I design promotional materials and write content, SEO and SMO stuff, and other PR and site management. It’s as living.
I also do local music PR and have been successful with many local artists – and am always trying new tricks of the trade to promote and use my band as a means to experiment with, and enjoy the graphics and image side plus the video promotional techniques.
But I am perplexed with my own graphic design work when self-promoting. Here is an example of one of the digital flyers for my band’s next show (tomorrow). I am a also a photographer (mentored and thrown into two jobs which I had to learn how to overcome the anxiety of doing *whatever
it takes to get the shot*) and thus use my own photos and a variety of programs depending on what device I have at the time and place that I create one. This was made in Photoshop which I have been using as much as possible to learn what I didn’t have access to in Photoshop Elements. I like to create posters. That’s why I started a band in the first place, right?
Of course not.
So after posting this green image of our show tomorrow (above), I thought that this is an aesthetically displeasing work — the rules were broken and it is a poor representation of a music event — in so many ways… and wonder why people are digging it.
Will this grab the attention of someone and possible convert them into a attendee of the event? I mean, my flyers have been used in tshirt designs for shows for clients, and I was asked if this one will be for sale by a fan – so I have to ask – why do designers have crippling self-doubt and why should we expect ourselves to know if we have made an good or bad impression?
If only content was as ambiguous. I made a poster for the next show that is one of my favorites of the 100s. It’s good. I received compliments which is the band flyer maker’s reason to live. Will anyone go to the show if they see it? Ask about tshirts? Why is the struggle to promote ourselves visually so cathartic for some of us in bands?
After all, I *know* when I write a song — it’s good or it isn’t going to exist. I don’t question myself. That is why I still get to play my own music — I don’t have the skills or the rock star goddess beauty (well, that’s arguable) and height and boobs. But I know better than to question my compositions and I won’t wonder if I am good at what I write – because I am. Who would play their songs if they didn’t think they were awesome?
So many rhetorical non-questions and ambiguity.
As much as I have to admit I have a tendency towards the unconventional methods to deal with uncomfortable events and actions in my life, I have turned into an attack binge writer. Be careful not to tell me what a limitation is. I hope Brian recovers from this shady way of covering up emotions with a series of words injected painfully until the victim is too confused to ask what happened. Apologies to the others who know who they are. But I’m not sorry. Don’t be a crybaby for Christ’s sake. Not here; start a blog or watch a different time bomb.
I’ll be on streaming youtube now while I fix websites and play some songs to get even with my lack of practice by showing how much no one cares.
Get off FaceBook. Go outside and steal some hubcaps. Streak down Broadway. Write or play music or build a bad reputation.
GET BEAT UP. Trust me – that is the way to learn how to unlearn how stupid you thought you were.
I can’t stop writing. This is a real issue. I’m going to WordPress. My phone is off and I don’t want to talk about it. I want to make sure nothing changes enough to succumb to boredom and retweets of Trump. I want to start something and then run.
Yes, I won’t know until I do the analytics so if you think you don’t care, you would have figured out how to tell me that and stop asking me to think positively and MAYBE you would get out of the way and do something intelligent.
I will not make apologies for my stupid mistakes again.
“Okay,” I said. “I can take a joke.” I began to shuffle down the opposite direction of the atrium corridor and I began to focus on a new plot, but I needed a new persona first, then the intangible and it’s obscurities would be a natural consequence.
The second time I was administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation was he second time it wasn’t necessary, and was the event that spurred me to embark immediately to see a specialist.
I always thought of myself as the dangerous type – mentally, obviously.
Hmmm. Life is inconsistent. I picked myself up and put myself down. I was as much a part of the problem as I was the solution as I was to the apathy.
What you expect of someone
is what you’ll get.
Yeah, WHAT ever. Thanks for explaining THAT one to me, you self-actualized f**king genious, you. ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF? ….I wish I needed to regurgitate all the selfish-help book epiphanies that I read by a pragmatic spiritually elevated “writer” connect my (thus yours and the -universe-) dots.
When conversations turn into mud and I am being sabotaged by the tactless talkers, I used to terrorize them. Now I am older and I have a fifty-fifty chance that I am going to care anyway; I just sigh and quietly say, “Based on the information you have provided, explain what specific impact you have just made on my life.”
“What are you implying?” is also a fabulous conversation-stopper. My brother and I began to compile a list. Then friends added to it. Someday I will publish it under the self-absorbed section at Barnes and Noble. Soon I will care enough to get angry again.
“That’s an interesting perspective,” my friend C.A. would say when she was confronted by the psychologically stunted.
Self-fulfilling prophecy is determining the meantime what will concern very largely your past and present meantimes.
So my NEXT entry will be My Thoughts on “Nothingness.”
So… how are you going to be noticed when you’re not here?
Writing was never a form of aphormism, but somewhere on the way down, I changed my mind. I didn’t know what I was expecting to happen and I am not sure I have ever felt the desire to entertain the thought, but life looks different from the side of the living.
I surely wrote furiously, went to work, paraphrased, back-ached, and happily repeated the words to my new song, the same one that would make me a millionare, the same one that made you cry, the same one that was full of all the lies I wrote to cover up what was really going on – I was done reasoning with everyone and this was not the time to question me about my inspiration. When you finally stop to think about it, no one is safe and the innocent are all gone and there is no good idea that won’t fade away, and expectations are varied morsels of hope which we crawl on the floor and the dirt on our hands proves how hard it is to look for our prey.
I stepped out of the warm shower sweating and wishing I was anywhere but here. I dripped dry and stared into my eyes in the mirror for almost an hour, enjoying every random thought of a seasoned nihilistic vigilante, but a skeptical optimist, a self-informant of a blind alley, and I was sweating for days.
You never look in the mirror and you barely stand up. What have you got to lose? Come on, baby, what could possibly go wrong? Eh?
Dust yourself off. Look in the barrel of cliches she keeps by the bamboo tree – or plant – whatever; if you sift though the obvious, you could find one that resembles how you feel about me – it’s not a cliche at all – I wrote it for you to find and quietly wait for you to find the meaning of the words. The combination of a destination and and a journey, and you know where you are and where you are going. Nothing changes without a push: no exceptions. No expectations.
I will stop sweating it.