Tell Your Story: An Interview with Jen Lee

The magical Jen Lee, photo by Jen Lemen

Some things I love:

• new friends with old souls;


• beautiful creative projects;


• learning how to do something new; and


• getting to the heart of a story.

This audio interview that I did with the radiant Jen Lee envelops all four of these things. First of all, my lovely new friend Jen has a wise soul that practically glows with creativity. To create this interview, she taught me a thing or two about using Garage Band on my new Mac. But the best part of this little interview is getting to hear a piece of Jen's story, including how and why she created Don't Write: A Reluctant Journal and Solstice: Stories of Light in the Dark, two projects that are still available for purchase on her website. (Each are part of limited edition runs, so don't wait to order them!)

Treat yourself to a warm beverage, close your eyes, and allow yourself to soak in Jen's voice as she talks about having the courage to write and making our voices heard.

(Once you click through to the audio link, just click "Play" to listen to the interview online.)

The Life of a Writer

me and my love, selves portrait; rockport, massachusetts, october 2008

Some Days
by Billy Collins

Some days I put the people in their places at the table,
bend their legs at the knees,
if they come with that feature,
and fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.

All afternoon they face one another,
the man in the brown suit,
the woman in the blue dress,
perfectly motionless, perfectly behaved.

But other days, I am the one
who is lifted up by the ribs,
then lowered into the dining room of a dollhouse
to sit with the others at the long table.

Very funny,
but how would you like it
if you never knew from one day to the next
if you were going to spend it

striding around like a vivid god,
your shoulders in the clouds,
or sitting down there amidst the wallpaper,
staring straight ahead with your little plastic face?

---------------------
"Some Days" from Picnic, Lightning, by Billy Collins, © 1998. All rights are controlled by the University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, PA 15260. Used by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press.

Online source: Academy of American Poets, http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19753

When things are quiet and messy

photo by Torsten

I know that it's been quiet around here lately. I've been rather quiet on other fronts, too. I'm not doing much writing beyond what my current paying projects require. I'm not happy about this. My mind feels dull and cluttered, much like the view from my kitchen window: a persistently overcast sky above a leaf strewn yard. Yes, things are grey and messy around here. Honestly, it's making me feel a bit bleak and hopeless. But I'm choosing to believe that this is the quiet before the creative storm.

On Being Good Enough and Getting Better

image by mandj98

A new friend recently wrote about the fear of not being good enough. She'd entered a plein air competition and then felt sheepish when she saw her paintings next to the others. She writes:

and then friday came, the night of the exhibit opening, and my inner gremlins attacked. as i walked through the exhibit all i wanted to do was rip my paintings off the wall and run away. i didn't even want to go and ask the gallery director how long he would be keeping my paintings. i was embarrassed and frustrated. my paintings stuck out, they didn't match the style or execution of any of the others. and i had priced mine several hundred dollars higher than the others. despite how good i had felt about my accomplishments before, my confidence was washed down the toilet during those few moments stuck inside the poorly lit gallery.

. . .

on the drive home i mustered a question to my hubs through trembling lips, "i'm really not that good am i?" his reply was sweet and honest, "you are good, i think you just need to enter contests that showcase more work like yours." i know that he's right, but for a girl who doesn't even know what my style is for sure... it's hard to know which direction to go in.

I'm really not that good, am I?

Isn't that the question we all ask? Isn't that the little voice whispering in our ears all the time? Nudging us right before we fall asleep, when we try something new, when we share our heart's passion with others? Sometimes we can silence that voice: when we're deep in the throes of joyous creation or having ridiculous amounts of fun. But then we come back down from our high and that voice, that question, is right there waiting for us. How many times have I asked myself that question in a small, scared voice?

I'm really not that good, am I?

And then, when we're fortunate, our husband, our friend, our dentist, our sister, our teacher, a stranger, answers with kindness. They tell us the only truth that matters. They say, "Find your place."

We don't want to be told to find "our place." To put someone "in their place" is to humble them, to humiliate them, to show them where they belong, which is clearly not as high as they had hoped.

And yet, aren't we all searching for our place? The space in which we feel seen, heard, understood, loved?

Maybe nothing in life is about being good or bad, better or worse. Maybe it's all about finding our place: the place that feels right for us and fits our current style, our current needs.

In many ways, I'm not a competitive person. The very premise of a contest chafes against the magnanimous part of me that believes in equality, freedom of expression, beauty of individual choice. Some things have clear demarcations: The fastest runner wins the race. Some things do not: How do we judge who paints the better painting, who writes the better book?

And yet, relativism is a house built on shifting sand. If everything is good, how do we get better? I'm not a competitive person until I'm competing with myself.

I recently submitted an article and was told that my opening "wasn't going to cut it." I was embarrassed, but realized that the editor was right. 

I wailed about this humiliation to my husband, who is always my rock in this sandy desert. I was upset that my article wasn't good enough. On top of that, I was upset about being so upset.

"Why am I so fragile about things like this?" I asked, mostly rhetorically.

"Why wouldn't you be?" he replied, almost rhetorically.

"I should be a better writer by now!" I lamented.

"Why?" he challenged me. "How much better do you have to be before you're as good as you think you should be?"

"Just a little better," I said with a slight smile. I was thinking of this line, often attributed to the very wealthy Andrew Carnegie:

"How much money is enough?"
"Just a little more."

After I got over myself, I reworked the article. And the full irony of the situation dawned on me: By worrying about the pain of not being good enough, I was missing out on the experience of getting better.

There is a big difference between the voice that asks, "I'm really not that good, am I?" and the one that says, "I want to be better."

My Words in Other Places

image by Peter Kaminski

I don't usually promote my other writing here, but the other day it occurred to me that perhaps a little link love might not be such a bad thing. If you're not interested, no pressure. But if you'd like to see what else I'm writing online, here you go:

For pet lovers
Care.com is a website that connects you with local caregivers for kids, seniors, pets, and your house. I write for the site's Pet Care section. Feel free to browse the articles there, or visit the portfolio page on my other website for links to specific articles.

I also contribute to Care.com's Pet Care Scoop blog for dog walkers, pet sitters, and pet caregivers. Even though autumn is in full swing, Ten Summer Safety Tips for Pets contains some relevant points. Plus, Emergency Pet Kits: Disaster Preparedness and Top 10 Tips for Taking Care of Aging Pets are always timely.

All about the 'Burgh
If you're interested in learning about groovy things happening in Pittsburgh, check out Pop City. My two latest stories are about wine and coffee (tasty!), but I've written a bunch of other stuff, too.