I’ve been away from this blog for oh so long — almost 6 months. And also away from my e-letter. I can’t believe it either.

“Didn’t you just blog the other month?” my friend asked today, as we were co-working at Volunteer Park Café on Capitol Hill in Seattle. By that point, I’d just about finished my third 12 oz. paper cup of Stumptown drip and I surely didn’t need more. But the ‘free refills’ carafe was calling.

“That was October,” I said. “And that was just to say, hey, I know I haven’t blogged in a while.” Time goes quickly.

I am now so caffeinated, I may not sleep for two days (sike — I will) and I’ve avoided writing this post long enough. Bacon/fontina/chive quiche and brown butter brownie chaser consumed. Washroom used and items on upcycled farm implement shelf in bathroom admired — three times. The bright noon light blew up the window I sat facing and continued its course to the west, while the Michael Jackson-and-Prince soundtrack the café had been spinning all morning segued into The xx, Courtney Barnett (possibly my new musical fixation — notice how the lyrics in this song read like a stream of consciousness freewrite or an overheard coffee shop conversation), The Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

It’s time to show back up. Time for re-entry. Time to let ‘er rip.

Lettin’ ‘er rip is something I’ve never been good at.

I am planful. Contemplative. Composed.

I tend to overthink. Overwrite. Overwork.

But then sometimes, there’s an opening in the cloud cover and I see the shaft of light and it’s just time to go. Then I pretty much throw caution to the wind, intuitively lunge toward whatever is up next.

During all this time away from the public-facing side of my business, I’ve been actively in engaged in change and exploration.

New house. My partner and I left our 1930 Craftsman-wannabe bungalow (I say that with endearment) in Walla Walla, a dusty gem of a small town east of the Cascades, and moved five hours west. I can breathe again. My skin likes this place. So do my words.

New city, the Emerald City. If I believed in past lives, I would believe that I had had at least one really good one here. Everything about this place feels like it’s made of the same DNA I am.

New hair. I traded my long, romantic curls for a long, curly pixie, not quite like this but this was the inspiration. What. I know. Still getting used to even how much less time my always low maintenance hair now takes me. Jury’s still out on whether I’m staying short or growing it back.

New friendships. Women whose work I’ve watched from afar these past few years, but am now having the chance to get to know in a deeper way. I feel lucky. I feel especially lucky for old friendships, too.

New way of eating that makes me feels glorious, when I do it.

New relationship with my fiction writing, the secret work that walks me through days and nights, whispering lines of dialogue in my ear, turns of phrase, character details.

Over the past several months, I’ve taken courses (and am signed up to take more) at Hugo House, the hub of Seattle’s literary arts scene. I’ve rejoined a couple-times-a-week practice of writing, just seeing what is there, following the drift. I’ve been working through this amazing ecosystem for fiction writers* on a weekly basis. I’ve been slowly building a story to submit to this contest*.

I sent out a few job applications for positions that had amazing benefits, thinking, what if a business isn’t actually what I want? What if, after nine years of creative self-employment, I’m done here? (Response from myself and the Universe: NOT EVEN.)

I’ve hiked in new terrain, I’ve smelled the forest floor, I’ve drunk in the salty air at the edge of the Puget Sound from five different beaches. I’ve recouped a sore hip and a wonky knee (old ballet injuries) with proper alignment, with the help of this friend and this yoga channel.

I’ve seen my sweet baby-with-an-old-soul Cooper (our oldest dog, who is just six) through a health scare. He is so good.

I’ve taken a bath almost every single day or night since we moved.

I saw these guys perform their Pin Drop (acoustic) tour at Benaroya Hall.

I’ve cooked and baked. I’ve eaten and drank.

I was lucky enough to write this feature column for Laura Simms’ Create As Folk for several months. And then my lovely successor turned around and profiled me and my brand! (I have to say, it’s one of the best write-ups I’ve ever seen on what The Voice Bureau does and how we do it.)

I gave this interview to the unstoppable Miki Strong about branding with your Voice Values — my signature methodology — and even my mom says it’s the best audio interview I’ve ever given. (I had to put that in there.)

I talked with my sister-in-ink Elisa Doucette about making my life as a writer who writes for love and for pay over here at Writers’ Rough Drafts.

Andrea Lewicki has interviewed me twice this year as one of her Creativity Case Studies. Check out Part 1 and Part 2 (and my short list of favorite inspiring books for writers at the end).

Sarah Selecky, one of my fiction mentors-from-afar, featured me in a series called The Business Of Writing. Here’s our Q&A, in which I talk about my definition of marketing, whether writerly types should study business, and the themes that come up in my own stories.

I’ve made an important internal promotion in my biz (soon to be announced on the blog) and hired an awesome new team member (also soon to be introduced). I’ve grown our coterie of copywriters, bringing on some truly amazing talent.

I’ve continued to support exciting copywriting projects big and small behind the scenes, connecting daily with my Project Manager and our clients and clients-to-be, providing creative direction and brand voice development support. I’ve been a little astonished how even going quiet for six months hasn’t dried up our referral well. I am so grateful.

I’ve started a half dozen or more blog posts and never hit publish. I’ve outlined a few new offers and then abandoned the outlines partway through. I’ve collected new ideas and concepts in Docs and Asana and in the Notes function of my iPhone.

I’ve trusted the composting process, hopeful that recycling my raw organic materials will create a rich soil for something.

Here’s what I’ve learned: creative chaos often precedes a remarkable regroup.

And the only way back in, after shutting yourself out or off or keeping yourself away, is through.

It’ll never be as neat and tidy as I want. I don’t like rough and raucous. But that’s what life is sometimes. That’s where the heat is. The friction of present moment brushing up against coming to be.

The hardest thing to do, when you love your work, is to keep yourself away from it.

Have you ever found yourself doing that?

I struggle so much with self-disclosing on the internet. I love privacy — anonymity, even. It’s part of the reason I went to undergrad at a place with 57,000 students on campus. I wanted to be anyone I wanted to be every time I walked outside my door. A shape-shifter.

The idea of evolving within my brand and showing that evolution as it’s happening has always seemed anathema to me. You wait until you’ve got it all figured out. You wait until the message is clear.

I still believe that. But I also believe that sometimes you just can’t wait. And progress doesn’t equal perfection.

It’s never perfect. But somehow, it’s always ready. Always there.

Gosh, I’m back.

It feels good to feel my voice here again. 

There’s new stuff on the way. Old stuff being reprised.

There’s a brand regroup on the rising.

And it’s coming soon.

If you’re ready to start listening to yourself again, and to dip back into the innateness that’s always been driving your brand from the beginning, please stick around. Sometimes back to center is the way forward.

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