Ice Cream, Writers Websites, & Making Your Calories Count

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Tillamook ice cream is one of the true pleasures of our moving to Portland. Images

I know I risk outing myself as a closet ice-cream freak, but I don't care. The way they pack so much lactocine goodness into every delicious spoonful is enough to make me want to move here all over again, just to have the pleasure of realizing I now, once again, have access to the greatest ice cream in the universe.

I am not proud of this. But I refuse to be ashamed of my obsession any longer.

Yeah, okay, there's Haagen Dazs. But that's not really ice cream. It's frozen butter. Of course that's going to be good. Dip a cold stick of butter in vanilla and sugar and go to town. It's tasty. It's also going to deposit you in coronary junction.

You think I'm kidding. Go ahead. Have your Haagen Dazs. We'll see who dies first.

But to bring this just a little bit nearer to my actual point, as I was preparing to indulge in my shopping day rendevous with a blissed-out ice cream coma, I came across a new ad printed along the plastic safety collar. You're familiar with these, and the same lawyers' work from tamper-evident seals on vitamin jars and baby toys. These same demons clearly made these evil little wrappers indestructible because they derive pleasure not from ice cream, but from making you convulse in frustration while slicing your hands on their cleverly-designed razor bands.

I could get scissors, but now it's too much like letting them win, so I decide teeth would be best and I bring the carton to my face to gnaw the daylights out of some shrunk-wrapped landfill.

And that's when I saw it. Little white printing in a playful serif font: "More ice cream per container." Well, I'll be chocolate-swirled.

That's it, I thought. Though even then, I wasn't quite sure what "it" was.

But something grabbed me in that claim that sounded vaguely similar to what I'm pulling together in my little corner of the information superflyway. Sure, you can go for those other writers sites and publishing packages that promise "editing" and thorough quality controls. But you'll get more ice cream per container with this site. And you don't even have to chew your way through uncertain danger to get to it.

I'm not big on self-promotion, so it can be tough to feel competitive against so many big guys who pump their ice cream full of air and diglycerides, just to make sure you think what you're getting is the good stuff. I also know I've been less than gracious about the end product of such. But "frozen dairy dessert" is not what I want for all my sacrifices in the supermarket of inspired dreams. Writers work hard for their visions. And no flashy ads or deep discounts from the other guys can supply the fullest experience my mouth and stomach deserve.

So I'm continuing on writing and designing the new site, hoping someone will notice the fact that there's more actual of the real good stuff shoved in here and that's what they really want. It's not going to catch everyone, but at least those who appreciate such things will know their calories are doggone gonna count.

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4 thoughts on “Ice Cream, Writers Websites, & Making Your Calories Count”

  1. If it is anything near what I read on your blog, I know it is going to be good. There have been so many times a post of yours has lifted me.
    And as far as promotion, I believe God will send who He needs to send, no matter what. At what stage does it become counterproductive and take away from what matters?

  2. I think most writers can recognize passion when they see/read it. Your site will differ from the others because of that obvious attribute. It’s woven into the site like a vine of hope and focus toward a mission. That’s a vine I can grab onto. It’s alive and it shows. I cant wait to be grafted in. And the Tillamook ice cream is the only kind we buy! God bless those cows.
    Blessings!
    Jan

  3. That’s humbling, H.M. Appreciate the great reminder too.
    Thanks, Jan. Love your description! I may steal that…
    Breyer’s is good. No question. But Tillamook is a guiltier pleasure. I think Jan’s right. It’s the happy cows.

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