Lately I feel like a soda can that’s all shook up.
I write all day every day, which is technically the definition of my dream job. But when you’re writing all day about things like the “tasty Nacho Chicken Sandwich” and the “delicious Rodeo Burger,” your soul tends to get crushed in the process.
For the first year of my career I was shaken so roughly, and so rarely got to open up, eventually it was like my creativity went into a sugar-induced coma. At the end of my first year being officially titled a “creative,” I hardly felt like the term described me at all.
What’s ironic is that for most of that time, I spent all day every day coming up with commercial ideas for Pepsi, all hinging on that magical sound of the can popping open. Time stopped, strangers fell in love–anything was possible once someone let the sugar out.
I’m starting this blog as an attempt to open my metaphorical Pepsi can. So deep, right?
It’s a room of my own where I can write whatever I want, without any Calls to Action or fluffy adjectives.
My sparkly new, clean, white Sane Asylum. I like it here already.