Small Pond Graphics

May 8, 2012 essays

Milestones

Voice.

Sigh. I’ve been struggling to find it lately. I set out at the beginning of this year on a writing pursuit, seeking to find, speak, know and share my own voice in new ways. I wanted to share my voice with new resolve in this particular medium, yes, but more importantly in the broader strokes of my life. Since then, my writing has been virtually nonexistent.

This past week I’ve been celebrating my oldest son, Little Drummer Boy, turning seven years old. As many mothers can relate, the birthdays are almost always bittersweet lumps of joy where my vision is quite clouded. I see him with all the new skills and interests and jokes and signs of independence. But somehow in the very same frame of the lens, I also see that little face resting on my shoulder, the tiny hand clutching mine and all the firsts I’ve witnessed that have now turned into his beautiful habits. As I was reminded by a friend, a “happy birthday” to LDB is a “happy birthday” to me as well, for a mother always has an intimate recollection of birthdays.

With much less fanfare, I’ve also been celebrating a personal milestone — the fourth birthday of this blog, EyeJunkie, on May 6. I started it in many ways because of LDB. I was at a time in my life where I felt I needed a personal creative outlet. My readers probably know that I’m creative for a living, like most of us are. I’m just called upon to do it in a much more overt way than most. I’m a designer. LDB thinks I draw for my work, and in many ways that’s true. But I started EyeJunkie in 2008 because I wanted a creative outlet that was apart from work for hire. I needed it. I needed something that would allow me to act out those creative tendencies in a more personal way. I needed to show him. I needed to show LDB, and Bug, and now Baby Girl what I was about on the inside. That’s the crux of it.

This space has been indelibly tethered to my voice ever since. So, to leave it unattended feels like a failure in many ways, like dropping the ball, like being out of the loop with myself. Do I even want to continue it? does it matter to me? Is it a valuable contribution to my life? A worthwhile investment? Can I continue it in a meaningful way? In some ways it feels like losing ground, like losing my voice. But, I know my voice is there. Somewhere. And that need for a creative outlet apart from work is still there. Somehow.

When I launched the whole “voice” thing for 2012, I wrote this:

To be able to hear the sound of our own voices with clarity sure simplifies things. It makes choices and decisions much more obvious. It makes the worthwhile investments of our time and energy much easier to find.

Those statements still ring true in my heart. I still see the necessity of hearing my own voice. Of discerning my own core requirements for a life of blessing. Of determining my own parameters of what constitutes a life of significance. Of rigorously chasing that life with daily decisions. Of giving the gift of that life to my children.

As I’ve been processing these two milestones, I’ve recognized that I HAVE heard my voice in many areas. I HAVE made decisions and movements that reflect my own voice. I have begun to more deeply refine my work life with Small Pond Graphics so that it serves me rather than vice versa. I have begun to reclaim control of areas of my life and relationships where I felt I had surrendered my own voice. I have begun to step outside of fatigue or busy-ness or laziness to create more significant experiences for my children, to recognize and incorporate habits of joy into their lives in small things. These are all urgings I heard from my own voice. And I’m beginning to speak them each day in tangible ways.

Here’s the thing. The writing isn’t the thing. The living is the thing. The doing. The growing. The learning. The listening.

It’s all those things that make the writing something — something that enriches all that I glean from the living and doing and learning. Through this soul searching, I’ve recognized that I write to keep my heart and my voice close to the surface. I do it to clarify my voice. And I do it to recognize the sound of my voice as I’m living. And that makes it valuable. To me.

May 2, 2012 mother's heart

Seven

I simply blinked, and seven years went by. I’m still amazed every day at the wonder and magic of you. Happy Birthday, Little Drummer Boy.

April 16, 2012 learn

Adding Twitter to Your Business Facebook Page

If you’ve talked to me at all about my approach to marketing strategy and online media in particular, you know that I’m a big fan of finding ways to move your audience across your digital geography from one online medium or social space to another. I think this offers multiple ways to engage with other businesses or customers and to communicate more of your unique story. With the new Timeline format for Facebook pages, the story of your brand in that particular social space is even richer with more opportunities to share larger graphics and photos and better ways to organize your own information. One thing I like about the Timeline format for pages is the newer “tab” location — the four boxes just under the right side of the cover photo. The “photos” box is a constant, but the other boxes can be prioritized based on what you feel is most important to your brand.

With the goal of exposing Facebook connections to your other online media spaces, including a Twitter feed as one of the top apps is a great approach. I’ve tried several Facebook apps for adding a Twitter feed, including the Involver app, Tweets to Pages. It works great and is an easy, free installation. However, I have to admit, that the one I like best is the Twitter app from Tradable Bits. It’s just as easy. It’s free for up to 5 apps installed per page, and I just like the interface a little better.

You can see from the screen shot of Tradable Bits Twitter on my Facebook page that the app works well within the Timeline page format. The thing I like about Tradable Bits over the other apps I’ve tried is that it includes your Twitter profile pic and bio at the top of your feed along with the “follow” button. I just like the continuity of having the bio present. I like the polish that it gives the tab’s view. The other plus for this app for me is that it also includes the tweets in your feed that come from Twitter’s easy re-tweet function. Some of the other Twitter apps I’ve tried didn’t do that. I tend to use the RT function a lot with links I find useful or interesting on Twitter, and showing those tweets in the feed demonstrates an interest in sharing information and engagement — something I actually look for in other tweeters.

The installation of Tradable Bits Twitter couldn’t be easier. When you click through their website and give Facebook authorization, you reach a screen similar to this one where you can simply type your Twitter handle and click a button to the right to publish to your Facebook page.

I’m always drawn to the details when I’m looking for marketing tools, and Tradable Bits Twitter app for Facebook pages has those small things that I think that can be very valuable in strengthening your online presence.

March 26, 2012 my South

photo essay . Seven Skies

Two weeks ago I took my kids to our family farm for Spring Break, and I spent some intentional time away from my project schedule. It’s been a while since I’ve done that, so it felt like a special treat. During the week I was experimenting with the Hipstamatic iPhone app. And I was experimenting with gazing at the skies for no good reason. Put the two together and it makes for these seven skies.

I’ve been trying to incorporate that same sky gazing into my routine back at home and work. Are you taking time to gaze today?

March 16, 2012 southern stories

The Things We Do Here

Here, we walk on gravel roads and listen to the sound of our own feet crunching in search of adventure. We choose the most colorful stones to carry with us.

Here, we pick the plantings of our grandmothers and give them new prominence. We find wildflowers both delicate and steely. They journey from dusty fingers to sun-chased bottles as we honor them. Each has a smell, even if only the scent of our own attention.

Here, we hold a roly poly in our hands and wait. We wait for it to find enough comfort to unwind itself and explore the vastness of skin and palm and wrist. Its tiny feet tickle our flesh as we deliver it to the next blade of grass.

Here, we play with sticks. They are swords and staffs and wands armed for magic.

Here, we build fires to roast our hotdogs, baking our laughter into a fine buffet. We scream and blow our blackened marshmallows when they find themselves ablaze. We giggle and sigh with relief as they melt into the chocolate.

Here, we count the spots on ladybugs to discern if they are random or patterned. We wonder why some are missing their spots. Maybe they’re too old or too young.

Here, we pull the inaugural dandelion of the season — the first of many treasures released to bear more.

Here, we build things out of scrap wooden blocks — out of nothing, really. They are leftovers with windows and stories.

Here, we find Orion’s belt, gazing at the stars, and wish for parting clouds to reveal his prey. We are sure there is no twinkle as bright as this dark sky.

Here, we play our games and watch our movies as consolation prizes when outside has become too dark or too sweaty to dispatch its trophies.

Here, we hold hands, comparing sizes. We grab hold of ourselves in years gone by and in years to come. “I’m growing up,” we declare.

Here, we get back to there gingerly. We see there in different windswept light, through the lenses of simplicity sweetened with laughter and time well-spent. Here, we do nothing. And everything.