Moved!

I have gone to www.myplanbe.wordpress.com

Stop by and see me, sometime!

Jenn

Be Back To Work

Vacation time is over and it's time to get back on a schedule and get back to work. Except for one thing. I may not have as much work as I thought I was going to. One of my regular contracts is currently pending funding, so two days a week might be on hold for a little while. Luckily, I accepted a second contract (against my better judgment, before I knew my judgment was flawed), which will offer me two days a week of paid employment. Now I have exactly what I was complaining so heavily about not having for the past 3 months.

Ample time to write.

Hooray!

What do I do now?

Sometimes insight falls in your lap just when you need it the most, today in the form of this blog entry posted on the Facebook page of one active writer I know. It's about knowing your process. One small problem. I'm so new to writing, I have no process. I don't even know where to begin to find one.

My main skill seems to be riffing off what's around me, which works beautifully when I'm sitting at a show at Montreal Fashion Week, laughing my ass off with J and C over the crazy outfits coming down the runway, or touring fancy hotels with C, or debating the merits of one event versus another with D. Give me an assignment, a product, or even a kernel of an idea and I'm off to the races. But sit me down in front of a keyboard with nothing but an empty page in front of me and a TV full of two back-to-back episodes of Glee (or, forgive me, Jersey Shore, because I invented the freakin' poof) and my choice is easy. Hellloooo Couchy, my old friend!

I was chatting with a friend, today, who is looking to push forward in her business. I suggested she jump into social media, with a blog. Her business is fascinating. It's the kind of thing that everyone finds interesting, but not many people know much about. And she's got the kind of personality that could really pull in a following...a sharp wit surrounding a warm core. It's all about connecting with an audience, I advised. She worried that connecting would be the hardest part. I told her to just start writing and figure it out later.

You can't wait for that perfect inspiration. It's not coming.

Time to take my own advice.

So, now I have time. Back to it. Blogging as often as possible, whether the inspiration is near-perfect or far-from-it. This is all about practice for me, and practice makes...

Practice makes process.

Be Back to Work.

Be a Psychologist

It's been a very long time since I have written.

I've been very preoccupied with being a child psychologist, and for that I have to put my own feelings aside. It helps me to be impartial, but it's not very conducive to writing.

I have often said that, to be a psychologist, one does not choose a specialization. Rather, one is chosen by the specialization that is the least distressing. Since I began my training, in 1999, potential areas of specialization have narrowed themselves down for me. I knew that I couldn't do gerontology, forensic psychology, or couples therapy (but I am so glad there are people who can). There were the "worried well," the name we use for grown-ups who are mostly doing just fine, but consult a psychologist to help them deal with issues like why they hate their mother, why they love her too much, or why, despite all their blessings in life, they just can't be happy. I actually think self-actualization is a very useful therapeutic focus...but, quite frankly, I just wanted to smack these adults upside the head and tell them to get on with things. Not a particularly helpful characteristic in a therapist. I also tried working with very troubled adults with horrific histories, but somehow, it felt to me like just too little too late. It's not the case, by the way. Most people who want help can be helped. But because I felt that way, I would not be their best helper. So I left that work to those who would do it better than I could.

So when those psychologists who worked with adults who were very troubled, or very sick, or even the not-so-troubled would say to me: "How do you work with kids? It would make me cry every day," I never felt like any kind of hero, because their work would make me cry every day. Working with kids just made me feel like I was intervening early enough to change things. And kids are great. I've worked with kids who have terminal diseases, intellectual disabilities, Autism, ADHD, as well as kids who have been abused and neglected. No matter what has happened to them, most kids want to play, want to be praised, and want to do well. I usually go home feeling pretty good about the role that I have played in advancing their learning and well-being.

I went into intellectual disabilities and autism because I am a behaviourist. I believe people do things because of the rewards that they receive from their behaviours. I think insight is only relevant inasmuch as it informs us as to how our choices in life provide us with benefit. This point of view doesn't fly with adults, who seem to always want some kind of magical explanation that relieves them of their responsibility. You do what you do because, somehow, you like it. You may not understand why, but you do. But this works for kids, and especially kids with disabilities. I can get kids to do almost anything for stickers or praise. You'd be amazed.

So, for the past few months I've been assessing kids with autism and intellectual disabilities to determine their eligibility for services. Basically, all I need to do is administer basic IQ and adaptive behaviour scales, determine if the child is below the cut-off, and offer a simple "yes or no" response, with some recommendations based on their unique profiles. I don't need to have feelings for that. In fact, feelings get in the way.

The kids who come in to see me generally come in with their parents. The parents range in intelligence, competence, and warmth, but they are parents. I often do the assessments in a centre next to a McDonalds. Once the kids are done with me, they are hugged and they go get their special treat for lunch. I don't think all of them understand that they are getting a "treat," but the love is there, and that is enough.

But today I saw a little guy whose parents have long since given up. He's not yet a teenager, barely comes up to my waist, but he lives in a group home and is cared for by rotating social workers and educators. There was a need to determine whether he had an intellectual disability or not, so I did my part of the job.

He came in to see me with his social worker, he shook my hand and said he was pleased to meet me. He did his very best, his little brow furrowed as he worked to match block designs, choose matching pictures, and answer verbal comprehension questions. He did not complain, not even once. When praised for his good work, he simply responded "yes." And when he was done, his social worker took him back to the group home. There were no hugs, and I am quite certain that he didn't get to go to McDonald's.

For the first time in my career, I went back to my office and cried. And my range of potential clients narrowed even further.

Be a psychologist.

Be Not Going to Israel

Not a lot of people knew that I was supposed to be going to Israel for ten days at the end of this week. I hadn't talked about it very much. Perhaps I knew it wasn't meant to be. For those of you who knew I was going, well, now I am not. For those of you who did not know, continue on as you were.

It started out as a terrific idea. My dad had heard about a wonderful trip organized by a group in Israel in which about 60 women, from Israel and other parts of the world, would come together for an adventure driving jeeps through the desert. After some initial conversations with the organizers, an idea was devised whereby I would blog about the trip. It was presented to me as such: An all-expense paid trip to Israel, jeep adventure, blogging, and huge readership. There were a few other really cool women from Montreal already signed up to go. Heck, I was unemployed! How could I refuse?

Things began to unravel slowly. Despite being signed up, I had received very little communication from the organizers. I didn't know where we were going or what to bring. Then one Montrealer dropped out, for that very reason. Then another did, for personal reasons. Suddenly I was the only one going. But I was still up for the adventure.

Suddenly, not only did I have a job, I had two! But I had the time blocked off, I just needed to get enormous amounts of work done before leaving, including Fashion Week, leaving me very little time to focus on my upcoming travels. When people asked me about my trip, the weather in Israel during my travel time, the places I would be visiting...I had no answers. I felt like I was completely in the dark.

Then, finally, last week I received an email with additional information including my payment form and a medical form. Luckily I had set up a doctor's appointment a month earlier, without which it would have been almost impossible to get the information they needed in the time allotted. Anyone who has been in any kind of moving vehicle with me knows about my little motion sickness problem. I was booking myself a little travel insurance... a prescription for a anti-nausea patch. But with this came another problem. Apparently, these little patches have a risk for hallucinations. Hmmm...hallucinations vs. barfing. I was in for a bumpy ride.

It started to get a little more strange when, only days after receiving my payment form, I began to get angry phone calls from the trip organizers asking me to pay immediately. This sort of bristled, considering they had been so late in sending the forms and considering I don't love angry phone calls.

I began to talk to my family about my concerns. But was I just having cold feet? I tend to be a bit of a nervous traveller, but my jitters often subside as soon as the plane leaves the runway and I recall that there's a TV in front of me and I actually have NO CHOICE but to sit there and watch it. And I often have slight travel reluctance, but I'm always happy once I get to my destination. If I backed out now, would I regret it?

After a couple of post fashion week 10-hour sleeps left me feeling somewhat more capable of digesting information, I took some time to re-read all the information they had sent me. Waitasecond. The departure location had changed three times, to various different locations between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. I would need to change my hotel reservations and book further travel. The 60 women they had promised was now down to 30. They still hadn't told me where I would be sleeping. And was there even internet in the desert for me to be blogging?

I called my parents and spoke to them about my reservations. They admitted they had been feeling the same way. Three guts, all saying "don't go." It was definitely time to listen. When we called the Montreal liaison, we weren't surprised to find out that she was having her own doubts about the organization of the trip, and did not blame me one bit for pulling out.

The last straw for me came after I googled the trip's name and came across a video. In the clip from a previous trip, a bunch of women wearing matching t-shirts are hugging and singing some thematic song to the tune of Dancing Queen.

Hugging?!? Singing?!?! Matching t-shirts?!?!? ABBA???!??!!

I knew right then, this was not the trip for me. I'll go to Israel soon. I may even drive a jeep through a desert. But I will do it on my own terms. No ABBA included.

Be Not Going to Israel.

Be Blocked

Is this what they call writer's block?

When I first decided to throw myself headlong into a career in writing and started this blog, with the intention of sharpening my skills, I was seeing inspiration everywhere. I even wrote a blog post about a rat, for goodness' sake (although, it was a metaphor, of course). But for the last couple of weeks, I haven't had that "I should write something about that!" feeling. And I suppose that waiting for it to land on my head isn't going to make anything any better.

So, what the heck happened?

I seem to have gotten myself pretty busy. Between all my work applying for the internship and then all the wine I had to drink to make myself feel better for not getting it, I've had a pretty tight schedule. I've started a contract working as a clinical psychologist evaluating children to determine whether or not they have an intellectual disability , which is also quite taxing, despite only being two days of work per week. It's a bit of a system shocking transition to go from being a french psychologist in Ahuntsic to an english writer, and I don't seem to be able to switch it easily within a single day. And with the fall TV line-up, it's ever so easy to come home and kiss my PVR hello at the end of the day. "What have you got for me?" I ask. It never fails to deliver. Add in a whole bunch of Vitamin Daily gigs, a lingering threatening cold, and a whole bunch of other life stuff (see blog about stuff I won't talk about on my blog), writing has taken a back seat.

A important facet of the writing process that I am missing is critical feedback. It's really so lovely to post a blog entry or have my piece published in the Globe and hear nothing but praise (comments regarding my lack of official "doctor" status notwithstanding). But let's face it...most of the people reading my pieces are my friends. And if they aren't my friends, most people aren't that rude (People who suggested I am not a "real doctor" notwithstanding). So I don't have the opportunity to get feedback on why some parts of my pieces don't work as well or how I can make my writing better.

Not that I'm asking you to open the brutal honesty floodgates. We all know how the criticism sandwich works. Compliment, critique, compliment. So, it could go something like this.

This piece about writer's block uses nice words from the english language, like "notwithstanding" and "floodgates." However, I find that it doesn't really tell me anything other than the fact that you're stuck and don't know what to write next. How about adding in some mystery, comedy, or romance? It's better for the reader when the writer writes things that are interesting. You have nice hair.

Anyone out there like critiquing stuff? I'm going to try to actually write a couple of pieces that have been rattling around in my head without coming to fruition for far too long, and I feel pretty certain that they're going to need some help. I can critique you back. If not on writing, then other things. I can be pretty critical. It's one of my best qualities.

Be blocked.

Be Resilient in the Face of Disappointment

I knew it was coming. I said so in my failure post. Although I would classify this as a non-success rather than an outright failure, it still stings a little. I guess this is when the learning begins.

About a month ago, I was having lunch with a friend who works at a magazine to discuss writing and find out more about how she had gotten to her position. My goal for that meeting, beyond a delicious sandwich and some fun conversation with an old friend, was just to learn a bit more about a career in magazine journalism and prepare myself for pitching some stories in a freelance capacity in the future.

But then, she told me about the internship. Three months, three days a week...she thought it was starting in January. Was I interested? I hadn't fathomed such an idea but, sure, that sounded like a great plan. I could learn about working at a magazine, get some experience under my belt, and be ready for either future work in that context or simply understand the medium better so that I could pitch more effectively.

Then we discovered that the internship actually started in September! Could I get them a CV within 2 days? What started as a neat idea suddenly became a whirlwind of activity. Two weeks later I was asked to undertake their editorial test, which took me the better part of the labour day long weekend to complete. Involving five pages of pitches, short pieces, heds, deks and fix notes (look it up...I had to!), I found myself completely absorbed in the process, stopping only briefly to eat or brainstorm over a quick walk. Finally, last Friday, I was invited for an interview. I was incredibly nervous, seeing as I haven't been interviewed for a job in years. I thought it went well, although I thought of ten better answers as soon as I walked out the door. I was told I would find out this week.

I did not get the internship.

On the upside, for a psychologist only recently turned writer, I did pretty well. I was told that I was the first runner up and that my editorial test had been strong. There just happened to be a stronger candidate, who I am guessing probably isn't a psychologist.

Although I think an internship would have been a great "next step," I have to accept that maybe this isn't the time for me to take that particular step. There are some other opportunities on my plate, right now, and I need to start looking at them more closely. Maybe it's time to take that writing course. Maybe it's time to spend more time simply writing.

The last time I came second for a job I thought I really wanted, it was for an academic position at a university. If I'd gotten the job, none of the amazing things that have happened to me this year would have happened. I'm going to have to have faith in the process.

Be resilient in the face of disappointment.

Be a Podcamper

Today I attended the first day of a two-day Podcamp, bringing together a range of social media enthusiasts, ranging from bloggers and podcasters earning a serious living from their online activities to people like, well, me. I just started, have a grand total of 11 followers (and I love you all!), and don't earn a cent. I'm not even entirely sure what this "podcasting" business is, but I sure do like Facebook. Twitter and I are slowly building trust.

This event first tested my tendency toward a need for academic-style structure by referring to itself as an "Unconference." Look, you've got speakers, you've got topics, you've got attendees looking for expertise and insight...it's a conference. But when the bar opened at 11am and the second speaker of the day cracked a beer during his talk, I started to let go of my need for order. I was initially a tish annoyed with Scarborough Dude who proudly announced that he hadn't actually planned anything specific to say (Why take an hour slot for your own ramblings? Seems a little narcissistic, no?), but figured I was getting into the podcamp groove when his ramblings actually started to make a whole lot of sense to me. Especially his explanation about how he begins his podcast with a big F*** off to certain members of his audience. He tells them if they think they're better than him, or they think he sucks compared to other podcasters, they should just go listen to someone else. He considers his audience as friendly, considers himself imperfect, and figures the whole thing is an exercise in fun. If you wait for your message to be perfect, you'll never start. Excellent point, Mr. Dude.

It reminds me of my friend, J, who considers herself a defender of her friend's blogs. When they get an irrelevant and cruel comment, she'll ask "What are you putting out there?" It's a good question. If you're not putting your own thoughts and ideas on the line, what gives you the right to criticize others who are doing so?

One of the more thought-provoking talks of the day was C. T. Moore's talk, entitled Sex, Trust, & Transparency: What Would Donald Draper Blog? . First, it helped me to realize that I really need to be watching Mad Men. But more importantly, it brought up the idea of blogger transparency. How much do you really need to tell readers about yourself to gain their trust? I've already opened up quite a bit in this blog, but there are certainly some places I just won't go. Here are some of the things you won't be hearing much about in my blog.
1. My family
Not only do I love my family, I really like them. Other than minor story-related factoids (i.e. my dad's love of showtunes), I have no desire to go into any dark family secrets. Mainly because we don't have any. I kind of lucked out, in the family department, so there will be no Glass Castle here.
2. My friends
Again, they may figure in now and then, but only in a nice way. I have really terrific friends and I'm not in any mood to screw with that. Even if they piss me off, I'm not going to talk about it on my blog. That would be lame.
3. Friendly Exes
If you're a guy who has briefly passed through my life with a flourish of crazy and now you are long gone, you betcha I might talk about you. But I'll use a nice alias and change some of the details. Steven, the engineer, is neither named Steven nor is he an engineer. I'll never speak to him again so I have no qualms including him in a story and if he were to ever read it and recognize himself, then he can feel free to curse my name wherever he is in the world being whatever kind of sociopath he likes. I don't care. But I am friends with some of my exes (and some of their wives) and any guy I have dated and am currently in contact with will never appear in a story, masked or otherwise. So, if the lines of communication are open enough for you to ask me "hey, is that guy me?" It isn't.
4. Current Dating
Isn't dating hard enough without me rambling about a dinner date twenty minutes after it's over on a blog a guy could easily read? How's a girl supposed to maintain any kind of mystery?
5. Sex
It's the ultimate crowd-pleaser, but sexy-blogging just isn't my gig. We're constantly bombarded with messages from idiotic starlets like Megan Fox or Christina Aguilera (back in her Dirrrrty days) telling the world of their fantastic "new" idea that people should be more open about their sexuality, like they discovered the whole idea. How amazed would they be to find out that people all over the world are doing just fine without their input. You certainly don't need mine, and I certainly don't need to offer it up. Nope, get your internet porn elsewhere, kids.

So, where does this leave my blog? I often think back to an experience I had in Thailand, at the Elephant Conservation Park up in Chiang Mai. I'd been distractedly angry from a recent break up and hadn't been able to successfully pull myself out of my head. At some point during the day, I found myself completely absorbed with the task at hand: Petting an elephant. I realized that I had a choice. I could live in my head, or I could focus on the experiences life was giving me. I decided that, when faced with an elephant, I wouldn't think about something else, I would pet the elephant.

So, if I don't blog for a while (as I haven't for the last couple of weeks) you can assume that I haven't come across any elephants.

Be a podcamper.