Day CXLVI: Aaron

Today was the very last day of one of my very favorite coworkers, Aaron DeYoe. Don't worry, he hasn't passed, he's just moving on to bigger and better things. And while it's tragic to see him go, I'm thrilled for his new opportunities.

I guess when you're a member of #TeamTalent, you have no choice but to get yourself to the next level.

Aaron is one of those quirky characters that holds raw denim meet-ups and has soft spots for 30 Rock and Star Trek. The kind of person you'd read about in and want to drop kick; but, in person, he's great.

But he's also not one to shy away from a series of ugly photos.

So that's what we do. We send exceptionally flattering photos to one another throughout the work day.

Rage 

Egg

29

Beauty

So here's to Aaron and all his future successes.

You're the worst person I know, and I really really hope nothing goes your way.

Day CXLIII: Pride

I've never been to Twin Cities Pride.

Do you even understand how much that hurts?

Stone Arch Bridge (thanks, Ashley!)

The last few years, I've been out of the area for work.

No parade down Hennepin. No queens in feathers. No dykes on bikes. No dogs in rainbow glasses. No same-sex couples displaying their love and affection for the world to see in a place that is both tolerant and welcoming.

And, for whatever reason, it really bothered me this year. It sucked to be so far away from something that I feel so fortunate to be a part of.

Day CXLI: Saturday-L-A

The title is supposed to be a play on "ALA," the conference I've been attending this weekend, but, I dunno, dear reader, I am pretty tired and that just might be an awful, awful attempt at a clever phrase.

Do you get it at least? Satur-DAY-L-A? Like Saturd-ALA?

No, you're right. It's terrible.

Day CXXIII: Desk

I had this idea, during the initial run of my #100DaysOfJosh, of presenting a photo of my old office and then following that post with a photo of my new one. That still might happen, but there was just something so charming about my desk today that I just had to share it. So, for now, I am using a more tightly cropped image to explore my work space and share it with you all.

Because I care for you all so deeply, I thought I would explore this photo with five easy-to-see markers. Let's take a look, shall we?

1. Monitor, artwork by Laura Wood

Laura illustrated the book I am most excited for this season, If an Armadillo Went to a Restaurant. After finding her through an illustration agency, I knew that she would be perfect for the project. Her work is bright, charming, and contains more than its share of whimsy. Her work with color is especially impressive. There's so much vibrance and joy in each of her paintings, and that feeling perfectly translates to picture book illustration. So, naturally, I would pick my favorite illustrator to grace my monitor. It used to be a delightful picture of one of my co-workers, Jen Schoeller, but I think she felt self conscious about being a constant presence on my screen. 

2. Hillary's new book, Hard Choices

Oh, Hillary. You charming little peach. You precious little nugget. You swift and merciless snake charmer. You glorious little picnic basket. You sweet lamb sent from the womb of the earth. You ebullient salt-water toad. You pleasantly accessorized and sturdily built Madonna. You feathered princess of dormant and blood-thirsty power. You dark angel from the trenches of Jupiter's giant red spot. You crafty ambassador of exultant and beautiful strength. You radiant cherub of tender and particular touch. You deity of colorful rage and justice. You fierce and admirable princess of the sun. 

I can't wait to read more of your book.

Love, Josh

3. A manuscript word count, 350 words

AND IT IS STILL TOO LONG.

4. Author's Name, Paul Czajak

Paul is the author of Scarletta's Monster and Me series. He's a wordsmith and master of rhyme, and I will meet him--for the very first time--in person at this year's ALA. He's a funny and focused storyteller with a particular knack for meter. I am excited that the rest of the world is getting as on board with his writing as we have been since the beginning. It's always so exciting to see talent paid its dues.

5. An email, not directed to me

You know those emails you receive at one in the morning and your stomach just sinks to the darkest pit of your body the minute you see the time stamp?

Ugh. Yes. Those emails.

As we gear up for ALA--sixteen days away, y'all--I am reminded that there is so much to do outside of the nightmarish planning that is part of gearing up for a trade show. There are still books to be created, schedules to be followed, and, most importantly, dinner reservations to be put on lock to impress our authors and illustrators with well-priced glasses of wine and exceedingly delicious tartares. Life can be tricky like that. 

But there is nothing, NOTHING, I love more than a cleverly crafted email and a good ol' blind carbon copy. 

Get into it.

Day CXVII: Breakfast

If you're not hungry enough to eat an apple, you're not hungry.

-Michael Pollan

I've never been a breakfast eater.

Ever.

There was a brief period in high school--or was it college?--that I insisted on eating something every morning because I'd heard it was beneficial. And, I suppose, when I worked at River Rock coffee, rarely a morning would pass without a scone or a muffin from the baker. Those rare instances aside breakfast has just never been a part of my routine. 

Even as a child, I refused. My grandma was especially good at insisting that I have something, anything, regardless of what it was. She offered ice cream. She made bacon. She asked "what about Scandinavian Almond Cake?" No, nope, no thank you. Mom and dad were unsuccessful in championing breakfast as well. Cereal, toast, fruit: nothing ever sounded less appealing than it did in the minutes between waking up and heading off to school.

Now an adult, I still feel the same outside pressures to consume a meal before lunch.

You didn't eat breakfast?! friends ask, incredulous.

Hungry? Didn't you eat this morning?

That's all? Must have had a big breakfast!

Of late, I've noticed a gradual shift. A tendency toward snacking--a light breakfast of sorts.

Simplicity makes sense to me. I am an editor, after all.

So a tiny cup of frozen grapes and almonds works perfectly as an appetite buster and meal. My coworkers, at least the three I share a space with, like to point out that I eat like a bird at work. Fruit and nuts, nuts and fruit. You might as well set a feeder above my desk.

Still, it's something, right?  A little bit of nourishment to assist the morning coffee. 

And, who knows, maybe it's been helpful. Maybe it hasn't. I haven't spent enough time reflecting on how this new regimen has helped or hindered me. My guess is that it's been more beneficial than not, and, let's be real, almonds and grapes--or blueberries!--are delicious.

Lewis Carrol wrote: 

Why sometimes I believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. 

If that's six in just one day, it's no wonder I'm mad.

Day CXVI: Fighter

After all you put me through, 

you think I'd despise you.

But, in the end, I wanna thank you, 

'cause you've made me that much stronger.

I think Christina Aguilera--er, excuse me, Xtina--is probably a Slytherin. 

Perhaps not these days, but definitely in the late 90s and early 2000s. She's a yellow python at the VMAs away from certainty.

Between her overt sexual nature, diva drive, and resourceful, ambitious spirit, I think she might be a pop star straight outta my house, plucked from the same tree, cut from the same (green and silver) cloth. I had this particular revelation during my run this afternoon around Lake Harriet. 

Specifically, it happened during this song. 

Don't worry, take a listen/watch, what you're about to read can wait. 

Ignoring the fact that this video is a hot mess of, ahem, interesting outfit choices and a cesspool of egomania, this is probably one of my very favorite songs from the most influential songstress of my adolescence. (That's not an exaggeration. I can literally pinpoint four different moments of middle and high school that her albums warped my world. Alas, that's a story for another day.)

Let me quickly tell you about my day. An early one, into the office before eight, ready to get a good head start on the new summer hours at Scarletta. 

Half-day Fridays? Fine by me!

And the office was lovely, almost all day. I felt productive and on top of my game; I felt efficient and ahead of the curve. We are currently prepping for the biggest trade show we attend all year, and I feel like everything might actually be coming together, and that is a lovely change from last year's nail-biting, nerve-wracking countdown. The rain, though beautiful, was dissipating, making room for some sunshine to burn through the clouds. The wind was subsiding, barely, and the city was beginning to regain some of the warmth from the weekend. Lunch was spectacular. Progress was palpable. Books were selling. Books were printing. Submissions were flying out the doors.

And then.

Because isn't there always?

It crashed. And, I swear, the rain started back up, the wind actually howled, and the city froze over. (Well, okay, fine, the city didn't freeze over. But I swear the rest happened just as I've written.) 

It was a frustrating interaction with another person at work. Opinions were exchanged, one-sidedly respected and heard, and, then, condescended and ignored from the other. 

I'll give one golden dollar coin to whoever can guess which side I was on!

It's a frustrating thing to work alongside someone you don't feel respects what you have to say or holds your thoughts and opinions in any sort of regard. I sincerely do my best to be understanding and fair and empathetic to whatever it is I hear from others. And when those same sort of sentiments are not returned, even remotely, I tend to feel particularly agitated. Add that to my severe distaste for conflict, and it's more or less a recipe for one exceedingly uncomfortable hour. 

Basically: I've asserted something is going to work and be beneficial. The other party has rebuked that notion right out. I have always been open to try new ideas or listen to other thoughts or engage in different experiences with whatever this person has brought to the plate. Period. I've tried and learned and given in and grown. The lack of reciprocity is just exceptionally hard to deal with.

So when I left work, I was feeling understandably frustrated. 

And then, during my run, Fighter came on over Spotify. 

And all I could think, with every foot that hit the asphalt, ever imprint my shoes made in the dirt, was "thank you" 'cause it...

Made me learn a little bit faster

Made my skin a little bit thicker

Made me that much smarter.

So thanks for making me a fighter.

I don't know if Christina Aguilera is actually a Slytherin, even if her fashion sense and 90s sex appeal would have me believe it is so. 

But I do know that I am. 

And if that is indication of how this interaction is going to pan out over the next few days, you can chalk me up to for three points of resolve, two points of sarcasm, and another four in the category of ambition. 

I don't harbor any animosity or ill-will. That's not me. 

Still, I am stubborn.

And I am ready to brawl.

LXXIV: Three

The thing about Wednesday: I always end up with a story from the day that I don't get to share because of my commitment to #WigWednesday. And then, because I tend to be the most scatterbrained of all people, I forget what I actually wanted to share with you all.

But not tonight! No, tonight I am on top of things. For you, I have three stories to share from my Wednesdeay. I hope you'll enjoy them.

Wet

Wasn't it fun how it snowed and rained all Sunday long? The accumulation of snow and sleet really cemented the beauty of spring.

As you may have guessed from my post on Tuesday, I had a bit of a rocky Monday. Luckily, the blood moon kept me pretty energized throughout the evening and I was able to spring back up on my feet in time for Tuesday to roll around. And while staying up until 3 am enjoying the orange orb in the sky and writing through some weirdness was probably not a great idea, I felt surprisingly ready for the morning.

Teeth brushed, body showered, feet booted: I was ready for the day. Bustling out of the apartment, I was ready to get to work, get through the day, and move on to an exciting night. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the loud children next door--who are usually unbearable in the early hours of the day--were suspiciously silent. Ah, yes, it was going to be a good day. And then I sat down in my car.

After the rain.

After the snow in the night.

After leaving my moon roof open for 12 ungodly hours.

So with a soaked ass, and not one single ounce of dignity, I drove to work, the butt of my jeans significantly darker than the rest. 

Now, yes, this was Tuesday. And this was supposed to be a story about Wednesday! Fear not: we're getting there. 

Cut to me, standing outside of Bull Run, chatting with my grandpa. We must have talked for 50 minutes! It was a nice long discussion about all sorts of things. Mostly, it was just to catch up. So we CAUGHT UP. For a while! And it was great! But I ended up walking up and down the streets of my neighborhood the entire time we had our conversation. So when it came time to go inside after our lengthy chat, I was little...well...moist.

That's right.

Moist.

Work

Being in a new space is not without its benefits. The exploration and excitement that comes with a new environment can really contribute to the creative energies of a work space. 

One of the oft overlooked benefits of a different office: new furniture! 

I am fortunate enough to work somewhere that carries an incredibly relaxed vibe. 

So when you're a little jittery throughout the day already--namely: you can't sit still--it's helpful to have a seat that moves along with you. Whether I'm sitting, standing, or kneeling, I have a chair that rolls with the punches. Hell, I can feel my back and my core getting stronger already. If you're looking for something to keep you on your toes while doing mundane tasks, this would be my go to suggestion. 

Wardrobe

I've never shied away from talking about naked-time. You know, the time to yourself when you just get to disrobe, hangout--literally--and be yourself in the most basic possible form. I'm a fan. 

The only part of the day that I consistently get to enjoy naked-time, though, is when it's time for bed. I don't care for sleeping with clothes on. I'm a big advocate for showering before bed, so I never feel like my naked self is polluting the perfection of my bed sheets and blankets. Sleeping sans clothing just feels right to someone like me; it's something I genuinely cherish throughout the weaving hours of the week.

So, knowing that I sleep in my birthday suit, can someone please explain to me how I woke up like this on Wednesday morning?

Sweatpants? A sweater (not buttoned correctly...)? Socks?

Color me confused.

I've never been one to sleep walk--have I?!--so coming to on Wednesday morning in more clothes than I wore the entire day before was a bit puzzling. 

When I asked Kyle about it, explaining the predicament I was placed in, he helpfully offered an answer.

"Oh, is this finally when I tell you I sneak into your room and dress you every evening?"

Well, I guess that's one possibility. 

Day LXX: Dryer

Reflection is a dangerous game to play with yourself.

When you're an overthinker--like myself--it's easy to trap your mind in teeny tiny death spirals of "what?" and "why?" A moment, caught on tape, reeling through your brain on one mortifying, endless loop. So many shoulds, so many coulds, so many woulds. All of them, reaching and falling, tumbling over one another like sheets in a dryer.

Laundry was a long process today. Blankets, shirts, underwear, towels, socks, jeans, pillowcases, linens, sweats: and that was just one of the loads. Too many things left untended, too many things left in the basket. Dormancy and lethargy are killers when it comes to washing and drying clothing.

A pen of mine made it in to the washer with my first load of apparel. A pilot G2, my favorite make of pen. Washed out and ruined, leaking like a open wound, I tossed it into the trash before more damage could be done. Peering over the gingham and flannel and denim, I was lucky to escape with just one itty-bitty mark on a rarely-worn v-neck which quickly found a new role as a kitchen rag. The rest: free from harm.

To toss aside your thoughts for another day is a great disservice to your sanity. But rolling with them in endless loops of uncertainty is toxic. Factor in an already neurotic personality and you've got days of self-inflicted torture. And that's the curse of the overthinker--you're damned if you do, you're damned if you don't.

So choose to wrestle. Choose to contemplate and mediate and digress and engage your thoughts until you've exhausted them, until you've exhausted yourself. Resolution does not come without work, so working to resolve is the lesser of two evils.

With any luck, the tumbling thoughts find a resting place somewhere on the continuum of comfort.

And what's better than climbing into bed, tucked safely beneath layers and layers of clean, warm sheets?

Day XL: Hangman

Ah, Friday. Where the hell have you been?

I think it's been seven years since Monday was here.

What is it about the post-vacation week that just causes time to crawl by on it's hands and knees like an ancient leper in biblical Jerusalem? It's painful.

Luckily, today has not been so bad. It's been one helluva day--don't ask--but at least it flew by. Typing this blog, I can barely believe that I've somehow made it passed the work week and that the weekend is just about to begin.

I think some of Friday's speediness is due to my diabolical victory in our company's constantly active game of hangman. We have these beautiful big windows up here on the 11th floor of the Lumber Exchange Building that over look NE Minneapolis and Hennepin Ave. We also have a set that afford us a balls-eye view of the 90s and the Brass Rail, but those are less impressive.

Anyway, on the windows facing the Hennepin bridge, we have a giant hangman center. It's all done with dry-erase markers, so we're constantly challenging and guessing our fellow office mates to this classic game for word worms. Today, following my victory earlier in the week, I had the privilege of being the word master.

See that dead little stick figure? Yeah, I killed it today. I had to go so far as give him a soda and popcorn, a pair of shoes, a face, a hat, and a sizzling sun in order for give my coworkers enough guesses to get through the phrase.

God. I love winning.

Wanna play along? Here's the phrase I went with.

Category: Noun

_ _ _ _   _ _ _ _

Any takers?

Day XXXIX: Inventory

Working at Scarletta has been a great introduction to the book world. Working for a small publisher appeals to me, especially as a spring board, because you get thrown head first into a world that isn't really covered in the classroom. And that I get to work with picture books is even better.

Daily, I am in contact with authors and illustrators of stupendous talent. I get to read tons of submissions--most of them a little underwhelming--and spend my day surrounded by characters that enhance and embrace the imagination and creativity of kids. Many of my favorite books over last few months have actually come through the Scarletta gates. And by "gates" I mean my email inbox. I mean, god, we're a small press with three employees! Did you actually think we have time for gates?

I digress, working at Scarletta has been a joy, a frustration, and a learning curve. It's been empowering and fun, challenging and upsetting. And while there are numerous aspects to my job that I adore, there is one thing that I truly despise:

Day XXV: Toys

Come April 1st, Scarletta will be in a new building. Being with a company during a move is sort of an exciting time to be around. There are new desks and chairs, new sound systems, new design spaces, and there is a whole lotta shit that needs get on outta here.

Isn't everyone's favorite part of moving purging your life of the crap bogging you down? I feel like every time that I have moved, it's a toss-half/keep-half sort of battle. I wonder if I've kept more than I've donated or thrown? Hard to say, but I think it's close call.

It's nice to be a part of a move that doesn't really require you to do a whole lot. Today, we all spent a lot of time cleaning and looting through our desk affects. Personally, I like the little green martian that sits on my computer. I like my stiletto turned tape dispenser. I like my supply of G2 pens. But everything else? It can go. I'm not tied to it or interested in keeping it for our new space. I like to think I'll find something equally worthless and perfectly charming when we're all settled in to the new location this spring.

Amidst the looting, however, my friend Colleen discovered a little gem.