Dress for Success Article

Here's an article I wrote awhile back for the Lake Oswego Review, that I just noticed it up online.

It's about Barb Attridge, director of Dress for Success Oregon (such an amazing organization):
Lake Oswego Review

More Food, Yum.

Friends and Neighbors: Jenna Mendenhall

An OSU grad and a Tualatin Wildlife Refuge employee, Jenna loves her job and nature.

Tigard-Tualatin-Sherwood Times

Beaverton Valley Times

Yeah, It's Kinda Dire Right Now.

"If I were 27 and trying to publish my first novel today, I might be tempted to shoot myself."
--John Irving, on the challenges facing young writers today.

See the whole video here:
http://bigthink.com/johnirving/advice-to-aspiring-novelists-dont-shoot-yourself

3 Things on a Wednesday

1.) Moving
Oh you guys, is there anything more stressful than moving?

(Well, yes: Sickness, death, unemployment, starvation, lack of health insurance, breakups, divorces ...)

But aside from those things, is there anything more stressful?

No.

I hate it. I hate everything about it.

2.) Yes, that actually happened.
Today I sprayed hairspray all over my computer screen, thinking it was glass cleaner. Moving on ...

3.) Sunshine.
Thank you, Portland, for giving us a few days of golden rays. It makes such a difference.

Running for Kristen: Week 32

Running-wise, I can't complain this week.

For 40 weeks, I'm setting aside $1 for every mile I run to donate to a cancer foundation in honor of the other Kristen Forbes, who died of cervical cancer at the age of 23. To find out more about her story, visit www.kristenEVE.org.

This week, I ran 11 miles, bringing the total amount raised to date to $323.

I'm Not a %$&#-up

A few years after graduating from college, my friend Lillawa and I started asking each other the question: When do we become real people? It was our way of asking when we become adults, real adults with real jobs and real places to live.

I'm not a %$&#-up. I'm really not. I graduated Magna Cum Laude, for goodness sake. (I say that a lot. I like its ring.) I'm also a hard worker. I'm not a slacker. I'm really not.

There is no difference between my work ethic and the work ethic of my friends who are teachers and nurses. There is no difference in our amount of schooling or training or knowledge or skills, either. (Okay, skills, yes -- I can't fix that kid's math problem and I don't know which pills to prescribe, but I do know how to write in complete sentences and frankly, that's more than I can say for a lot of people.)

There is no fundamental difference between us, beyond the fact that I have chosen a creative career over a practical one. And as a result, my friends with practical jobs are real people, with real places to live. They own their homes or can comfortably pay their rent. They don't have a panic attack every time they step foot in a shopping mall. They have things under control.

I have a creative career, which not only means that I get paid in jelly beans, but it also means that I get paid on a very creative schedule. Sometimes several months pass between paychecks, for really no rhyme or reason. And in the meantime, I'm to creatively stretch the dollar as best I can. Because that's what I do, being a creative person in a creative job. Meanwhile, I don't see any of my real friends with real jobs complaining that they've had no income for 90 days now.

There is no fundamental difference between us, beyond the fact that I have chosen a creative career over a practical one. I'm not a %$@#-up. My inability to keep up with my rent has nothing to do with a lack of ambition, nor a lack of actual work. I work all the time. I work more than some of the real people with real jobs I know. I just don't have anything to show for it. I can't invite you to my home and show you my couch and say: Yep, my hard work paid for that. A couch is so far beyond me. A couch is a real thing that belongs to real people.

Inadequacy seeps from my pores, knowing I can't afford a place of my own, or a couch, or sometimes a meal. Knowing that this one tiny/major decision I made, the choice to be a writer, will probably forever separate me from them. I've noticed it with my paycheck saga: Those with practical jobs say, Oh my gosh, how can that be? And the creative types say, Yes, I've been there. I know what it's like to not get paid for four months.

This is a practical world, filled with real people and real things. So in that context, I look like a real $%@#-up.

But I'm not, I swear.