Andrea Wilson Woods' Blog

Best-selling author and marketing genius Seth Godin recently said on his blog, “You don’t need a new plan for next year. You need a commitment.”

When I started thinking about New Year’s resolutions, Seth’s words kept running through my head. Why plan to do something? Why make resolutions? Why say “I’m going to try to …” Instead, make a commitment. No ifs, no ands, no buts. Commit to doing whatever it is that you say you are going to do every year but somehow never accomplish.

Thanks to Seth Godin’s insightful words, I don’t have any New Year’s resolutions; however, I commit to do the following things in 2012:

1. Finish the second draft of my book. I have been dealing with this goal off and on for three years. Mostly off. I could use the excuse that writing is time-consuming (it is), but the truth is working on my book is like cutting my carotid artery open every day. It’s painful and messy—not healing and cathartic although people assume the latter is true. I feel drained, exhausted, and emotionally spent after working on my memoir. I hate it.
2. Do yoga once per week. Working out five times per week with a combination of yoga, cardio, and resistance training would be ideal (remember EMAO?), but I’m not exercising at all right now. Therefore, it’s best to keep my commitment realistic given my time constraints. Yoga Blend has two classes on Sunday that I enjoy so all I need to do is pick one, drive there, and appreciate the “me” time while I enhance my yoga practice.
3. Write my blog a minimum of twice per month. While I commit to writing twice per month, my goal is to write every week. However, like yoga, I need to have reasonable expectations of my time and energy. As a full-time Social Media Specialist, I spend eight hours a day looking at two computer screens. Despite my numerous blog ideas, sometimes I don’t even check my email when I get home let alone start my laptop.
4. Complete my 52 Postcards in 2012 project. This year I am going to write a postcard every week to someone I know or don’t know (perhaps you my devoted blog reader?). To see how you can become a recipient of one of the many postcards in my collection, click on 52 Postcards. This experiment is an exercise in writing, discipline, and a great way to share my postcard obsession with others.
5. Learn more about wine. This commitment may sound unnecessary, but it’s related to my job at TGIC Importers. I will continue to attend wine tastings at Vendome Wine & Spirits to improve my palate. I am considering taking Wine Spectator’s free, online, self-paced courses. Depending on where my job takes me, I might even enroll in the Wine and Spirit Education Trust program.
6. Stop picking at my cuticles. You know how some people resolve to lose weight every year, but never do? Well, that’s me and my relationship with my cuticles. I don’t know why I pick at them. I’m not even aware of it half the time. I don’t bite my nails—never did, but there is something about my cuticles that I cannot resist. This year I commit to not pick. It’s gross. It’s nasty. It’s unladylike. If you see me doing it, call me out.
7. Quit watching my soap opera The Young and the Restless (Y&R). I can already hear the groans and chuckles, but you have to understand. Y&R debuted in March of 1973—five months shy of my first birthday. My mother watched the soap from the beginning with me in her arms. I remember when Nikki was a young stripper who fell in love with the self-made millionaire Victor Newman. I haven’t seen every Y&R episode. I even went years without watching the show, but I know its history better than I know my own genealogy. My friend MB and I text each other about the repeated, tired story lines. After fast-forwarding through three episodes in one hour, I realized I don’t care anymore except … I want to know who killed Diane Jenkins, and I’m counting on MB to tell me.*

AWW — XoXo

P.S. What are your commitments in 2012?

*I already deleted Y&R from our DVR. One commitment down, six more to go!

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When I was an undergraduate student at the University of Southern California, few students owned computers, and almost no one had heard of the Internet. We typed our papers on typewriters or word processors, and we conducted the research for essay topics at the library. Among stacks of dusty shelves, you often found co-eds kissing, reading books, and/or writing notes on index cards. Every source had to be documented, or you risked no credit for the paper, which often led to failing the class. As stated in the school’s Code of Conduct, plagiarism was not allowed under any circumstance. I know one student who plagiarized during my time at the university, and he was expelled. Today, that student would be admonished and allowed to redo the paper.

A Pew study conducted in March and April of 2011 found that 55 percent of college presidents have seen an increase in plagiarism over the past decade. A whopping 89 percent “believe computers and the Internet have played a major role.” As a former adjunct professor at Kaplan University, I would agree. Although if asked, most students can define plagiarism, they still don’t understand what it is. They don’t know that they must document every source. They think anything written on the Web is theirs for the taking—they only need to copy and paste the words into their essays. And they often do.

When I suspected a student of plagiarizing in my Freshmen Composition class, I had to prove it. Luckily, websites such as Turnitin.com allow teachers to compare the content of students’ papers to anything written on the Internet. The student in question committed plagiarism twice in my class during the same term. Though she received no credit for those two assignments, the university did not expel her and the plagiarism charges did not go on her permanent student record. I wouldn’t even call her punishment a slap on the wrist—more like a tap on the thumb. I stopped teaching college after that incident. Actually, I stopped teaching altogether.

Technology has made our lives easier in many ways, but it has also made it easier for students to cheat. However, they have a choice every time they visit websites for research. They can choose to document their sources and write the paper in their own words, or they can plagiarize. We can’t stop plagiarism, but perhaps we can slow it down. We need to teach today’s students that stealing another person’s words is a shameful act. However, stringing together your own sentences and composing your own paper—these actions reveal a person of fine character even if the end result is mediocre.

AWW — XoXo

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Ahh … spam. That tasty pork product molded into the shape of a small rectangular box. Mmmm … Yuck. I hated spam even though I ate it as a child. I find it funny now that the definition of spam has expanded to include, “Disruptive messages, especially commercial messages posted on a computer network or sent as e-mail.” I dislike the new spam more than the old canned stuff. Then again, who doesn’t hate spam?

There are numerous types of anti-spam software in existence, but the best thing that blocks spam on my blog is Akismet. Mention the word penis and you’re blocked. Want to sell me some Xanax? I don’t think so. Granted I have the spam blocker on its highest possible setting so I don’t read about porn or pills. However, I still get some spam occasionally, and it is often quite funny.

“Kaylee” and “Tibby” wrote, “I saercehd a bunch of sites and this was the best” and “That’s really tnhiinkg out of the box. Thanks!” I’ll ignore their misspellings if only to point out that vague, appreciative comments especially on older posts are almost always spam.

In response to Five Signs, Claudette commented, “Cars and houses are not very cheap and not everyone can buy it. However, mortgage loans are invented to help different people in such cases.” “Mortgage loans” was a link to another site and this comment was not related to the topic—two more signs of spam. Another spammer tried to do the same thing on the same post with an outside link to “home loans.”

I like receiving spam in foreign languages; it is usually an Eastern European country pushing a prescription drug. One time, a Russian spammer wanted to sell me furniture. I don’t read Russian; I use Google Translate when I’m curious about the non-English spam. Don’t judge—an insomniac like me has to do something with her time.

My new favorite pest is Diablo 3. He won’t go away. Despite his demonic name, his spam comments are quite benign. “Excellent data. Lucky me I reach your site by accident, I bookmarked it.” Like Kaylee and Tibby, his comments are obscure and nice as well as grammatically incorrect. Considering his screen name, I wish he would come up with something more exciting to say, but then again if he were too naughty, Akismet would kick his ass out of existence.

To identify spam, look for these red flags:

• Ambiguous, complimentary comments that have nothing to do with the topic
• Off-topic links embedded within the comments (most anti-spam software will catch these culprits)
• Foreign language comments especially if they include lots of random symbols
• Same spammer posts different comments (e.g., my darling Diablo 3)

Now that I have used the word penis twice in this blog, I wonder how much spam I will get. Ha!

AWW — XoXo

P.S. If you write a blog, I recommend reading Jaron’s 10 tips for identifying blog comment spam.

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One of the things that I love most about the truth is that it is always stranger than fiction. Yesterday my doorbell rang and an older gentleman stood on my front porch. While I opened the front door, I left the screen door, which is composed of thick metal and painted white, shut. I didn’t open it because it prevents people from seeing inside our house, and I was restraining our English Mastiff Winston whose bark sounds ferocious even though he is a gentle giant.

The man outside said I knew him since we were neighbors. Now I have lived in my current home for almost ten years, and while I don’t know most of my neighbors’ names, I certainly recognize them on sight. I see them at Costco, at Vons, at RiteAid, etc. Moreover, everyone within a four-block radius knows Winston and calls him by name so I have no idea what this man’s definition of a neighbor is. Anyway, here’s the best part: he was trying to sell me his book.

When I was a small child, I vaguely remember the occasional door-to-door encyclopedia salesman. One year my mother bought New World or World of Knowledge encyclopedias (I can still see their navy covers with gold trim), but once we owned a set, the salesman was out of luck. Mormons and Christians often attempt to proselytize by going door to door, but they don’t sell their literature, they give it to you. Charities can solicit donations by asking at your door, but in California, they must present a “Solicitation of Sale for Charitable Purposes Card.” In all my life though, an “author” has never attempted to sell me his book by knocking on my door.

My neighbor—whom I’ll call Bob since I don’t know him—was a slim, Caucasian male who appeared to be in his mid-fifties. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt; neither item seemed clean. Bob presented his “book”—a thick, spiral-bound manuscript that practically screamed, “I am a product of Kinko’s.” He pointed out his book’s features: the large typeface, the sharp images, and the detailed glossary. He said that the book had been professionally edited, and he had received excellent reviews. “Not a negative one yet!” He told me how much time, energy, and money he put into writing the book. Who cares? He offered that the book was appropriate for all age groups, and it would be an excellent learning tool for teachers. Putting aside for a moment that selling a book door to door is beyond unconventional, here are the reasons why Bob is a terrible salesman:

• He never stated the book’s title. I caught a quick glance of it but I forgot it;
• He never said the book’s genre. I thought it was science fiction until he showed me the glossary;
• He stressed the wrong things. No one cares about typeface unless something is wrong with it, and his appeared blue instead of black;
• He misunderstood his selling points. Readers expect well-edited books, and reviews are completely subjective and rarely matter unless Oprah loves you; and
• He didn’t tell me why I should read his book. I don’t have children and I’m no longer a teacher so his perceived benefits don’t apply to me.

In an effort to be supportive, I suggested that Bob might consider selling his book online. He snorted and replied, “People do this thing. They make assumptions. I’ve already tried that. Only sold two copies.”
For some reason, I played nice. “Maybe you should try a website.”
“Yeah. There are a million of them. Maybe billions by now. I’ve had more luck doing this [selling to neighbors].”
Not with me buddy.

Bob is lucky he caught me on a good day because any other time, I would have chewed him up and spit him out. Not only would I have mentioned all of the bullet points above, but I would have told him that:

• I am a freelance writer/editor with experience in a variety of sectors;
• I hold a master’s degree in writing from USC and a bachelor’s degree from the same school;
• I have been an adjunct professor as well as a secondary and primary school teacher;
• I have taught many subjects including college freshman composition, English, journalism, and more;
• I have won awards for my nonfiction writing; and
• Although my book isn’t published yet, my writing website has according to Alexa “a relatively good traffic rank in the city of Los Angeles (#28,584)” and visitors spend an average of ten minutes on my site. (Thank you my awesome readers!)

Instead, I said to Bob, “No thank you.” Considering Winston was still barking, I thought Bob would leave, but he was a persistent man.
“Can’t you give money to the project?”
I shook my head and said no again thinking how I could now ask to see his Charitable Purpose Card since he had specifically asked for a donation instead of selling me an item.
“Can’t you give money to a starving artist?”
It was my turn to snort. Starving artist? Seriously? Bob may have been disheveled, but he was not starving.
“What about a dollar?”
I suddenly wished I had created a signal for Winston to growl since his barking failed to scare Bob. With one last firm “NO” I shut the door in his face.

Winston stopped barking; I knelt down and told him to bark louder next time. He wagged his tail. As I walked back to my office, I thought about my neighbor Bob and cursed myself for already forgetting the title of his book (I really wanted to Google it).
I suddenly realized I had given Bob the wrong name. My neighbor was just another poor salesman, a Willy Loman with a book and a dream that will go unfulfilled, and here I sit writing about it.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. I am sorry that there has been such a gap between blogs. April was a dreary month.

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