A voice in favor of the complex beauty of female power
Writers need to read.
How do you learn to communicate the tender details of grief? You read how other writers have done it. How do you deftly present dialogue? You notice the craft in essays you love. How do you learn to paint vivid descriptions with words? You read a ton of descriptions other writers have written. When an image on the page blows you away, you go back and read it again and again to dissect how and why it works.
The biggest decision is where to start. Jaipur, for hand-embroidered paisley cashmere shawls that add glamour to a simple black dress? Istanbul for statement jewelry that slays, investment-quality rugs and perfect linens? Or Venice, for a Murano glass chandelier and as much velvet and Fortuny silk as a girl can handle?
It’s 3:00 a.m. on a Monday morning. I’m lying in bed in my one bedroom rental apartment in San Francisco. I left my lucrative tech industry job six months ago and am living on savings until my business takes off.
It’s weird writing about yourself. On the one hand, I feel as compelled to write about the fierce opposites in my life as I did about finding a way to live with them.
When your deepest desires contradict each other, life is confusing.
The next morning, the barest hint of dawn through my uncovered windows wakes me. I smell the remnants of my Diptyque Pomander candle before I open my eyes. I turn my head toward the window and, drowsy and semi-conscious, am immersed in exquisite beauty.
Trying to build a career as a writer feels, at least to me, like climbing a mountain in dense fog.
How big is ‘I’m a writer’ mountain? How many miles do I have to climb before I can see the summit? How steep is the mountain? Are there places to stop and rest? Are there dangerous crevasses where I might fall and break my neck? Will there be trail signs to help me find my way? Will anyone else be on the trail so I don’t always have to climb alone? Will I ever attain the summit? And if I do, will it turn out that the summit is just the base of an even bigger mountain??
When I got my first job in public relations at 25, I was proud and terrified to be starting a real profession. I had come to New York City at 21 on a round trip plane ticket from Los Angeles that was my college graduation present.
I didn’t take the return flight.
Lisa Poulson is a voice in favor of the complex beauty of female power, the descendant of fiercely resilient Mormon pioneers and a woman who survived the death of her fiancé four months before their wedding. Lisa lives in San Francisco, where she spends her time absorbing and creating as much beauty as possible.
You are reading of your own will and choice. How you read, act on or don’t act on what you read here is up to you.
While lisapoulson.com does use cookies, which helps us understand how you engage with our site and where you’re from, we do NOT save your personal information - like e-mail, name or address. And, if you join our mailing list or comment on a post, we will not share (or sell) your contact information. We are not responsible for commenters or other third parties here.
Lisa Poulson is the legal copyright holder of this blog. Contents may not be used, reprinted, or published without written consent.
Lisa Poulson is a voice in favor of the complex beauty of female power, the descendant of fiercely resilient Mormon pioneers and a woman who survived the death of her fiancé four months before their wedding. Lisa lives in San Francisco, where she spends her time absorbing and creating as much beauty as possible.
You are reading of your own will and choice. How you read, act on or don’t act on what you read here is up to you.
While lisapoulson.com does use cookies, which helps us understand how you engage with our site and where you’re from, we do NOT save your personal information - like e-mail, name or address. And, if you join our mailing list or comment on a post, we will not share (or sell) your contact information. We are not responsible for commenters or other third parties here.
Lisa Poulson is the legal copyright holder of this blog. Contents may not be used, reprinted, or published without written consent.
