Beyond the Inverted Pyramid

Got the Write Stuff?

Whether you're advising a young person on a career choice or making a hiring decision, you may, at sometime, find yourself debating just what makes a good public relations person.  I've seen people come and go and I can tell you, despite the shape, size, age, industry, political affiliation or education, they tend to share some common attributes.

They are superb at networking.  Some people are just naturally outgoing and perfectly comfortable with meeting and greeting and glad handing.  Others learn how to do it quite well as a part of the job.  Their network is a garden that they cultivate and regularly harvest.  They build alliances. They recognize the areas of their own weakness and seek out those who can complement them. 

They are great relationship builders.  They are comfortable working with people at all levels of their organization.  They have friends and acquaintances from all walks of life.  I have a friend, now retired, who was a lobbyist.  He chatted as much with the company maintenance man about the best weed killer to put on the lawn as as he did with our state senator about the company position on pending legislation.  There is not wonder his path led him into politics. 

They are lifetime learners. A good public relations person embraces technology.  It is absolutely necessary to follow the development of a new media not only to use it to your own advantage, but to be aware of how others are using it, perhaps to your detriment.  Blogging is a good example.  Good public relations people need to have a good grasp of how to track what is going on in the the blogosphere in order to counter it if need be.

They are curious.  They need to have an almost insatiable curiosity, a need to know what is going on in their environments.  They read voraciously.  They are consumers of broadcast news.  They read the trade press. They are constantly scanning the environment and processing what they see, synthesizing it into observations about their own world.  Their thirst for knowledge generally leads them to be fairly well-rounded individuals.

They are great writers.  They are not only good at it, they have a passion for it.  I had an employee tell me as they were moving into another position that he never wanted to write another article again. I think, if that is the way he truly felt, it is good that he made the move. This vocation was obviously not a good fit.

While it's dangerous to make generalizations, I've found these observations to generally hold true.  If you'd like to add your own observations or challenge those, I've made, please feel free to add a comment.

Redescovering a Long-Lost Friend

I paid a long overdue visit to an old friend recently.

I walked into our local public library and I signed up for the first library card I've had in 10 years. Access to a home computer and the Internet had kept me away from my old friend for too long. While technology has eliminated the card catalog, and hottest seat in the house for many is in front of a computer screen, there are many things that have not changed.

The library is an equalizer, where the only cost for access to books, research, and now the cyberworld, is the desire for knowledge.

The library offers the thrill of adventure. Trolling through the library stacks is like sniffing out a good bargain at the local department store. You never know what you might uncover--an old book you read in childhood or a new book from a favorite writer.

At the library, retail renting is encouraged. You can try books that you may not invest the money to buy and return them if they don't fit, or get more of the same if they are a match. It's not the kind of thing you are encouraged to do at Macy's or Wal-Mart.

So, while I love my new friend, the Internet, there is a place for old friends, also, where you can revisit old adventures, but go on new ones there as well.

Just Watching the Clothes Dry

Did you ever have a day so lazy that you could sit on a sun-dappled porch and watch the clothes dry? I have.

Some of my fondest recollections of the summers of my youth are of spending time with my grandmother on her back porch. Sometimes we’d share a bowl of ice cream. Sometimes we’d just watch the clothes dry on the nearby clothesline. We’d talk about what she was making for dinner and what my mother was cooking for dinner and which neighbors were at home and who was not.

During those summer days I am in and out of my grandparents’ house at least several times. I go in the back door by the way of the back porch announcing my presence with the bang of the wooden screen door. The porch, shaded with green and orange canvas awnings, was built by my granddad and every spring he repaints it a shiny forest green whether it needs it or not. In front of the porch is a cement patio, where I spend hours jumping rope. The end of the porch is fenced by a wall of morning glories as blue as the sky on those summer days. Pap planted them and now come back every year. Volunteers they are called, volunteering to thrive and climb to the sun on strings he puts up every year for the purpose.

While Grandma works every morning, she routinely retreats to the back porch in the afternoons and I am a regular visitor. When the garden is on, we often sit on the porch and snap green beans and shell pole beans or even pit cherries. But, every Thursday is laundry day and on that day, without fail, I am periodically dispatched to run up to the clothesline to check to see if a particular item is dry. If it is dry, I unpin the weathered wooden clothespins and take the item to Grandma who folds it and puts it her laundry basket for ironing the next day. The process is repeated numerous times until all the laundry is in the basket or I am called for supper which ever comes first.

Whenever I feel the need to go someplace warm and peaceful, I just close my eyes and I’m back on the porch. I feel the warmth of the rough cement under my bare feet and the warmth of my grandmother’s presence, as consistently ready to be called forth today as it was on those summer days long ago.

What's in a Name?

Lucinda. 

The name comes from the word Lucia, or Lucius, which means bringing light.  It shares the same root as Lucille or Lucy, a name made popular by Carl Schultz and the Lucy of his Peanuts strip, and for me, a family name. I had an aunt named Lucille.  Mother says, however, I wasn't named for her.  Instead, my mother says when she was considering a name for me, she saw "Lucinda" in the credits of a movie she was watching on TV. 

Google it these days and you get all kinds of entries for Lucinda Williams, the singer.  But Lucinda Bassett, a local psychologist actually comes up first.  (She must have paid more than Lucinda Williams for that spot. Free enterprise is a wonderful thing.)

Other famous Lucindas?  Here in my adopted hometown, Lucinda Mahaffie and her husband Jim operated the Mahaffie Stage coach stop from 1865 to 1869.  It's an older name popular at the turn of the century, yet when I was in elementary school I was one of two Lucinda's in my class. Lucinda Figard went by "Cindy," so, the teacher said she'd call me Lucinda to keep us straight and that usage stuck. 

Want to learn more about baby names.  Here's where I found out about mine. 

What is the Inverted Pyramid Anyway?

I titled my blog Beyond the Inverted Pyramid because I started writing in this style and along the way have had cause to write in many varied styles depending on the purpose of the piece. Hence, my writing life has Beyond the Inverted Pyramid.

Think about a slice of pizza, a triangle, broad at the top and coming to a point at the end. The inverted pyramid is a simple formula used to write a traditional news story. The first paragraph should answer the questions, who, what, when, where, why and how. Thus, it contains all that the reader needs to know about the story in one big bite.

The second paragaph offers some additional information and subsequent paragraphs contain less important details so that the editor can cut the story any where from the bottom up without destroying the integrity of the story. This practice, while it works for the tradition news story is just one formulatic way to approach one particular style of writing. The intent of the blog is to explore not one, by the many aspects of writing as an avocation, a passtime and a creative outlet.

Read about the Inverted Pyramid.

Service that Doesn't Go Out of Style

Whether you want to buy penny candy, an apple peeler or a Pendleton suit, you can find it at the Thomas Bros Country Store in Biglerville, Pennsylvania. Not only is the variety of goods remarkable, it can't be beat for providing exceptional service.

In the early '80s finding petite business attire was a difficult undertaking. I usually ended up buying regular sizes and having sleeves and hems shortened. I had quite a project when it was time to buy an all-weather coat. I couldn't get away with the girls size 14 anymore and when the size 4P from Penney's catalog store was so big I could swim in it, it was time to check out the Thomas Bros Store, in Biglerville. Biglerville is a small town in Adams County in the heart of apple country, home of Motts' and Mussellman's applesauce and neighbor to the famous Gettysburg Battlefield.

With a population of 1,000 hearty souls, the town has one red light where the general store sits on the corner. It has been there since 1909, a hardware, dry goods and general store that hasn't changed much in all of that time. The store is known for having an extensive line of prom dresses and wedding gowns in addition to their penny candy and hardware. It advertises that Mamie Eisenhower shopped there when she lived at the nearby Eisenhower Farm in Gettysburg.

When we walked into the store it was jam-packed with all sorts of goods from kitchenware to bib overalls. You could have spent a week there and never find what you were looking for. After wandering around a bit, we were approached by an elderly woman who looked as if she may have been at the store when it originally opened. I told her I was looking for an all-weather coat. She asked us to wait and then she disappeared to come back a short time later with a size 6P weather coat that was made to order. It fit like a glove. So much for J.C. Penney's.

I have since bought and practically wore out a London Fog and bought a nice Anne Klein coat, but I still have that Thomas Bros all-weather coat in the closet. I wear it a couple of time a year. It's indestructible. It beads water like a duck and it's machine washable.

Well, we weren't done there. Having triumphed with the all-weather coat, when she asked if there was anything else she could do for us, I told asked her if she had any suits. So, she takes off again and after a while re-emerges with a beautiful size 6P navy Pendleton suit. I told her that I didn't wear that size. She just kind of haughtily told me "Just put it on." I'd been taught not to disrespect my elders. I slipped obediently behind a curtain on a rope hanging across a corner of a room and put it on. It was a perfect fit—the most finely tailored garment I had ever worn.

We bought it at full price as well as another suit, the all-weather coat and two Jessica McClintock blouses. When we made our way to the register with my haul, the register clerk asked the elderly woman rather incredulously if that was all for one customer. I think our bill was over $600. And the elderly lady says, "Yes, of course" as if someone came into the dry goods store and bought $600 worth of clothing everyday.

As I progressed in my career and as the sale of petite womenswear became more common, I have been in a lot of upscale stores but I've never had the customer service I got at the Thomas Bros Store. No one has since sized me up at a glance and put together a wardrobe out of nowhere. My hat's off to the Thomas Bros Store where customer service is never out of date.

What Do You Do in Your Sleep?

What in your life, have you done so frequently that you could do it in your sleep? NPR ran a story recently about just that. It was a series they are doing on recorded family histories and a man told the story of how his father, as he lay dying, was making repetitive movements, that were mystifying his doctor. The son knew exactly what he was doing. His father worked in a steel mill and he was going through the motions of opening and closing the blast furnace doors, adjusting gauges, etc., like he had done all of his life.

It reminds me of something my grandmother did when she was sick in the hospital. Near the end of her life, she spent a lot of time in the hospital in the town where I worked. I would take my lunch hours in the afternoon so I could see her during the afternoon visiting hours. One day when I went to see her she was fast asleep in bed folding clothes. Her eyes were closed and she was holding up imaginary shirts and towels and neatly folding them and putting them in a stack. My grandmother had ten children and I'm sure she spent a great deal of her life folding clothes. It was a wonder she wasn't stirring a pot or peeling potatoes.

In a similar situation my dad will be running a machine tacking soles on shoes. My mother will be feeding cloth through a sewing machine. As for me, there's no doubt what I'll be doing. I'll be doing what I'm doing this very minute sitting typing at a keyboard. What would your body do with out your mind directing it?

Breaking Through the Block

A lot of people talk about writer's block and I just can't identify. The world is full of things that I have plenty to say about. Whether the world is listening to me or not, why that is another matter! So, here are some tips that you may find helpful.

1.) Start in the middle. I find it useful to start a story by writing up the material that I know I want to include. For example, if I'm writing a news release about a new product, I write about the benefits of the product and example of how it might be used. Once I have that on paper, I seem to get momentum and the lead and the end come easily.

2.) Write about what you know. Case in point. This posting. I love to write. I'm writing about writing. How weird is that? But, how easy it is for me. I've written so much, it is like breathing. What is easier to write about than writing?

3.) Find story ideas from the news. Whether it's NPR or your favorite blog, being a regular consumer of current events just provides a plethora of ideas. One of my favorite blog entries was born of an item I heard on NPR one day about a terminally ill man make repetitive motions in his sleep. My item I wrote is about my grandma folding clothes in her sleep.

4.) Write about where you came from. Celebrate your history. Mark Twain's tale about growing up on the banks of the Mississippi was largely autobiographical. I grew up near the Raystown Branch of the Juniata river. In a rural community, the river provided a year-round source of recreation. If only those banks could talk. We all have a Mark Twain story in us waiting to get out.

5.) Write about what you love. I love my furry cat family. I've got a million stories. What do you love? What to you have to say about it?

6.) Keep a journal. It doesn't have to be a fancy leather bound deal. Use a tablet or a note book or a calendar. Just have a place where you can jot those things that just come on you when you least expect it like when you're in the shower or awake at 3 a.m.

7.) Steal. Well, I had a friend who put it this way. Don't be afraid to use the dead wood in your neighbor's yard. One of my friends was telling me about a current commercial about commitment that she really like. Yes, I agree. I now have it on my list for a future posting.

Up in Smoke

I’ve burned time, burned money and burned a few dinners.

But I never enjoyed anything more than burning the gym suit I wore from seventh grade through my senior year in high school.

As the school year started for seventh graders, we were all required to purchase a gym suit and advised to buy one a couple of sizes too large so we could grow into them. The standard gym suits of the day were not fashionable, nor were they flattering. They came in one style and one color—one piece, short-sleeve, navy blue with an elasticized waist and silver snaps up the front. So, we rolled up the legs and sleeves and hiked up our collective waists. When we hit the court in our standard white sneakers, white ankle socks and the two-sizes-too-big suits, we must have been a sight to behold.

Phys ed class, to me, was about as attractive as that suit. I was an undersized with no talent and no interest in sports of any type. I was a nerdy kid, happiest with my face in a book somewhere. If it wouldn’t be for my good friend Peg, I would have been the last one picked for intramurals. (Yes. We really did do that. There was always some poor soul left standing.) But Peg was a jock, a standout on the girls’ basketball team, who’d take pity on me and pick me for her team. (Thank you Peg and all your offspring.)

As time went on, some of the lucky girls were able to get new suits, ones that actually fit. But, most of my friends, like me, came from families where an extra gym suit wasn’t seen as a necessity, so we soldiered on with those ugly suits that none of us ever did grow into.

Needless to say, one of the happiest days of my teenage life was the day I was able to take that baggy, size 10, ugly, hated rag along with the household trash to our outdoor fireplace for ceremonial disposal. Having strategically chosen a college without a phys ed requirement, I had no need for a gym suit ever again. I lit a match to that monstrosity and watched with satisfaction as it ignited as quickly as tissue paper and with it five years of self-conscious, embarrassing ugly was forever gone, gone, gone.

Weaving a Tale, Not a Sweater

I’m like Frank Sinatra.

“Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention…”

One of the regrets I have regarding my youth is that, as the daughter of an excellent seamstress, I passed through my mother’s stewardship without allowing her to pass along this particularly practical skill.

And, I’ve paid for it.

Again and again, I’ve paid for it.

Off-the-rack petites are designed for women at least four inches taller than me, so even short clothes have to be shortened.  I number of years pack, I tried to solve the problem by wearing heels, but you can’t go on wearing three-inch heels forever.

My mother always encouraged me to pursue my talents and interests no matter if they did not match hers.

So, while I can’t sew a lick, I can compose and print a memorable photo.  I can conduct an interview and write a great story. I can analyze a poem. I can even play a tune on a guitar.

But, as to sewing, I’m afraid it’s like cooking.  I just have to say “I had it hemmed with money I made myself.”