A few weeks ago, my wife and I went to the beach with old friends.
It was a perfect Seattle summer afternoon: not too hot, lots of yummy sunshine, and just enough of the Seattle freeze still intact so that other people were a comfortable distance away.
(The pandemic has just reinforced the Seattle freeze, regardless of the summer weather. Social distancing is made for politely-unfriendly-Seattleites.)
We were playing a round of frisbee when I saw a woman sprinting towards me.
With my glasses tossed on our beach blanket, I was squinting into the sunshine and trying to recognize her before she was embarrassingly close.
She got closer and closer, arms waving…
“Sierra?? Is that you??”
Sierra and I shared a humid dorm room for a month in Trinidad while studying steel pan drum music. A few years older than me, Sierra rubbed my back while I suffered through my first hangover and swore off rum.
The sprinting woman was about two feet away when I realized: she’s not running towards me.
She was trying to catch the bus pulling out of the beach’s parking lot.
You’re squinting at my name and trying to figure out who I am, right?
Whether you opted-in to my email list in exchange for a sweet free resource, are friends with me on Instagram, or just stumbled on my blog, I can guarantee we haven’t chatted as much as I’d like us to.
(The pandemic made everything hard, not just Seattleites’ interpersonal skills.)
But I’ve got a new project up my sleeve, and I figure there’s no better way for us to get to know each other.
It’s called the JLC Story Hour.
Stories connect us across cultures and continents. They also connect you to your audience through your copy.
For the next 89 days, I’ll be sharpening my copy and story skills through an hour of focused writing each day—all while sprinkling in copy tips to help you become a better storyteller, too.
You’ll get a recap email every Friday with my favorite stories from the week, as well as a prompt to spark your storytelling fire.
Want to follow along? You can subscribe below to read the stories and prompts as I write them.
If you’re ever running towards me on the beach, I promise to have my arms open (and my glasses on).