It’s no mystery that art makes us feel good. If you’re not a creator, ask any creator ever if they love what they do — they’ll give you a resounding yes!
Why do we make art? To tell a story, to make a point, and to get whatever is inside of us are the leading reasons. The last one should give you pause.
A skill is something you do in exchange for something in return. …
We hear it all the time. Buy Local. Locally-made. Locally-sourced. There’s probably someone saying “Locally Local”, too.
Each time I go into a big-box store, I cringe a bit as I place a plastic piece of crap in my basket which most likely has a locally-made or sourced alternative. I do my best, and I think we all do too.
But buying local is difficult for many people, the most immediate concern being cost. It is almost impossible to be competitive with the Walmarts, Targets, and Market Baskets of the world.
Second, location. If parking is horrendous, people will decide…
The stink of cigarettes and body odor hung like a cloud wherever Frank went. Not due to a lack of bathing, but from standing outside the coffee shop day after day, howling cat calls to his other older baby boomer buddies and about every 15 minutes depositing another butt on the ground.
It was also an especially steamy August, the agony of which has hung in the memories of the city’s good people since Frank, who also didn’t believe in deodorant apparently, went missing.
Frank G. Goyette was once a tradesman — a pipe fitter in the 80’s I found…
I looked up laundromats while on a trip Oslo — and Cafe Laundromat came up.
My ignorant American sensibilities perceived the words “Cafe Laundromat” together in two ways — cartoonishly convenient, and probably just a sandwich shop with a single washer-dryer combo unit. It would probably have linoleum floors, and you’d definitely have to bring your own detergent. The one dispenser probably jammed on a quarter long ago.
Instead, an inviting scene. An unassuming storefront of glass and brown framing gave off a yellow glow warming up that spot of the sidewalk. Through the front door and down a few…
I’m a freelance commercial writer, and sometimes I get burnt out.
Words blur into an inky mess on the screen, and commas start being used more liberally and in wholly inappropriate instances. In the heat of deadlines and unpredictable workloads, even the worst of us will pull all-nighters to get things done, while simultaneously — and a minor consideration at that — making up for ill-managed time.
Creatives across the board experience burnout. Heck, burnout is everywhere — schools, the workforce, wherever “here” is, really — as its lionized in popular communications as a veritable character trait.
Creative content type — marketing, music, and more.