After Careful Consideration

I walk briskly to the corner. I pause at the streetlight and wait. I stopped jaywalking six weeks into my first pregnancy and never took it up again.

It's a long light. My eyes dart toward the pole of a streetlight six inches away. It doesn't register with anyone else. I wouldn't expect it to.

My eyes rest there. I take in the flyers affixed to this lamp pole with heavy clear tape. There are flyers on top of flyers. I pay attention because I have a photo series I'm working on of stuff like this.

My hand feels for my iPhone camera resting snugly inside my mitten. The layers of no less than five different flyers look like they are woven. The tape is a silvery etching. It rained two days ago which means the colored ink has run and then dried.

What's not to like?

Two years ago, I would have run with that moment. Even six months prior, it would be a toss up. I might have taken this picture.

I don't capture the flyers this time. I already know what would happen if I did. Along with the obvious beauty of this situation—the painterly palette, the collaged elements, the truncated typography, the juxtapositions—comes a fatal flaw.

There is a shard of bright white paper under the clear tape. It's small, but jarring and looks unnervingly like the boot of Italy.

I almost never see anything discernible in my sea of abstraction. But when I post my photographs on social media, other people do. They see faces, aliens, and things that remind them of something else. They see body parts, animals and geographic references. They love to post what they see in the comments. I think it makes them feel clever.

Unfortunately, I don't like this and if the paper looks like Italy to me, then I can only imagine what other people will see and then dutifully tell me.

Even if the paper didn't look like Italy, it has other problems. It's just too white. It doesn't fit with the rest of the arrangement. It may be random, but it's an arrangement all the same. If it doesn't fit, it doesn't fit.

Previously, I might not have noticed all of this until after taking the picture. I would have taken it and then realized that it was almost good but not quite.

Even if I did notice the white boot, I might have shifted my camera around in order to crop it out. But with the weight of time and experience I've learned a few things.

In this case, if I were to angle the camera in such a way to crop the white boot, I'd also be eliminating everything beautiful in the picture. Cropping out the ugly part would also mean cropping the lovely colors, the words, the edge and the artistry. I don't need to try. I already know.

As if on cue, the light changes and I cross the street, leaving this opportunity behind.

I've made similar assessments on the rest of my trip home. There are photographs I reject because they are fine and perfect but look too much like pictures I've already taken. To take a picture that similar it has to be a lot better.

There was the beautiful trash that was almost good but the paper cup was split in such a way that made it look ugly-ugly rather than beautiful-ugly. I'm learning to toe that fine line. It's too bad about the sinewy crack in the sidewalk underneath the cup. That was really pretty.

But then the planets align. I see a leaf that's flattened itself as to become one with the sidewalk. It's faded so that it's a subtly warmer color than the pavement itself and very similarly textured. I take three variations of this whisper of a scene. I'll choose the best take when I get home.

Since I have so many photo series going at once and I'm sensitized, the ones that got away, the ones that didn't make the cut and the ones that I would have taken a small lifetime ago don't bother me. There's a bounty. That is something I've learned I can count on.

I started photography class in 10th grade and majored in it in college. I had great teachers along the way. All of these people were generous, brilliant, patient and kind. But iPhone camera with its immediate feedback has been one of my best instructors. The rapid fire composing and deleting. That's a lot of learning in a short time.

Sometimes people ask me if I use Photoshop or apps. They wonder why I wouldn't take an otherwise perfect picture, but then alter the Italian white paper. I could work with it, eliminate it or turn it mauve so that it will fit in better. I could work with the split in the paper cup. I could make an otherwise dull photograph shine.

I could do these things, but I don't. If it isn't in the viewfinder, I'm not interested. I don't use apps either.

Fat And Happy

Five or six years ago I felt the pounds creeping on. I wasn't fat. But I was getting there. I was starting to look matronly.

So I lost 30 pounds. I've kept it off all this time. I'm proud of that.

I like being slim. I have to watch what I eat and exercise in order to keep this physique. I like the way I can go up many flights of stairs without huffing and puffing. I like the kinds of clothes I am able to wear. I feel great.

When I was younger and my metabolism was a lot faster I could eat pretty much whatever I wanted without getting fat. This is not the case anymore.

So even though I really love being slim and find that being slim comes with its own rewards, I sometimes wonder what it would be like to take a different path.

Sometimes I'll be in a restaurant or public area and see a fat stranger really having a great time eating a lot of food. They are enjoying their enormous portion with gusto. They're not ordering salad. They're not apologizing for being fat.

Most other people seem to be of a different mindset. I really need to lose that last 10 pounds they say. Or right after the holidays I'm going on a diet. I really shouldn't be eating this they say, and look a little sad eating a piece of cake. I will feel perfectly fine eating it because I've saved up my Weight Watchers weekly points plus.

I would like to stay slim. But staying slim for me is an acceptable effort and lifestyle choice at this time. I make a few tweaks, and I'm slim. If everything goes on my current trajectory then I'll be 70 years old someday and people will be asking how I maintain my girlish figure.

But if something unexpected happens, I'm ready. If I have to go on a medication at any point that causes excessive weight gain or an enormous appetite then I'm not spending my life eating celery.

I'll be fat, but I'll look great. I'll buy fashion forward clothes from the plus size department. I'll still exercise. That's a big girl, but, God love her, she looks fantastic! people would say.  Just look at that ass!

When the doctor reads me the riot act - diabetes, heart disease, cancer - I'll explain that it is impossible to be slim and be treated with the medication he prescribed. I need to enjoy life. Let's work together to make me the healthiest fat person I can be.

This scenario of a fat, happy person is rarely seen or talked about in the media.

I've read these two really funny books recently. They were engrossing. They are about a person who is describes himself as fat. I'd like to recommend them to you now. Both of them are by Jim Gaffigan.

I saw Dad is Fat reviewed in a parenting magazine and immediately put it on hold at the library. What sold me on it - we'll not sold exactly, as I borrowed it  - was the part of the review that described Jim and his wife Jeannie raising five children in a two-bedroom apartment in NYC.

My husband and I are raising two children in a two-bedroom apartment in NYC. I have a friend who lives in a palatial home. Inexplicably, the enormous residence is in Manhattan. She has introduced me to other friends of hers at parties as the friend I told you about who lives in the tiny apartment.

So Jim and Jeannie were my heroes even before I picked up the book. There's an entire section in there about how they put their five kids to bed in the two-bedroom apartment. There are diagrams. There are strategies. They roll out this bedtime. It's a genius bedtime.

This was my favorite part of the book. But it was full of stuff about raising kids in NYC. I loved the rest of it. The only problem is that I like to do a lot of my reading on the subway. The book frequently had me in hysterics which causes a bit of a social issue if it's rush hour. So I'd put it away and read it at home. Jeremy would ask me what was so funny then I'd read it aloud to him.

I don't want to give you a blow by blow account. If you like funny books and are sick of all of this depressing crap out there, then read Dad is Fat.

I am an absolute pro at utilizing the New York Public library system.  When Jim Gaffigan's next book, Food: A Love Story came out I naturally put that one on hold right away.

The thing I love most about this book is that it's all about food and eating but isn't all high minded and sophisticated. The writer isn't traveling through parts of France you've never heard of, name dropping a bunch of famous intellectuals and rhapsodizing over some escargot he ate 35 years ago, and then going on about the after dinner aperitif.  It is not written in 1926. Gertrude Stein is not in it. It is not boring.

Jim Gaffigan lives in NYC. The book is a real page turner. I'd like to say I couldn't put it down. But the truth is, there were some specific times where I had to put it down.

There is the aforementioned laughter in public. I've been frank with you so far. Sometimes when I get going, I snort when I laugh. I'm not proud of it. So I cannot justify reading Jim Gaffigan's work on the subway anymore.

Remember how I said that I'm working to stay at a healthy weight? Sometimes while reading this book, I'd get really, really hungry and I'd have to put the damn thing down and go eat some food. This phenomenon was particularly striking while reading about meals Gaffigan and his family consumed at Katz's delicatessen. My God. The sandwiches.

The worst part was when I'd be reading the book before bed and it would make me hungry after I already brushed my teeth.

I hate it when I read a book review and I can tell that the reviewer did not read the entire book. I'm going to come clean. There was one part of the book I skipped over. That part of the book was about Poutine.

I had first heard about Poutine several years ago from extended family members who traveled to Canada. While in Canada, they discovered Poutine. When they came back from Canada, they described Poutine. They showed me photographs of Poutine. They were able to do this because they had a book about Poutine. They either purchased the Poutine book for themselves, or the book was a gift from people who knew how much they like Poutine.

At that point I said that I would never try Poutine. C'mon, people said. You have to try Poutine. But I don't want to try Poutine. I don't even want to read about Poutine. That's why I skipped the part of the book about Poutine.

In every good book there is a sense of mystery or the unexplained. And so it is with Food: A Love Story.

I love books with pictures. This book has quite a few. While reading the book, Jim Gaffigan referred to himself as fat. Indeed, he is not skinny.

But as I read about the eating this guy does and lived vicariously through him, I'd find myself flipping through the book to look at the pictures of Jim Gaffigan. The typical scenario might be him describing an all you can eat buffet, his behavior there and then me looking at his pictures.

Here is what I concluded. Although Gaffigan is not thin, he is not that fat. Quite frankly, with everything he's eating, he should be much fatter. I’m no doctor. But he seems to be doing pretty well for himself.

Even more confounding are the pictures of his wife Jeannie. I won't beat around the bush. The woman is gorgeous. She's had five kids and has the figure of a fashion model. She lives with Jim Gaffigan, yet she isn't even a little bit fat. If I lived with Jim Gaffigan instead of Jeremy Shatan, I would weigh more than Jim Gaffigan and Jeremy Shatan combined.

I might hate Jeannie Gaffigan except for the fact that she seems really nice in the book and took great care of her five children in the two-bedroom. I understand that they live in a larger place now, and I in no way hold this against them. She also commutes all over the city to bring her kids to schools out of their neighborhood and I love her for that too.

The Beautiful Trash Incident

I'm walking home one morning after dropping Noah off at school. It’s windy and cold. There's not many people out on the street in my neighborhood today.

I am planning to get myself home as quickly as possible. I've got a long to do list. I'm dressed well for the elements but it is so chilly that my eyeballs feel cold. I'm always joking about how when I have this disconcerting feeling I need to move my eyes around in their sockets this way and that, so that they won't freeze in place.

I see something unusual piled with the trash. These aren't regular garbage bags. They are called Demolition bags. They are overlapping at jaunty angles and look interesting to me. The words Demolition bag repeat again and again because there are so many of them. I love things that repeat, and it's my dream to design wallpaper. They take on interesting shapes because of what I imagine to be craggy bits of stuff inside.

Cold or not, in a hurry or not, you don't see this every day. I take a quick look around for construction people or garbage men. I'm not in the mood for a conversation. The coast is clear.

I have this series I am working on called Beautiful Trash. I deem this scene potentially series worthy. I take a few pictures up close, pulled back and at different vantage points. I am getting ready to do my very last variation when a young man appears.

The man is wearing work clothes. He is carrying more demolition bags to add to the pile. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together about the guy. I take my last picture really fast. Then I prepare to leave.

The man looks at me and points at the demolition bags. What, what! He says. He looks agitated. I am sorry to worry him. I want to be reassuring. God only knows what he was thinking.

I am an artist, I say. What? He says. I repeat and pantomime a little like I'm playing charades. This goes on. It seems like What is one of the only English words he knows.

I can't even haul out my rudimentary Spanish because I can tell by his accent that this is not his language. I didn't mean to be trouble. I tell him.

He continues to be upset and say What? And What, What? I decide the conversation is futile, but as I'm leaving I say, you might want to learn more English before you start asking questions.

I'm all for explaining myself to people. I know what I'm doing is unusual. But he wasn't understanding me or my friendly, non-threatening, non-verbal communication. I am losing my patience even though I am the one photographing trash.

I proceed home and he goes back into the building. I imagine him telling his boss.

Later that day, I'm doing the same commute in reverse. This time, what catches my eye is a wide open field in a grassy part of my neighborhood. It's covered with a carpet of colored leaves that have fallen from a magnificent tree.

I take a moment to compose some pictures. I can be more relaxed this time and don't need to check to see if the coast is clear. Photographing leaves and trees doesn't arouse curiosity or worse, alarm, the same way photographing trash can.

I hear a rustling sound. A squirrel, in a seemingly desperate state comes running over and jumps up on the short wooden fence seperating me from the field. He then gets uncomfortably close and starts looking at me in a totally jacked up way.

If that wasn't bad enough, two of his  friends decide to take a break from burying nuts  for winter, digging  up nuts they already buried, and whatever else they do all day.  They come over. Then the three of them start hyperactively and collaboratively bothering me. They have no sense whatsoever of personal boundaries. This lack of social skills is courtesy of the old people who sit on benches and feed them. Except on days like this when it's really cold.

I decide I've done enough variations already and take my leave. For Christ’s sake, I mutter under my breath to no one in particular. I walk toward the subway, where I intend to edit my photographs in peace.

Here is the controversial photograph of Demolition Bags.

I Am Thankful For This Blog

My daughter Hannah is a vegetarian. She also eats fish. But she will not consume poultry. Soon I will be making an extra stuffing for our Thanksgiving feast that does not contain turkey juices or traces of turkey. This stuffing will be entirely devoid of turkey.

I am making a stuffing recipe that I've made before, but not for Thanksgiving. I served it one Christmas when Jeremy's cousin and his son joined us for dinner. This stuffing went over extremely well at that gathering. I still remember the unbridled enthusiasm and compliments.

It's officially a sourdough stuffing with apples and raisins, but I substitute dried cranberries for the raisins.

I also remember the mild smoke condition I accidentally created in our apartment that Christmas while roasting chickens. Jeremy's cousins said it was the best chicken they ever had.

I am thankful for this stuffing I am about to make. I am thankful about a great many things - my family, my friends, excellent heath, enormous quantities of delicious Thanksgiving foods, Thanksgiving leftovers, Stove Top Stuffing for when I haven't had my fill of stuffing, but don't want a lot of hassle.

But for today, I'm going to focus my gratitude post on Blogging.

First, I'd like to thank all of the technology related folks who include but are not confined to Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg. While I was busy socializing, doing what Temple Grandin calls yak-yak, you were hard at work. If it weren't for you, I'd still be using the phone for everything.

I could not have foreseen the Internet, Facebook, iPads or blogging. If it weren't for these things, I might still have a DayRunner – I always liked it more than Filofax - with people's phone numbers handwritten in it. I would then have my artistic phone call time. I’d leave a message on people's answering machines twice a week, reading aloud my various thoughts and musings. The only way to unsubscribe would be to change your phone number.

Back in the day, before all of this social media and sharing capability, I remember the isolation I felt, taking photographs that no one saw, writing things that no one read. Because it was all I knew, I didn't perceive it as isolation per se. It was more of an unnamed malaise.

Sure, sometimes my work got seen by a lot of people. I spent a number of years doing food photography for the NY Times magazine and everyone saw that. I still remember the excitement of opening the newspaper - the actual newspaper - and seeing my photography.

I'd invite all my friends to group shows I was in. I'd plunk my portfolio in front of an actual set of eyes as often as humanly possible. I'd write beautifully composed letters to photographers I liked.

But then there we what felt like droughts. There were tons and tons of gatekeepers. I'd spend a lot of time alone with my carefully crafted work.

So I'm really thankful for the gift of email, Twitter, what used to be called the worldwide web and what I still call my devices, much to the chagrin of my children.

Since I've established that I enjoy attention and dislike working in isolation - so many people who say they don't like attention are lying - I am thankful for the audience who reads my blog. Facebook and this blog are my new galleries, magazines and billboards rolled into one.

I am thankful that people use the vocabulary of social media to like, comment, favorite, share, re-tweet, friend, follow and subscribe.

I am also thankful for people who follow my blog, but for whatever reason, do not feel comfortable leaving comments. The same people who shy away from this often have no issue whatsoever yelling across Broadway as I walk down the street Hey! I just ordered that book you recommended! They scream.

Or I run into the shyer types at the drugstore and they'll say oh hi, how did things work out with the new high school? Like we are just continuing a conversation we started earlier, only it's me writing and her reading. It's new and old fashioned at the same time.

If I know you and you don't read my blog - you won't ever see this because you don't read my blog - I'm thankful for the fact that we know each other, but that you don't read my blog. That is because if you are not reading it, then I feel very free to write about you in this blog.

I'm kidding about that last thing. Okay, let's call it 50/50.

I am thankful to the people who paved the way and blogged before me. I love many of your blogs. The fact that you are blogging about the things you're blogging about means I don't have to blog about these things. Or if we share certain subjects in common, I do it my way and you do it your way. You blog this way, and I blog that.

The fact that you were out of the starting gate first meant that I got to experience certain things second hand. You getting into a little hot water with your blog. Trolls, haters, drama.

There are certain blog posts that will only live inside my head.

I am grateful for my iPhone camera. I received this iPhone as a gift. I take all of these photographs and it doesn’t cost a cent.

This idea is revolutionary. Photography was too expensive for me before. Film purchasing, film processing, contact sheets, darkroom time. I enjoyed all of it. I was a master printer. But I couldn’t afford to just take photographs whenever I wanted of whatever I wanted.

This business of wherever I want and whatever I want is amazing.

While we are on the subject of thankfulness and blogging, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Jeremy. Even if Jeremy didn’t help me with my blog, I’d still be thankful for him a million times over.

Jeremy started his blog, AnEarful several years ago. He learned the ropes. Jeremy is the kind of person who no matter what his job description is, or where he is working, he is always helping people with their computers. Oncologists at work know how to treat cancer, but sometimes their computer problems will trip them up. Then Jeremy will help them.

Jeremy helps everyone here at home with their computers and electronics. And so it is with my blog. Jeremy helped me design my blog. He proofreads every post, which is another one of his talents. He knows when to make a suggestion on grammar or content and knows when to keep quiet.

Jeremy got me indoctrinated with Twitter and helped me until I got used to it. Turns out I enjoy the 140 character part now. Last Thanksgiving I wasn’t even on Twitter yet. Now I’m thankful for it.

I’m not on Pinterest or Instagram. My whole policy is to master one social media platform at a time. But now that I’m so comfortable with and thankful for Twitter, I think Instagram might be next. I’ll wade in with Jeremy and then before you know it, it will be like I’ve done it all my life. I predict that next Thanksgiving at this time, I’ll be thankful for that, too.

Letting People Get Used To Me

When I go to a particular neighborhood frequently, I like to take pictures and turn that experience into a photo series. Then I post the photographs on Facebook.

I live in NYC. Every neighborhood here has a different flavor. At the moment, I have ongoing series that feature the upper west side and my neighborhood of Inwood.

I had one collection called I Heart 168th Street. It ended after Noah graduated from the middle school in that neighborhood.

I took a lot of photographs on 168th Street. Generally speaking, I arrived in the neighborhood slightly early to pick up Noah from school. When I first started shooting photographs there, I was a little bit of a curiosity. I take some pretty unusual pictures. A typical day could include me photographing paint peeling off of bricks, a Flat Fix place, wares in bodegas and colorful signage. I'd also photograph trash there for my Beautiful Trash series.

Unbeknownst to me, the art teacher at Noah's school followed me one day because she wanted to know what I was photographing. Once she saw what I was up to, she thought it as cool and took a picture of it too. She told me about it months after it happened.

Some times people would ask me why I was photographing something. I'd have this quick little thing I'd explain. I'm an artist, I would say. I see beauty in things that other people don't notice. Sometimes I'd show them the photo I just took on my iPhone.

In every neighborhood, there are people just there for that one moment. It's an anomaly for them to be in that part of town. But as I travel to different neighborhoods again and again, I'd see the same cast of characters every day. The men sitting in folding chairs on the street for hours on end. Moms picking kids up at school. Crossing guards.

I noticed that when I was photographing on 168th street, people got used to me doing that. I was simply part of the collective landscape after a while.

Noah started school in a new neighborhood this past September. I go to this neighborhood 1-2 times a day when school is in session. The old name for this place is Hell's Kitchen. The newer, fancy real estate name is Clinton.

I've never been to any section of NYC that isn't photo worthy. Hell's Kitchen is no exception. There are many unique things there that I want to photograph.

The other day, I was contemplating a section of a building that looked very interesting. It was a combination of colors and textures that I liked. In addition, a beautiful morning light further elevated what was already a lovely situation.

I was getting ready to make a mental note of it, but pass on by. There were many people walking quickly along the sidewalk. I wasn't in the mood for questions. I wasn't in the mood for people to notice me.

I didn't keep walking after all. I stood there and thought about it.

If I don't start photographing here, the people in this neighborhood will never get used to me I told myself.

I've chosen to do the bulk of my photography outside rather than in my apartment. Having other people around isn't a once in a while thing. It's a given.

So I took the photograph. I did several variations, some close up, some further back. Some with dappled light, some evenly lit when the sun was behind a cloud.

The way to take on a problem isn't to turn away and retreat. Avoiding the challenge keeps it suspended and untouched. The only way around it is through it. Walking toward it. Meeting it.

I relaxed into my photography in Hell's Kitchen. 168th Street taught me how to do this. The hurried footsteps, the weight of the eyes, the anticipated queries are the necessary soundtrack. I'm listening to the sound and letting people get used to me.

Obsessed And Addicted

 

Jeremy has this beautiful mid-century modern bar in our dining room. It houses a sizable collection of glassware, cocktail shakers, swizzle sticks and bartending books. It's also chock full of liquor bottles. If you were to come into our apartment as a stranger and look at this bar, front and center in our small apartment, you might think we were a couple of alcoholics. But we are not alcoholics. We are regular, moderate, responsible social drinkers.

We are like this about almost everything. In general we really can stop anytime we want.

But now Jeremy and I have both developed an obsession and addiction. Ours was triggered by the dawning of the second golden age of audio. Specifically, podcasts. Two podcasts in particular.

We've both listened to excellent podcasts like This American Life, Freakonomics and The Moth for some time. We also have podcasts that one listens to that the other doesn't. Jeremy has a bunch of music related ones in his rotation. I like to listen to self help motivational stuff and inspiring things about being a parent.

I listen while doing tedious tasks. I listen while on the treadmill. It keeps my mind busy and engaged while folding laundry or cleaning the apartment.

Until recently, while I clearly enjoyed listening to podcasts, I wasn't addicted to them.

I wasn't waiting for them to "drop.” Thursday was not a really significant day of the week. I didn't call Jeremy at work in a desperate state because I was having some trouble downloading a certain podcast on my iPod. I also didn't call him at work because I heard someone from our new podcast on an old re-broadcast of a different podcast while doing the dishes and had important new insight to share.  

I didn't stand in our kitchen watching Jeremy listen to podcasts. I didn't compare my recent podcast consumption to my mother's early childhood in the 1940s, before TV, when radio was the major form of entertainment. I didn't talk endlessly about the second golden age of audio.

I realize I've been going on.

The two podcasts we've become both obsessed and addicted to are called Serial and StartUp. Although they are quite different from one another they both have a commonality that one could compare to white sugar or crack. Unlike other podcasts that end their episodes in a tidy fashion with each one being distinct, these have a story that continues and unfolds over time. You have to keep listening to more podcasts to find out what happens.

Serialization is a powerful thing. It certainly isn't new. It's been around forever. But both Serial and StartUp breathe new, modern life Into this art form.

Both podcasts are telling true stories. The stories are compelling and expertly told. You can't listen without getting hooked.

Serial is a murder mystery. It's extremely suspenseful. The story is a potent combination of banal and creepy mixed together. It isn't like anything you've ever listened to.

StartUp is just as unique. It's the story of a start up company and it unfolds in real time. It's fascinating and creative and fly on the wall. The story isn't life and death but it ropes you in just as much.

I'm not saying anything else because I don't like spoilers. If you haven't listened yet, I'd like to recommend that you start binge listening right after finishing this post. Actually, I give you permission to stop reading now, if you're so inclined.

These podcasts are clearly narcotic to Jeremy and me. Serial drops once a week, StartUp every week or two.

If the people responsible for these podcasts were able to put them out once a day rather than weekly, then we'd listen once a day. If they put them out three times a day, we'd find a way to listen to all of them on the same day. I could say we could stop anytime, but I would be lying.

The Blog Book

I love having a blog. I love reading other people's blogs. I like to encourage talented people to start a blog, continue their blogs or expand their blogs. I also like reading about blogging. So when an extended family member who is also a friend posted a picture of a blog book she was reading on Facebook, I ordered the blog book and read it too.

This blog book is Blog Inc. by Joy Deangdeelert Cho. I very much recommend this book if you already have a blog, are thinking of starting a blog, or are generally interested in blogs.

The book is very user friendly. It is not only user friendly but friendly-friendly. The design is whimsical, welcoming and clear. It's readable. Detailed without being too detailed. Accessible for the newbie without talking down to someone more experienced. There's a wealth of practical information and resources.

One of my favorite parts of the blog book are the interviews with established and successful bloggers. The interviews are like mini memoirs about people's creative processes, how they got started, unexpected challenges along the way and stuff they wished they knew when they began. As someone who loves reading about other people, I enjoyed having a peek into the lives of creative folks who  are different from myself. I loved learning about how the blogs fit into people's everyday lives.

When I first started the blog book, my expectation was that I would have an enjoyable reading experience and most likely get some useful snippets. I expected to be entertained because reading books is one of my biggest sources of entertainment. I knew there would be interviews with other bloggers and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into that.

All of this came true. What I wasn't expecting was a huge epiphany and life changing experience.

A little background. I struggle with perfectionism. This isn't some backhanded way of bragging or complimenting myself. At its worst it keeps me literally stuck in one place and spinning my wheels. It can be debilitating.

Things have gotten better for me in this regard. I'm more aware of it. I'm better at managing it.

Before reading the blog book, I established a regular posting schedule for this blog. I'm pleased with how it's going. I'm creating something I'm proud of.

In addition to Non-Fiction Living, I've had at least four other ideas for blogs. These aren't fly by night ideas. They are themes I keep mentally returning to again and again.

Here are my blog ideas in a nutshell. One of them is about how to be a cool old person. Another one is about sharing my success at maintaining a healthy weight while still living really well. The third one revolves around people working creatively. Number four would be me advising people about how to take good pictures with an iPhone camera. I'm talking in generalities now rather than specifics.

I was struggling with my four other blog ideas. I knew I wanted to keep on doing Non-Fiction Living. But I figured that the other ideas deserved their own blogs, along with their own creative identities, their own Facebook pages and audiences. The problem is that I am only one person with many different goals and responsibilities. I was sure it would be impossible to do justice to all of the blogs.

In other words, I was headed full speed toward Multiple Blog Disorder. Joy Deangdeelert Cho coined the term and only thing that saved me from this fate was Blog Inc. She shared her personal experience with her blog Oh Joy! She described the very process I’ve been going through as though reading my mind. She saved me a lot of trouble now and down the road. She got me off of the obsessional track I was on.

Because of the blog book, I'm going to be folding all of my other ideas into Non-Fiction Living. So if you keep on reading this blog, you'll see some food posts, posts about creative people, posts about old people and posts about iPhone photography. It gave me the confidence and permission to expand my present blog.

Many thanks to Joy Deangdeelert Cho for Blog Inc.

Chronicle Books has published a whole series of similar books I'm looking forward to delving into. I’ll let you know what I think of Creative Inc., Mom Inc., Craft Inc. and Art Inc. after I’ve read them!