad at math. Did I do that right?) The average post on here gets a respectable 10 or so comments, but that’s about 1/3 of 1% then, of the folks who get a copy of each post. Ok, enough of the math class stuff.

This got me thinking about the other great blogs that I love.

I read several hundred blog posts a day. I comment on maybe five or six, if there is something I feel compelled to say. So I’m in there with you. I’m not commenting much, either. Does that make us bad ? Not really. If I’m able to leave a decent and thoughtful comment, I know that the other blogger will appreciate it. Sometimes, I even get a nice little email from them saying so. Comment Relish is a great little Word Press plug in that sends an e-mail message to users who comment on your website who have never commented before.

{Originally published on The Bloggess}

Yesterday someone asked me how to deal with trolls and haters. I have no damn idea.

Trolls are just like you and me. Only shittier. Or more honest. Or likely to murder gypsies. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m not a mind reader. I don’t know the motivation of everyone reading your blog but what I do know is that in real life you come across assholes and weirdos and someone out there is selling computers to these people. People like the guy who left me this comment:

“I was right, you aren’t that hot. Damn.”

I didn’t mind that some stranger thought I was un-hot but what was disconcerting was that in the photo the guy was referring to? I was seven. And totally hot.

The chocolate-smudged face of Blog Nosh Magazine is in the process of changing. For the better. We are loosening our belt to make room for more delectable goodness, and eyeing some snazzy new pants with an elastic waistband.

In other words, the response to our call for new channels and new Channel Editors has been overwhelming and we are moving forward with a move to WordPress, complete with a new layout and easier navigation.

Look for the relaunch of Blog Nosh Magazine the second week of September. In the meantime, I’d like to introduce you to one of the new editors we brought in before the open call and are eager to see what she will bring to the table:

Deb on the Rocks!

Okay, it sure seems like we keep bringing women in and still no men, but they are coming. Speaking of coming, let’s talk more about Deb. wink wink

(click title for more)

Sometimes I am simply madly in love with this magazine. Blog Nosh Magazine has changed the way I read blogs, as I now approach the internet as one massive This American Life story. On my better days, I so fancy myself as Ira Glass. (tongue firmly planted in cheek, thank you.) So many different perspectives, so much to find, opening my eyes to stories I may never have heard before if it were not for blogs. If it were not for your willingness to open your lives to us.

Our goal for Blog Nosh Magazine is to deliver as many diverse perspectives as possible, across numerous topics and genres, many of which you may never have been exposed to in your daily reading, let alone daily real life. This is made possibly by the work of our Channel Editors, of which we have close to 40. But even with a team that size, it is still not enough.

We need more. We need more eyes. More minds. More guts. More hearts.

(click title for more)