I’m glad I’ve finally figured out how to keep things balanced, at least a little—I remember one summer when I was on an internship, and I was so deep in workaholicism I didn’t go out at all. Summers here are so brief, it’s nice to be able to enjoy them! I actually have a suntan (although very few people believe it—basically I’m just “less glow-in-the-dark white) and have been running around doing summery things in spite of having spent nearly the last three months with my arm in a fibreglass cage. (It comes off in six days! I am keeping a countdown, written in Sharpies, on the cast itself.)

I was so proud when I got this background to work. It’s made of three different pieces and a lot of prayer.

Eventually, I’ll update my website with some new projects. There are lots of things I’ve done in the last little while that won’t make it to my portfolio, of course, and some larger projects that are still very much in-progress, but here’s an idea of a few things I’ve polished off recently:

• a monster of a website, comprising around 4,500 Movable Type entries: actrees.org
• a WordPress website (and business cards) for appliedlogic.ca
• a logo, hangtag, business card, and website (almost finished!) for nightmarenibbler.com
• steppinguphalifax.ca (more WordPress)
• another WordPress website for an author: heartofthedreaming.com

Actrees, in particular, left me a lovely client testimonial for my giant list of client-love:

Triggers & Sparks revamped our website with a clean, fresh look that made navigation much easier for users and revealed the wealth of content we had created. We’ve received many compliments from our nationwide network of members. (“Great job, love the look, easy navigation on the new website!” “Far better format! Congratulations!”)
With her technical know-how and design vision, Sarah created a website that surpassed expectations, all within budget. Our website is now the public face that we want representing our organization.

I would rather not admit how long this website has been in production for, but suffice to say, I am NOT a fan of Movable Type. However, I am a fan of the client, which (mostly) overrides any frustration. And, surprisingly, I’m still rather pleased with the design.

Now, whenever I finally get some spare time, I might actually get around to updating this website—it’s starting to suffer from “cobbler’s children” syndrome again. Honestly, I love being busy, and I love the feeling that my business is doing well, but I’d like to feel like I’ve got things under control again. Hopefully, that’ll happen soon, without my needing to resort to Extreme Workaholic Behaviour!

There’s a maxim to pricing freelance work that goes something like this: you can have two of the following three elements: fast, cheap, and good. When I first started out, I tried to be all three. Naturally, there ended up being some compromise, most notably with respect to the “fast” and “good” elements of the equation. As I grew as a designer and a businessperson (it still sounds funny calling myself that), the scales shifted: my prices increased as the quality of my work and process increased.

For some time, I struggled with the idea of offering clients their choice between fast and cheap, but I’m coming to realize that this, too, is impractical on a larger scale—I’m so consistently busy that it simply doesn’t make sense for me to take on very many lower-paying gigs, regardless of how spread out their timelines may be. I really prefer working on projects with shorter timelines, anyway: the work-to-reward cycle is so much shorter (and thereby more gratifying), and a more rapid cycle of development means that the project remains fresher in my mind—I don’t forget details or need to re-learn anything as we progress. So, unless it’s a case ofhey-I-really-did-need-this-yesterday, in which case a priority placement and rapid-turnaround can be secured with a rush fee (although I’ve found most clients with urgent projects suddenly decide it can wait a little, after all, when they discover that it’ll cost more), “fast” is non-negotiable. Quality, naturally, is even less negotiable

As a result, my fees have been steadily increasing. A while ago, I switched to pricing projects using a flat rate based on an hourly model, with certain discounting for clients and projects I like (conversely, of course, there’s also a hidden “pain in the ass” fee that’s tacked on for work that’s going to drive me to the bottle). The per-project model makes me feel more comfortable about pricing negotiations, which I’ve always been terrible at, and as a result have an awful tendency to under-price myself.

Ooh, shiny.

I think my problem with properly pricing myself has always been an issue of perception: I still see myself, fundamentally, as a little girl who simply has no idea what’s going on. People are always surprised when I admit to this, which is gratifying—at least I don’t come off as naive and insecure as I often feel!—and logically, I know that this isn’t how it is. I’m twenty-six, which means I’m officially Very Much a Grown-up; I’ve been running my own business for years and can still afford gorgeous shoes, which means I must have some sort of head for it; and my clients are happy with my work, which means that I’m producing good work. And so, every time I increase my prices, the logical part of my brain forcibly overrides the insecure, insane part.

Every time I increase my price in some way, I feel uncomfortable about it, but force myself to manage the discomfort. And every time, it pays off: I feel more valued, I feel happier in my work, and I can afford nicer shoes!

I think the shoe comparison works here: I used to buy $20 shoes. Now, my standards are higher: I won’t buy a pair that’s made of plastic, or that originally cost less than $100, simply because I realize that these will be of inferior quality. I no longer want to save money at the expense of quality, and this is a characteristic I’m looking for in my clients. I don’t want you to work with me because I’m cheap; I want you to work with me because I produce great work.

And ultimately, the higher my prices are, the better work I’ll be able to produce—both because I’ll be able to spend more time focusing on the minutia of the project, and because I’ll be able to spend more of my “spare” time developing my skills. While I’ll probably never be tackling million-dollar accounts (and because I keep my overhead low, I really don’t need to charge nearly as much as an agency would), I am no longer a low-cost solution. I’m a high-quality solution, and the more I charge, the better I’ll be.

Right now, I’m a pair of well-fitted leather Nine Wests. Eventually, I’ll be a pair of Louboutins. (And then I’ll be able to afford a pair!)

Apparently I can work the topic of shoes into every single subject ever. Eventually this website will stop pretending to be about design and will just go on and on, at length, about footwear. I’m beginning to believe I have a problem.

A few years ago, before I quit my job to launch a business, I had my logo tattooed to my shoulder blade. (And actually, I haven’t been tattooed since—I’ve run out of strategic body space!) People thought I was insane. “What happens if your business tanks?” was the popular question.

Of all the tattoos I’ve had done, I’m furthest from regretting this one. Admittedly, my business didn’t tank, but I don’t think it would have made much difference if it had. It’s impossible to start a business without having it become a major event in your life—to me, tattooing my logo to my shoulder was no crazier than the people who tattoo their kids’ names to themselves. (And it’s certainly less crazy than those who tattoo their lovers’ names on themselves. As far as I can tell, my business will never leave me for a younger woman or run away with all my money. I hope.)

I’m convinced that having my business logo tattooed to my shoulder makes me more rock & roll. Also, it totally counts as advertising and I should have thought to have written off the cost as such.

And actually, of all my tattoos, there isn’t a single one I regret. Some of them have decorated my body for nearly ten years, and I still love them as much today as I did when I first had them done. I think that I am, to a certain degree, lucky in that respect—where a tattoo is such a permanent decision, I can’t imagine how horrible it must be to regret such a choice.

There are very few decisions in life that have similar permanence, and as a general rule I try to avoid making those decisions. I’m kind of a commito-phobe simply for that reason—I absolutely abhor regret, and I work best when I feel that I have the flexibility to move halfway across the earth, change my name to “Ginger”, and start a banana farm if that’s what needs to happen for whatever reason.

However, most people don’t work this way. Most people make decisions that have similar gravitas as getting tattooed: they get married, buy houses, sign cell phone contracts. While none of these things are necessarily permanent (and neither are tattoos, in the same sense), reversing the decision after it’s been made is almost always a painful, arduous process.

It strikes me that, given the number of people running around these days getting divorced and getting laser surgery, these decisions-of-some-permanence simply aren’t being given the consideration they demand. It surprises me how often people go into a tattoo parlour and pick something off the wall. Or they sit in the chair and tell the tattoo artist to do “whatever he feels like”. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a permanent part of your skin now, for the rest of your life, and wherever you are, people will ask you questions about it. Doesn’t that require more forethought?

My little sister and her chaos star, designed by me. She also had me design another tattoo that the artist screwed up by using the wrong fonts AND misspelling “Fahrenheit”, but we don’t like to discuss it.

Every time I want a new tattoo, I spend ages sketching out the shapes first. When I’ve got that right, I put it into Illustrator and trace it, smoothing out the lines until everything’s just so. Then I print it out in about thirty different sizes, just to see which one I like best. Finally—and this may seem like overkill—I take the printout and glue the damned thing to my body, just where I want it, and leave it there for a few days, just to be sure I like it. A little anal-retentive? Probably. Effective? Hell yes. I’ve got no regrets, and I’m a happier woman for it.

So for everyone out there considering a butterfly tattoo, or a flaming skull, please, please, think twice. Design something yourself, or ask your most idle-seeming designer friend to design you something wonderful. (Oh, and to the two people in my life to whom I still owe tattoo designs—I swear I’m on it!) This double for marriage and mortgage, and any other decision that implies an ink-on-skin level of permanence, like starting a business. Regrets are for the birds. Do without.

(Oh, and if you’re curious, you can see my tattoo designs on Flickr! Being a designer is a way cool job, I know. I’m a lucky lady.)

We spend so much time complaining about the bad clients that it’s sometimes easy to overlook the good clients. Lately, I’ve been working with a few really great clients, and I’ve been so happy because of it. Where a bad client can make you feel as though you’re losing your soul, a good client reminds you of why you fell in love with design in the first place and makes you feel as though you’re doing a good job. It’s the sort of warm-fuzzy feeling I associate with boys who bring me flowers and strangers complimenting me on my shoes.

Winning your designer’s love, regardless of any other factors, will mean that you will receive a level of service and quality that surpasses that most Troublesome Clients receive. When I love a client and feel that my client respects me as a professional, I invest more of my mental energies into their project. A good client makes you want to do an amazing job, where a bad client experience will often just make you want to finish as fast as possible and get the heck out.

So, how do you go about making sure you’re the greatest client ever, and ensuring your designer feels as passionate about your project as you do? Here, a few tips culled directly from my Dream Clients:

1. Pay your bills as fast as humanly possible.

Nothing says “you’re not worth much to me” like a leisurely bill payment. Freelance designers suffer so much stress about unpaid bills and cash flow—it’s hard when you don’t have a regular stream of income—that late-paid bills are a major problem.

I have one client in particular who sends me a full payment, via electronic means, within 24 hours of receiving an invoice. Every time it happens, I am utterly delighted. The rapid work-reward cycle means that I feel more compelled to finish work rapidly, knowing that I’ll be rewarded immediately upon completion. If, on the other hand, it takes more than a month to put a cheque in the mail (there is a due date on there, you know!), I’m going to feel much less inclined to speed through the project.

Freelance designers are not the power company—if you don’t pay us, we can’t eat (or buy pretty shoes)! Pay your bills promptly, please.

2. Know what you want.

It’s your designer’s job to gently guide you and to help you figure out what you want, then create a visual representation of your needs. If you approach a project without knowing what you want, the whole process goes to hell. Essentially, if you don’t know what you want—and you don’t need to have every detail planned out, but you do need a rough idea—I can’t figure out how to build it for you. It’s like if you were to hire an architect to design you a house; you’d want to figure out how many bathrooms you want before asking for blueprints.

Beware the phrase “you’re the designer”, as in “Well, you’re the designer, you figure it out!”. While I think usually this is used with good intentions, it will make the vast majority of designers cringe. To us, it sounds like you’re saying “you’re the magician!” (See also: “Can’t you just Photoshop that?” Design is not magic; Photoshop is not a magic button. It’s mostly work, training, and lots of patience.)

3. Understand that I probably know what I’m doing (and that’s why you hired me, right?)

This directly contrasts the “well, you’re the designer!” mindset, and clients usually tend towards one extreme or another, where a balance is really preferable. A micromanaging client, however, will almost always be less popular than a hands-off client. This is an almost guaranteed way to make your designer want to throw himself off the nearest bridge, skyscraper, or touristy landmark.

Of course, there’s a fine line between giving feedback and micro-managing. How to tell the difference? If you’re into the sixth round of revisions, and all the revisions read something like so: “Make the logo 40% bigger, and move it 3 inches to the right. Make the text all white, and the background purple. Headings should be right-aligned and in 4pt red Comic Sans. Can we add a few animated gifs throughout the page in order to make it ‘pop’?” (Please note: often these sorts of phrases are then followed by “Well, you’re the designer! Can’t you just make it look better?” and then repeated ad nauseum until all gadgets that receive email or phone calls are smashed into little bitty pieces.)

Remember: you hired your designer (I hope!) because you think they do great work and know what they’re doing. They’ve probably been building websites longer than you. While ultimately the final judgement call is yours, realize that a good designer will work with you to give you a final product that both suits you and your business and looks good. Remember that we have your best interests in mind, and give us enough freedom to create something beautiful for you.

4. Communicate effectively.

The client-designer relationship is much like any other relationship: emotions are involved, everyone’s a little nervous to begin with, you need to make sure everyone’s happy and nobody’s being taken for granted, etc. This is why, of course, good designer-client relationships generate brilliant work, and bad ones leave all parties unhappy. So, like with any other relationship, good communication is vital. Make sure you’re being clear about how you feel and what you want, and treat your designer with respect and consideration. (This means no phone calls at 2am, no matter how dire you think the emergency is, right? In theory, I am sleeping then.) Your designer needs your feedback in order to know that they’re on the right track—make sure that you can give useful, constructive feedback in a timely manner.

And when all else fails, sending presents works, too. I once had a client who mailed me a box of chocolate brownies when my computer died, in order to “aid the recovery process”, and another client who made me a heart-shaped chocolate cake. Chocolate generally engenders love and loyalty, but really, all that’s required is a polite thank you for a wonderful job, and I’ll move mountains for you.

Seriously, though, I’ve spent the last five weeks with my dominant arm in a giant cast. (Although after week two, I regained the use of my elbow and some fingers and by week three was able to use an extra couple of fingers on my right hand while typing, which has helped. My drawings, however, still look like they were done by a five-year-old, and I sign credit card receipts with a squiggle and/or lipstick kisses.) Meanwhile, the work has by no means slowed down, even though my working speed has, and it’s still challenging to do simple things like make a sandwich for lunch or empty the garbage.

Accordingly, I’ve been working rather long hours and have been becoming intensely stressed out. (Throw in the fact that I’ve quit smoking in support of Bone Healing Power and the fact that I’m sometimes still in a good deal of pain–breaking your bones stinks!) Luckily, I have the greatest clients and friends in the world who help me out and understand when things take a little longer than they ought, or I’d have gone entirely insane by now.

I am not going here, although I rather wish I were. It’s basically my stress-free island paradise. Unfortunately, Croatia is a long drive from here.

So, in the interests of preserving that aforementioned sanity, I’m running away to a secret undisclosed island location this weekend, where I’m hoping I won’t be able to get cell-phone service, and I won’t have any way of leaving until a nice fisherman comes to get me. My laptop, shockingly enough, is staying home (it’s very rarely far from me) and I’m excited by the prospect of no electricity, no emails, and no possible way for me to try to get any work done. I’ve noticed that as I get busier, it’s harder for me to actually take a full day off, in spite of how important it is for my mental well-being.

If you border on the edge of workaholicism, I recommend getting tough with yourself and forcing yourself into isolation. So long as you can return refreshed, and not dreading a massive pile of new emails, it’ll make you so much more productive in the long run. And so on that note: ciao, amigos!

There’s something about a pair of heels. They’re instantly classy. They work with everything, they make your legs look great, and they can turn the scrubbiest ensemble into a kick-ass outfit. A beautiful pair of shoes is a magical creature that will transform you into a sophisticated lady-about-town, even when you’re just running out to the grocery store in your pyjamas and bedhead.

But when you live in a climate that changes every hour, and the sidewalks are almost always covered in ice (or snow, or mud, or random bits of gravel, or some combination thereof), wearing heels can be hazardous to your health. As a girl who never wears flats and rarely suffers for it, I’ve picked up a few tricks and tips along the way.

Suede Stuart Wietzman peep toes. I have been eyeing these gorgeous things for AGES now, but I think I’d be afraid of ruining them.

1. Carefully calculate risk.

Using the table below, add the activity (a) to the conditions ©, then multiply by the amount of alcoholic drinks consumed (b is for booze!).

Risk = b(a+c)

Activities
Walking: 1pt per km
Dancing: 2pts per half-hour
Attending a wedding, party, or social event that involves standing: 1pt per hour
Kung fu: 50pts

Conditions
Ice: 10pts
Snow: 2pts
Grassy lawn: 1pt
Areas with decks, grates, or lots of stairs: 5pts
Rocky mountainsides: 30pts

If your risk value is over 20, you can be forgiven for wearing flats. If it’s over 10, perhaps it’s best to go with a practical, heavy-heeled boot.  If it’s under ten, a lady can handle it.

Who can resist a pair of Louboutins? If you answered “nobody”, you are correct!

2. Avoid hazardous materials.

Suede boots are for cowboys. Have you ever seen it rain in a cowboy movie? In a town where it rains every other day, I can’t understand why anyone would brave wearing suede boots. Satin (and other fabrics) can be tricky. Mud and salt will often cling to them, but they can usually be washed successfully. Stick to darker colours, or only wear on clear days.

Leather is always a safe bet—make sure to protect it. Avoid plastic shoes whenever possible; they’re cheap and lacking in class. Vinyl will often survive more trips through the salt, but it’s horrid and won’t let your feet breathe at all. Patent leather is ideal—you can wear white patent shoes all winter and they’ll always look pristine. Generally speaking, the shinier the shoe, the less likely it is to stain.

3. Length isn’t as important as width.

A kitten heel may seem easier to walk in, but often isn’t. Kitten heels also lack the awesome traits that longer heels offer: making your legs look great, giving you a sexy walk, looking gorgeous.

Instead, look for a heel that’s wider and blockier. You’ll have more stability, and won’t be prone to falling into the cracks of a deck or sinking into the grass.

A so-expensive-I’ll-never-afford-them pair of Alexander McQueen (RIP) sandals.

4. Hide your shame (or just your toes)

Wearing stockings with open-toed shoes is utterly unforgivable. You may be able to get away with a colourful pair of knee socks under a solid black peep-toe pump, but I’ve never tried it. Peep toes are for bare feet and polished toenails.

Stash your open-toed shoes during the snowy season, or be prepared to have very, very cold toes. (I’ll admit to having worn peep toes in the snow on more than one occasion. It was not what I’d call an enjoyable sensation.)

5. Keep your ear to the ground.

Or rather, your eyes. Years of walking barefoot has taught me to instinctively watch my footing everywhere I go. This doesn’t mean staring at the ground all the time, it means keeping an eye on it to see what’s coming up.

Venturing onto an icy sidewalk in a stiletto is like wandering through a minefield, and requires absolute vigilance.

I forget who made these shoes, but they’re pretty!

6. Always have something sticky on hand.

I once broke my heel falling down a set of stairs at a party, and had to walk home in my fishnets. It was November. A little shoe goo may have made it a much less painful trip.

Quick tip: if the whole heel’s come off, coat the spikes & the heel itself with glue, then slide together. If the heel’s snapped, glue the two pieces back together, then secure by wrapping with tape—try clear packing tape or black hockey tape. Chewing gum can work if you’re desperate (but not for long).

7. A gentleman is your best accessory.

Any gentleman worth his salt should be more than ready to offer you his arm as you walk. It’s rather like walking with an extra leg: he’ll offer support, stability, and emergency rescues when you hit a patch of ice.

I had a gentleman on hand the night I broke my heel, and he was kind enough to give me a piggyback ride all the way home. Bring one with you whenever you can.

I just bought a new pair of Nine Wests, and now I’m eyeing up these. They’re on sale, too! (sale+shoes=sarah-bliss)

As a final note, if you find heels just too excruciatingly painful, invest in a well-made pair. Cheaply made shoes are going to be terrible to wear. Don’t wear them for extended hikes home—go barefoot or carry tiny fold-up flats in your purse. Peruse the orthopedic section of the drugstore: “heel huggers” prevent your heels from slipping or blistering, and ball-of-foot cushions reduce foot pain.

And never be too shy to kick ‘em off to get down on the dance floor.

It’s reached the point at which I’m so busy trying to stay on top of all my projects that I don’t have any time to do the business side of things, and I’ve totally stalled as far as growth is concerned.

So, it’s time, once again, for the control freak in me to take a backseat, and sit quietly by while I hire someone.

Tell your friends! Here’s what I’m looking for.

This will be a very part-time job to begin with. My aim is that it will grow with time into a more full-fledged position, but I’d like to start small. I work on-site two days a week for a local client and would like to start delegating a good chunk of that work out. Essentially, what I’d like is someone who would come in with me those two days and work with me in my little shoebox of an office. It would likely begin as quite closely directed work, and then as you become comfortable, I’d step back more and would focus on other work. I’d be likely to have other projects I could use you on from time to time as well, but as this is my most steady and realiable source of work, it would be the bulk of your work, especially to begin with.

It will start out part-time; I’d need you Wednesdays and Thursdays from approximately 10–6. There may be additional work if you’re interested, as well, but those two days would be steady. This position is best-suited for an entry-level or intern who’s looking to get started in the industry.

Oh, right. And I’m in this new cast (check it out! I’ve got an elbow and some fingers now!) for at least the next four weeks, so an extra hand would be, quite literally, invaluable.

Required Skills

• excellent communication skills. This is non-negotiable as it’s pretty much the only thing I can’t teach you. You don’t need to be a fantastic orator, but solid writing skills are absolutely vital.
• basic understanding of basic design principles (and a “good eye”, which is also non-teachable)
• basic understanding of standards-compliant HTML/CSS
• basic Adobe CS skills, or the equivalent freeware alternatives
• attention to detail (I’m a perfectionist)
• independence and problem-solving skills
• passion for your work and a desire to learn

Skills that would be deemed a bonus

• strong web skills (HTML/CSS, Ajax, “making things work”, etc)
• strong design skills
• comfort with WordPress, which I’m using more & more as a CMS

Job “perks”

• flexibility & the ability to set your own hours, to some degree
• opportunity to learn about the ins & outs of client relations and running a business
• chance to work on a wide variety of projects
• opportunity for advancement (I hope!)

Please send resume, portfolio, and anticipated hourly wage range to , and introduce yourself! (Oh, and if you’d like some helpful pointers, this post may help explain what’ll land you in the “hell no!” pile.)

Why?

1. It’s open.

Compared to similar platforms—Movable Type being the obvious example that comes to mind, which all is proprietary and messy and hard to work with—WordPress is a dream. Their website puts it best:

Everything you see here, from the documentation to the code itself, was created by and for the community. WordPress is an Open Source project, which means there are hundreds of people all over the world working on it. (More than most commercial platforms.) It also means you are free to use it for anything from your cat’s home page to a Fortune 500 web site without paying anyone a license fee and a number of other important freedoms.

So instead of building you a customized system (which I still do where the project warrants it), we start with a totally free, full-featured system (with fancy-pants features like revision history and autosave and such already built-in), then build on it. And whenever the core system upgrades, you can upgrade your installation at the click of a button. Essentially, instead of having a static system that never changes, you get one that is constantly being improved and worked on by a huge team of developers.

2. It’s flexible.

Once you’ve got the core system up and running (so about five minutes after you start, because it’s super-simple to install, too), you can customize it to behave in exactly the way you want.

So, while it’s technically intended as a blogging platform (and at its core, it really is), there are thousands of plugins, widgets, and themes you can install in order to change its functionality. Generally speaking, I’ve found that I can almost always find something close to what I’m looking for. And if you can’t, you can edit your theme templates of write your own plugins—and since WordPress is all written in PHP, a highly popular and easy-to-use scripting language, it’s easy to work with.

(The portfolio items this website, for example, are actually entered as blog posts. They are then displayed using a highly modified template, called only for posts in the portfolio category.)

3. It’s easy.

Not easy in the “sleeping with your brother” sense, but easy-to-use. WordPress is crazy easy to use. I’ve set up systems for clients who don’t have a great sense of technology, and they get going with very little direction from me.  Even the more complex CMS-type setups are simple to use: last week, I met with a client for a training session I’d anticipate might take all day—instead, it took two hours.

I’ve seen the UI go through a number of different revisions, and it keeps becoming more intuitive and user-friendly. And as far as text formatting goes, well, if you can handle Word (which I actually cannot, but that’s a different story), you’re set.

4. It’s friendly.

To search engines, that is. I don’t know a great deal about SEO—it’s complex, it changes all the time, and there are many companies who do nothing else but SEO. Accordingly, I focus my attention on making websites that work well and look great. WordPress does all sorts of clever things automatically, like creating permalinks for your pages, that means that search engines will just naturally pay more attention to you, without you having to worry about it. (And of course, if you’d like to get more fiddly, there are quite a few plugins that will give you some extra control.)

5. It’s pretty.

Of course, for all its brilliance, WordPress would be entirely useless if it weren’t pretty. Luckily, it’s built with a mind for aesthetics. This means that there are all sorts of gorgeous themes you can download and install, if you’re so inclined, or you can hire a designer to make you a fantastic one-of-a-kind design and they won’t be pulling their hair out trying to do it for you. It also means that some nitpicky typographic elements you’ll probably never notice, but I will (like smart quotes, formerly the bane of my web-existence, although I’m still keeping my toes crossed for em-dashes, which I use like they’re going out of style, which admittedly they most likely are), will automatically be inserted into the text you type. Generally speaking, it takes great care to ensure that what you enter, no matter how nutty, turns into nicely-formatted code (which will also, trust me, save your designer’s hair).

In short: WordPress is great. I love WordPress, and so should you!

Not being one to ever do anything the half-assed way, I of course managed a really nasty, painful break in my right wrist. After seven hours in the ER, three different sets of x-rays, and numerous doctors dropping by to poke me about, stick needles in me, and ask me quite seriously if I’d been assaulted, they sent me home in a cast that runs from my fingertips to my bicep, with a handful of painkillers and no assurances that I wouldn’t need to be back for surgery in a week.

The ensuing week has been a bit of a mess, but it’s taught me all sorts of valuable lessons already.

1. Flat-rate is still best-rate.

I’ve briefly mentioned this before, but I still do believe that charging flat-rate for the majority of my work (I switched over almost a year ago and haven’t looked back) is the best choice for both me and my clients. While it’s presently taking me a little longer than usual to get my work done (typing emails is slow, coding websites is painful, and resizing elements non-numerically is almost impossible), I don’t believe that my clients ought to be penalized for what ultimately boils down to my own lack of foresight. Usually, this functions in the reverse for me—I’m not penalized when I manage to get something done more quickly than expected, so I don’t mind that it doesn’t work out in my favour right now.

2. I really, really love being a graphic designer.

During some of my more intense moments of panic, I started trying to come up with suitable alternative careers. (You know, in case I get bone necrosis and the damned thing never works again. Thanks, Wikipedia, for constantly feeding my paranoid hypochondria!) I originally went into design as a way to more effectively pay my way through university, then fell in love and never looked back. (I’d still like to finish my university degree—if I ever win the lottery—but I’d be more likely to study design now.) While there are all sorts of industries I’m interested in, there’s nothing I can think of that’s as creatively stimulating, dynamic, and challenging as what I’m presently doing.

3. I have the greatest clients, and friends, in the world.

This may just be the Percocets talking, but I don’t think I would have managed to fight through this week were it not for the massive amount of support I’ve received from the people in my life. I’m generally on the “ragingly independent” side, so it’s hard for me to ask for help with anything. Some things, like putting my hair in a ponytail, are impossible to do, while other tasks are just frustrating and time-consuming. I’m also quitting smoking, as nicotine reduces blood flow and slows healing significantly, so on top of being in almost constant pain and crazy frustrated, I’m cranky and suffering withdrawal symptoms!

But my friends have cooked me dinners and helped me with all the tiny daily tasks I’m finding so challenging, have entertained me for hours in the ER when I thought I’d go insane, have left drawings all over my cast, and have made me feel loved and like I’m not alone at all. My clients have been just as supportive, in different ways, making allowances for the fact that I need a little more time to complete tasks, and either not caring or not noticing my painkiller-induced loopiness.

My super-sexy cast, complete with “pain killer” monster. Come on down and sign it: I’ve got scented markers and lits of extra space!

In short, I may be in a giant cast, but I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

Typographical arrangement for the NSLC’s annual report. I made up this fact. They tell me that the number is totally insane.

I’ve been wanting to get back into doing things like this, mostly as creative exercises to keep me interested in design. Of course, creative exercises in and of themselves are also something of a luxury; it seems like that pesky work keeps getting in the way.

Part of a newsletter for the Wicker Emporium

Lately I’ve found, however, that there’ve been some opportunities to incorporate some more interesting typographical arrangements into my work, and as a result I’ve been paying better attention to the shapes that letters form and how they fit together. It’s a bit more time and effort, but I’m enjoying it, and I think it lends a certainly liveliness to pieces that might otherwise be a little tame.

Butterfly tag for a line of jewelry

So, while I’m still hoping to get into doing more self-assigned creative exercises, it’s redeeming to be able to find opportunities in my work in which to pay more attention to type. I seem to be crazy-busy these days, which is great, but it means that if I’ve got some down-time, I’m not exactly in the mood to stare at my computer.

Part of a print ad, again for the Wicker Emporium. Their branding allows for three fonts, so I’m rather familiar with the peculiarities of each. Luckily, this one (Fontin) is a rather well-made typeface. I love its G.

Playing with type is a great way to indulge my more detail-oriented side (that would probably be all of my sides, actually). I’ve got a lot to learn, but the more I do it, the more I start noticing minute details—which, really, is what makes for good typographic arrangements.

Another piece from the NSLC’s annual report. We’re going for a magazine-style look, and the whole thing will have a heavy focus on typography in order to give it some visual interest.

Of course, this isn’t likely to make me more enjoyable to be around in a social context. (“Look at that gap between those letters! Whoever kerned that ought to be shot!” doesn’t make for the most scintillating cocktail-party conversation. I think my friends are tired enough of my constant running commentary on menus, posters, and the like.)

But it’ll make me a better designer.