Meagan Francis - write a bigger story.

Bloggers (and Freelancers): You must diversify.

As I write this, there is a storm of controversy blowing up in my blogger community. Many of my colleagues contributed their time and talents and credibility to a parenting site that went from indie darling to corporate machine seemingly overnight. Other colleagues were editorial and marketing staff at that same website. And along the way something happened – no one seems quite sure what – leaving former staffers without jobs and former bloggers without gigs and a lot of people confused and stressed about paying the bills.

I’m not taking sides. It’s a mess all around, and I hate that people and their families (whether on the staff/executive or blogger level) are under strain because of it. I have no idea where to place blame or even if there is blame to be placed.

But here’s the part I want to get across loud and clear: this – all of this – was completely, totally, 100% predictable.

This is what happens with media companies: they merge with other media companies. They get sold and bought and acquired. They change ownership, leadership, and staff. Sometimes they completely disappear without warning. Sometimes the people in high-up positions are just as blindsided as everyone else. Sometimes they know something is up, but can’t talk about it. Other times they choose not to because they need or want to figure out their own next steps first. This is all true even if you are friendly with those people, or believe them to be your actual friends.

I learned this the hard way myself when I began freelancing back in 2003. After working my tail off to create a strong connection with an editor at a national magazine, she left the company abruptly while thisclose to assigning my first big story. She passed the pitch on to her successor, who never – and I do mean, never, never, not ever – responded to a single one of my follow-ups. Other magazines I slowly, steadily, persistently courted disappeared. The website where I got my start as a parenting writer folded. Others stopped paying contributors. Sometimes a story of mine would be killed and I’d go from regular writer to persona non grata for no reason except that the new “guard” wanted to wipe the slate clean and bring in all their own people and ideas.

In 2010, right in the middle of the editing process with my book The Happiest Mom, which I wrote in partnership with Parenting magazine, 3/4 of the magazine’s editorial staff was let go…including the editor-in-chief who had championed my idea in the first place. Her replacement was not nearly as enthralled with the book – or, I believe, me – and I can only say the launch experience was not quite what I’d hoped for. (Parenting, incidentally, has since folded.)

This is the reality of freelancing today. It requires a certain comfort level with risk, an ability to bounce back quickly from loss, and the foresight to see what’s coming next. It also requires – demands – diversification, so that when one leg of your stool breaks you’re left with a few others to support you. [Read more...]

Why linkbaiters are doing it wrong and always have been.

By Meagan Francis 8 Comments

For the past five or six months, my Facebook news feed has seemed intent on telling me all the things I’ve been doing wrong.

First it was apples. Have you labored under the delusion that there is, in fact, a core? WRONG.

Tic-tacs. Do you open the spout on top and shake a few into your hands? WRONG.

Bananas. Peel ‘em from the stem? WRONG.

Eating Chinese takeout? Opening ketchup packets? Consuming oranges? Putting a straw in a soda can? Hard-boiling eggs? You, dear world, are doing it wrong.

The first time one of these articles – the “just go ahead and eat the apple core” one - came across my feed, I was intrigued enough to click over. The second and third times I saw a similar admonition about my eating techniques, I felt mild interest and clicked to see what I was missing out on (as it turned out, I was already eating my oranges the so-called “right” way.) By the fourth and fifth times, I was tired of them.

But by the tenth time or so, my initial curiosity and later, boredom with the concept had been replaced by irritation.

And then this morning, I saw this: [Read more...]

In defense of the long email

By Meagan Francis 2 Comments

The first time I was introduced to the world of email, I was eighteen years old and in the first week of my freshman year of college. Sure, I’d messed around with email before in a class or two, but it had never been available to me at any time or in pretty much any place I might want to use it. Now, I suddenly had access to a 24-hour-a-day computer lab in my dorm, and every library or study area I ran across on campus had computers and internet access.

I spent the first days before classes started getting acquainted with the VAX machine in our dorm computer lab. It was a small, no-frills monitor with a black screen and bright-green blinking letters; logging in required a complicated series of keystrokes I could no longer repeat if I had to. There were no browsers on these machines, no games, no applications of any sort – only email.

Considering I only knew a handful of other people who had email addresses at that time – one of them being my roommate, who I spent most of my waking hours with anyway – you’d think I wouldn’t have had much use for an email-only computer. Oh, but you’d be wrong. I became obsessed with sending emails, mostly to my sister (who worked for the state government and was one of the first people I knew to have access to email for work,) a couple of friends who were attending colleges in other cities…and, yes, my roommate. (Hey, we had differing class schedules and had to stay in touch during the day!)

I sent long emails. Novel-length emails. Emails detailing the contents of my breakfast; describing the cute boy who sat a few rows down in my Econ class; lamenting the fact that I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to pass my Econ class…and questioning my decision to major in business, which had required me to take Econ in the first place. And my friends, and my sister, and yes, my roommate sent long emails back to me.

Our emails were like the long, handwritten letters you see copied into historical books; narrative reports of daily life filled with everyday news, spiced up with an occasional exciting bit of town drama. Only instead of reporting on the health of the chickens or our neighbor’s barn fire, we’d complain about exams and describe the day the police stormed our dorm and took out the three nice boys down the hall in handcuffs, never to be seen again. (Nice boys they were, but not very careful about the booming marijuana business they were obviously carrying on from their room.) [Read more...]

“Can’t.”

By Meagan Francis 5 Comments

Of all the words in the world, perhaps my least favorite is “can’t.”

Why? Maybe it’s because of how often it’s used to rain on somebody else’s parade. For example, people love to tell you that you can’t do things:

“You can’t just…(quit your job, get up and move to another country, say exactly what you’re thinking, change your mind, change your life.)”

People also love to tell you about the things THEY can’t do:

“It’s cool that you’re doing that, but I can’t (travel, eat well, save money, change careers) because (my job is too demanding, my kids have too many evening activities, I have college debt, I have a family to think of.)”

That last kind of “can’t” is the worst, because there’s a tinge of “Must be nice!” to it.

And “must be nice!” might just be the pettiest, most dripping-with-envy, and least productive phrase in the English language.

It implies not only that the other person got whatever it “must be nice!” to have through some kind of illicit, unfair or irresponsible means, but also that the person who wants whatever it “must be nice!” to have is helpless to change their own circumstances. [Read more...]

what does it mean to be successful?

By Meagan Francis 23 Comments

my son Jacob and I at Epcot center

After going through infancy and toddlerhood and a rather rocky preschool period with my first two boys, I experienced a steady increase in parental self-confidence.

Seeing my sons thrive and grow and, yes, learn to fall asleep on their own despite any missteps I might have made in those early years helped me to realize that there really are many ways to raise great kids, and that what matters in the end is the big picture – not whether I get every little detail “right.”

But now that I’ve got two teenagers in the house – Isaac, 13, and Jacob, 15 – I admit that some of that confidence has been shaken.

Sometimes I find myself second-guessing my values and choices, much the way I did when they were six months old. I find myself looking at the decisions they make, and wondering how much the not-so-great ones reflect on me and my parenting style.

Mostly I find myself in the uncomfortable position of, once again, worrying about doing it right.

Doing school “right.” Parenting teenagers “right.” Raising productive members of society “right”.

But somehow the choices I’m faced with now seem more fraught than they ever did when I was choosing between cloth and disposable diapers. Because what my sons have entered now is a period of years that will directly affect that nebulous quality of life that we call “success.”

Which raises the question: what, exactly, is success?

The older my kids get, the more I feel that definition – according to the rest of the world, anyway – is wrapped up in school, grades, and achievement.

And I’m just not sure it’s a view I can completely buy into.

It’s not that I think academic achievement is unimportant. School is, after all, my kids’ “job.” They spent the majority of their waking hours either in a school building, or at home dealing with homework. Their performances now will affect the college they might be able to attend, either due to admissions criteria or the chances of getting scholarship money. Yes, what they are doing right now matters.

But at the end of the day – or should I say, at the end of this decade of their lives - how much will it matter? And to what lengths should I go to make sure they get the grades, ace the tests, nab the resume-impressive opportunities?

And – if I’m really honest – how much of me cares about these grades and performance because I actually think they are what will bring my kids happiness and success later in life, and how much is it more that I’m worried about “what other people will think” if my kids don’t perform?

While I of course want my kids to do well in school, to achieve, and have all the options in the world available to them, the older they – and I – get, the more I realize that their success in high school is not how I want to define their success as human beings. Nor how I want them to feel defined.

That’s a controversial position to take. My boys attend a public school system with high academic standards. Grades and tests and what college you get into are a big deal here. The 8th grade awards banquet is like a pageant of adolescent excellence. I can only imagine what’s in store for me as Jacob (a freshman) reaches the upper grades.

And of course I want my kids to do well. To try. To know the satisfaction of reaching a goal or making the honor roll.

But when I think about how all-important those GPAs and test scores and college applications are supposed to be in the life of a mom to teens, I’m just not convinced. Not convinced that better grades equal more success in life. Not convinced that getting into a “better” college means you’ll be richer down the road. Not even a little bit convinced that being richer down the road would equal being happier, either.

The more I am on this earth, the more I think we’re here to experience what it has to offer, to get to know the people we share it with. I believe we do that through learning. But learning is not the same thing as proving you’ve learned.

Not every kid is ready to take the world by storm at the age of 14 or 15 or 16. Not every kid is able, ready, or willing to “apply himself” between his freshman and senior years, as much potential as the rest of us might all see in him.

Some teens are immature, some are disorganized. Some are late bloomers – I’m a great example of somebody who fumbled through my teens and early 20s, not hitting my stride until I was well into my third decade of life. Heck, I never even finished college, and yet I consider myself very happy and pretty successful, as my personal definition of success goes.

Look at today’s kids. They are already smarter than us – not wiser, no, but smarter – in so many ways. How will they harness the information they’re constantly swimming in? How do we teach them to use it for good, to innovate for the right reasons, to be thoughtful and kind and not just smart?

Is it possible that the way we have traditionally measured and judged human achievement and success is not only hopelessly outdated, but was inaccurate to begin with?

I think it’s our job as parents, as a society, to redefine what success means. To reward innovation and creativity and kindness and optimism and the willingness to try just as much as we reward getting the right answers on a test. To recognize – truly recognize – kids for their different strengths and talents.

To acknowledge that the path to success does not look the same for every young adult, and very often does not include a linear path from high school to college to chosen career.

I want my kids to succeed. But success means so much more to me than A’s and B’s on a report card or numbers on a test. And I think it’s time I was bolder in making that statement, right out loud.

Because the last message I want my teens to pick up on is that they are somehow doomed or “less than” because they have a less-than-dazzling high school performance.

We all know examples of successful people who had so-so high school careers. And we all know examples of people who excelled in school and are now miserable, broke or underemployed.

So then, what is success? I believe it’s rooted in having the sort of tenacity and resiliency that allows a person to pick up and try again, no matter how many times they fail or fall down. A network of loved ones who will offer support and encouragement when things don’t go well and a cheering section when they do. And the optimism and imagination to see that there is more to life just around the next bend in the road.

That is my personal definition of success. And if my boys achieve that, I’ll be very happy regardless of their final GPA or which college they get into…or don’t.

When life is good, why change?

By Meagan Francis 9 Comments

I’ve always been equally drawn to, and repelled by, change.

I don’t know if I can explain it except to say that, every so often, I feel a very strong urge to shake things up, while at the same time another part of my psyche clings desperately to whatever comfortable, familiar status I’ve reached.

I experience this conflict in my work. My personal life. My choice of surroundings. Heck, I could probably chalk up a baby or two to a sudden and impossible-to-ignore need to complicate my sleepy, steady life.

The thing is, I do love our life. We’ve actually held a pretty firm line against the modern-day craziness, the go-go-go of one activity or sport after another. We eat dinner together as a family most nights, spend leisurely weekend days with close family and friends, laugh together, and don’t stress too much….We live in a beautiful, cozy haven filled with friendly people and great schools.

That’s just it. Sometimes I feel like we’re too comfortable. And then I think: am I nuts? What’s wrong with comfort? Isn’t that what humans are supposed to work toward: peace, prosperity, quiet nights in the rocking chair?

Or is there something to be said for making sure we’re really awake?

Recently I started to read Jeff Goins‘ book, Wrecked: When A Broken World Slams Into Your Comfortable Life.

The book focuses on experiencing, really experiencing, the world and the lives of people in it, so that we can allow our perspectives and mindsets to experience a radical shift…rather than staying cocooned in the comfy, protective bubble of relative wealth and luxury that most of us who possess high-speed internet and access to Target occupy.

I’ve read enough of Jeff’s stuff to know that he is a well-respected, talented writer who seems like a genuinely nice guy. I’d liked his writing enough to buy his book, after all.

But as I read it, I first felt vaguely on edge, and then that edginess turned to annoyance. By the time I got to the middle of the book, I felt genuinely angry. Why?

I think it’s because what Jeff was suggesting – leaving behind the blurry veil of ignorance to embrace something much grittier and less shiny and palatable – was darned uncomfortable to contemplate.

While in one part of my brain I acknowledged the truth in his words, I also found myself mentally resisting what he was saying, like a toddler kicking her feet and clinging desperately to a toy.

Only in my case, the “toy” I was clinging to was the idea of a comfortable, easy life. I’ve worked hard to achieve it, after all. Isn’t it supposed to be mine for keeps?

I think Wrecked made me uncomfortable because I it made me recognize the fallacy in that idea – that I deserve a certain way of life, and that I can hold on to it, make it mine, for good. If I just ignore the reality of the rest of the world. If I just earn enough money.

But nothing is guaranteed. And while a certain way of life may be earned, that doesn’t mean it’s deserved.

Or that it can’t go away. Or that it’s all there is.

This isn’t a pre-midlife crisis. I’m not living a life of quiet despair, trying to “find” myself, or wondering “what’s the point of it all?”

Rather, I think I’m recognizing that comfort and ease will only get me so far. And that, if I get too comfy-cozy, I run a real danger of living the majority of my adult years not fully awake.

Things that I never imagined in my much-poorer existence ten or fifteen years ago have become mine, and I barely even notice the difference. Things I never imagined my kids would have are just an assumed part of their life. Things I never thought I’d care about – like what people might think if I did X or drove Y or lived in Z – now weigh heavy on my mind, much as I try to shake those thoughts and comparisons away.

I don’t begrudge us any of what we have – which would seem quite modest to many, and unbelievably lavish to others – but I want to have my eyes open wide enough to see it for what it is.

So that’s why, though my life is happy and good, I look for ways to shake it up. To stay awake. To make sure I’m not sleepwalking through these days and months and years.

Kristen Tennant, a blogger I have respected for years, recently wrote a post called Not Playing It Safe. While I love the whole post and the sweet story she shares, this is the part that jumped out at me most:

No, it can’t be the promise of branches that will hold or fruit that is ripe and sweet that motivates us to take risks. It can only be the promise of adventure—of some motion that wakes your life up and takes it from where it has been slumbering to some new place.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

There is no guarantee in adventure, except that it will be often uncertain and occasionally uncomfortable. And that it requires your attention and focus and participation. It requires you to stay awake.

Maybe to really keep my eyes open, I need to challenge the side of myself that would really rather stay riiiight here.

And whether it’s a small adventure – a new friendship, maybe – or a big one, like an international move, it’s worth stepping outside of my wonderfully peaceful life to open my eyes, wake up, and get living.

Why I re-claimed my name as a blogger

By Meagan Francis 40 Comments

About a year after I launched my blog, I was shopping in my small downtown with my daughter when a woman cocked her head at me and said “Oh! I know you! You’re The Happiest Mom!”

It was unnerving, not to mention a little embarrassing. While I know she meant it in the nicest possible way (she’d found out about my blog from a mutual friend, but couldn’t call my name to mind), it felt strange to be addressed by a blog moniker in my own hometown.

Stranger still because I never meant for the title “The Happiest Mom” to refer to myself.

When I started my blog with the intention of shining a light on the more positive side of motherhood, pretty much every other incarnation of “happy” and “mother” was already being used online.

So I decided to embrace the hyperbole in “happiest”, and approach it in a general way: not trying to imply that I am The Happiest Mom in the world/on the block/in my general vicinity, but encouraging other mothers to try to be the happiest moms they could.

Of course, these things have a funny way of taking on a life of their own. During the three years I’ve lived and loved and breathed life into my blog, I’ve grown a loyal readership of awesome, smart women, made amazing connections, published a book, learned about branding, and realized many of my blogging goals.

But I’ve also been growing increasingly uncomfortable with the level to which I’ve become defined by/as “The Happiest Mom” in this space.

I suspect I’m not the only blogger in this pickle. When a blog is highly specific and heavily branded and your main public voice, it’s hard to maintain a sense of self…like trying to meet people at a cocktail party while restricting yourself to a single topic of conversation.

On the other hand, I love The Happiest Mom. I love what it has become and what I’ve been able to do with it. I look forward to helping it grow in the future and plan to continue to be the main voice behind the site into the foreseeable future.

But it’s also time for me to separate myself from that “brand” a little and carve out a space that allows me to explore new topics in new ways.

Can anyone else out there relate? Maybe you started a blog with a specific focus or goal, like me, and have found that while you still love the topic, you want to spread your wings, try new things, not have your whole identity wrapped up in that specific focus.

Or maybe your blog title represented you during a specific place in time: after the birth of a new child; as you transitioned from stay-at-home parent to working parent or back again; after a divorce; to chronicle a weight-loss goal or major event in your life. You picked a cute or clever or witty title and have been using it since.

But maybe that title, that identity, that focus no longer fits you. Or maybe you still feel attached to it, but want to give yourself space to grow in other directions, too.

I guess I’m experiencing a little of both. I no longer have small babies; I’m no longer in that intensive period of motherhood that was my focus when I started The Happiest Mom. So while it’s still a highly personal place, it’s just not “about me” in the same way it was three years ago. I want to keep it; I even want it to grow. And to allow that to happen, I think I need to take a big step back and let other voices, other perspectives make it their own as well.

And that means I need another place just to be me.

I wrestled with different, broader blog names and titles and URLs, but in the end, I decided it was best to just be myself again. Because while I might find myself struggling to define “The Happiest Mom” brand, or reach its typical reader, or strategically plan the most helpful content, I don’t have to worry about any of that when I’m just being myself and writing about whatever seems most important.

If you’re a writer who’s feeling a little…limited by your blog space lately, I just want to let you know that writing here, under my name, feels pretty good. You don’t have to shut down your other blog or blogs to try it. You don’t have to tell anyone.

Just start writing as “yourself” and see how it feels. After all, long after your kids stop calling you “mommy” and diapers become just a distant memory, you’ll still just be…you.

Hi. I’m Meagan. Maybe you’ve known me for a while. But if you stick around, you just might get to know me better.

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