A Cover Letter, a Pop Song, and a Moment of Realization

You ever do something so delightfully unhinged that you immediately think, “Okay… maybe not everyone will get this”? That was me last night when I turned my serious, adult cover letter into a pop song—with AI as my co-writer.

The People Who Love It… and the People Who Don’t

I sent it to a friend, proud of my catchy little experiment, and he immediately said, “I would not recommend sending that in for any jobs that you want.” Fair. Some people need their cover letters in paragraph form, not verse-chorus-verse.

And then there’s another friend who has a visceral hatred of everything AI-related. To him, AI is basically the villain in every dystopian movie ever made—something that will inevitably be used for manipulation, shortcuts, and the downfall of civilization. If you say “machine learning,” he hears “Skynet.”

And yes—someone out there will absolutely misuse it. Just like someone misuses a hammer, a camera, or a keyboard. But that’s not a reason for the rest of us to freeze our creativity in place.

I’m someone who believes AI is like a hammer. It can help build a house or tear one down. The tool isn’t inherently good or evil; it’s the intention behind the swing.

Why This Debate Feels Familiar (Photographers Know This Story)

As a photographer, this entire debate feels like déjà vu. Artists used to scoff at the camera itself. Photography wasn’t “real art,” they said—it was just a machine copying reality. No skill. No soul. Just a mechanical trick. Photographers fought for decades to show that artistry lives in timing, composition, emotion, craft, and the human behind the lens.

And then, decades later, digital photography arrived—and the analog photographers scoffed again. Digital wasn’t “pure.” It wasn’t “authentic.” It was too easy, too accessible, too immediate. Sound familiar? Yet here we are: digital photography not only won acceptance, it helped unleash an entirely new world of creativity, accessibility, and artistic expression.

The medium expanded. The tools evolved. The artist remained.

AI as a Creative Partner, Not a Replacement

That’s how I see AI: an evolution of tools, not an erasure of the artist.

Lately, I’ve been leaning into AI a lot more—sometimes for brainstorming, sometimes for polishing my writing, and sometimes for those moments when my brain feels like it’s buffering. It’s the extra brain cell that shows up when mine is on lunch break. I treat AI-generated content as suggestions, not gospel.

In my world, AI is a collaborator, not a ghostwriter. Everything still goes through my taste, my edits, my judgment, my sensibilities. It doesn’t erase my voice; it sharpens it. It helps me experiment more, write faster, and save my energy for the ideas, the storytelling, the teaching, and the creating.

It’s not for everyone, and that’s okay. But right now, using it helps me build more, explore more, and stress a whole lot less.

And for me? That’s worth embracing.

A Season Ending, A New One Beginning

There comes a point when you look at the life you’ve built, tilt your head a little, and think, Huh… this doesn’t fit the way it used to.

That’s where I’ve been standing lately, in that strange place where something you’ve poured yourself into no longer feels like the thing you want to carry.

This is the story of why I’m sunsetting my photography business.

When the Thing You Love Starts Feeling Heavy

Photography has been with me for decades—my second language, my constant companion, the way I memorialize my world. But somewhere along the way, what once felt like play started to feel like pressure.

And not the artistic kind. The timeline kind.

We live in a world that moves fast. Faster than my creative process wants to move. So many people expect images immediately — sometimes the same day, often long before a realistic timeline. But what many folks never see is how much time lives behind the scenes: the culling, the editing, the retouching, the quiet hours shaping a photograph into something compelling.

Some photographers have mastered managing those expectations. They set tight boundaries, they have airtight workflows, and they protect their time like seasoned pros. I admire that. I could learn it, practice it, bake it into my routine.

But I’m at a point where I don’t want to. Because my priorities have shifted in a big way.

A Creative Spark Reignited

This fall at Long Beach City College changed everything for me. Fourteen weeks surrounded by painters, designers, photographers, dancers, musicians, and makers of every sort—it was like walking into a room where everyone speaks the same first language you do.

Being in that environment cracked something open. I started feeling curious again. Inspired again. Hungry again.

And that’s when I realized: I want to spend my time creating what I want to create. I want to take the photos that call to me, not the ones on someone else’s deadline. I want to write more. The words have been piling up in my head for years. I want to experiment with AI music, because while lyrics come naturally to me. The melod—not so much. And that challenge feels… exhilarating.

New Avenues, New Adventures

My photography business started as a side hustle. A helpful way to earn a little extra. But the technology, bless its chaotic heart, has opened up whole new ways to make that extra cash — ways that align much more naturally with where my energy is going now.

And I’m leaning in.

I know the things I make from here on out won’t be for everyone. Some people will love it, some won’t. Art isn’t supposed to be universal. It’s supposed to be real.

And I truly believe there’s an audience out there — maybe big, maybe small — for the kind of work I’m stepping into. The only way to find them is to create, release, repeat.

A Season Ending, A New One Beginning

I’m not stepping away from photography as a whole. Not at all. I’m stepping away from the business of it. I want the craft back. I want the joy back. I want the freedom to chase ideas without a clock ticking behind me.

So I’m choosing a new season. One with a little more air. A little more curiosity. A little more space to rediscover the parts of myself that got buried under deadlines and expectations.

To everyone who trusted me with your moments — thank you, genuinely. Those experiences shaped me more than you know.

And now… I’m ready to see where this next chapter leads. Here’s to creating from joy again — and to following the light wherever it goes.

Too Many Em Dashes? Good. That Means I Wrote It.

People on social media think AI writing has a tell: the em dash.

I laughed—then paused.

And then I felt… weirdly offended.

Because I use em dashes. A lot. I also use en dashes, hyphens, semicolons, and ellipses (LOTS of ellipses). I can’t help it, I’m Gen X—I love punctuation—like, really love it. So when I heard that comment, it felt like someone had just walked into my kitchen, tasted my cooking, and said, “This tastes too good. It must’ve come from a box.”

Why It Stings When People Think It's AI

So yeah, when someone assumes my writing is AI-generated because of a punctuation choice, I get twitchy. Not because I hate AI—it’s a tool like any other. But writing is personal to me. It's how I make meaning out of the million thoughts racing through my head.

In case you didn’t know, English isn’t my first language. I had to EARN fluency—the rhythm, the nuance, the melody of it. I had to learn how to make words correct AND compelling.

That’s why I care if you think what I wrote is machine-made. Because it’s not. It’s blood, sweat, and em dashes.

Why I Write

I write to process, to preserve, and to play. I write when I’m heartbroken. I write when I’m furious. I write when I’m buzzing with ideas that might disappear. Writing is my way out of the chaos and into clarity.

I write to entertain, sure, but I also want to make people feel. I want them to read stories that make people feel less alone in their weirdness, their worry, their ambitions.

I write to connect. Even though we live in a world saturated with content, real connection still feels rare. And precious.

Do I also write to sell things? Yes. I write to promote, persuade, and position ideas. But even in marketing, I don’t aim for manipulation. I believe in resonance. If you connect with what I’m saying, if it feels true to you, or nudges a shift—that’s the win.

I write to shape the world I want to live in.

There’s nothing like the moment when someone says, “I read your post, and I felt that.” When someone tells me they laughed, cried, or even just paused to think because of something I wrote? My heart goes pitter-patter.

Where It All Began

I’ve been writing since elementary school, ever since I got that first pink Hello Kitty diary. I don’t remember this at all, but my dad does. He tells me so. I moved on to notebooks, to blogs, and now social media.

My love affair with punctuation started the day Mike LaNoue handed me a copy of Eats, Shoots & Leaves two decades ago. That book turned me into a full-blown punctuation snob, and I have zero regrets.

I care about grammar, too. Just ask Marcia and Laura—we’ve been sharing grammar memes back since back in the days when you actually had to email them.

Do I flub spelling or grammar sometimes? Sure. But I also break the rules on purpose—Stephen King says that’s allowed.

The Process

I write when I’m inspired, when I’m exhausted, and often when I’ve had a glass of wine (or six). I write late at night, when the world quiets down, but the thoughts haven’t.

You have no idea how many hundreds of drafts sit on my computer, incomplete. Or how many words, sentence fragments, and ideas sit in notebooks or scraps of paper strewn across my desk. I have a bank of words and phrases that spark something in me. I stash them away, hoping to use them one day.

I write fast and messy, and then I edit when I’m sober.

And yes—I do use AI tools. Grammarly, ChatGPT. I treat them like a thesaurus or a smart friend who can help me say the thing I’m trying to say more clearly, not a ghostwriter. They help me catch typos and sharpen phrasing. But I don’t just copy-paste what they suggest. I cull. I curate. I rewrite, rework, and revise until it feels right in my bones.

And if AI tries to sneak in too many em dashes? Trust me—I’ll still be the one deciding which ones stay.

Who Inspires Me

Writers leave fingerprints on me. Not because I tried to copy them, but because I studied them. I asked questions: Why does this line hit so hard? Why does this joke land? Why does this feel true, even when it’s fiction? Every time I found an answer, I came away a little changed—my voice a little sharper, my ear a little keener.

• Jasmine Star taught me how to engage. Her captions read like conversations over coffee—warm, direct, and a little bit caffeinated. From her, I learned that connection isn’t just nice; it’s the best conversion tool out there.
• Stephen King taught me that storytelling isn’t about monsters or plot twists. It’s about people—their fears, flaws, and fragile attempts to do the right thing.
• Anthony Bourdain taught me how to feel life. His words were visceral: greasy spoon diners, cigarette smoke, jet lag, laughter in languages he barely spoke. From him, I learned to write with curiosity, respect, and just enough dark humor to cut the sweetness.
• Sam Parr and Shaan Puri taught me persuasion—the art of making ideas sticky. They showed me how simplicity sells, how personality converts, and how honesty (the well-edited kind) builds trust faster than any call-to-action ever could.
• Rob Johnson taught me how to impress an academic audience. He taught me how to write with precision. From him, I learned that in academia, words aren’t just tools; they’re credentials. You can’t just say something—you have to support, substantiate, and situate it within a theoretical framework. He showed me that clarity doesn’t mean dumbing things down. Also, I learned that if you just sprinkle in phrases like learning outcomes, retention rate, and student-centered learning—and suddenly, you sound like you know what you’re talking about. (Spoiler: sometimes I actually do.)
• And then there’s Dave Barry. God bless Dave Barry. And then there’s Dave Barry. God bless Dave Barry. He taught me that humor has gravity—that it’s not a detour from meaning but another road to it. The best jokes don’t just make you laugh—they make you nod in recognition.
• Jerry Burchfield taught me to write with grace and diplomacy. From him, I learned that words can build bridges just as easily as they can burn them—and that choosing the right tone is often more powerful than choosing the right argument. He had a way of softening truth without diluting it, of standing firm without sounding combative.

I didn’t pull my writing style out of thin air. It came from years of trial and error, of writing things nobody read and a few things people did. My voice was built, not born. It’s a patchwork of everything I’ve loved, questioned, underlined, and rewritten. A thousand stories, observations, missteps, and accidental mentors stitched together into one ongoing experiment: me, learning how to say what I mean—and mean it beautifully. Work still in progress.

Here’s what I know

Use the tools if they help. Ask for feedback. Read the writers who shake something loose in you. But never let convenience replace connection. That part has to come from you—your humor, your history, your heartbreak.

It’s half language, half theater—and entirely about understanding your audience.

Because words matter. And how they make people feel? That matters even more.

Oh—and yes. I know the keyboard shortcut for an em dash on a Mac: Option + Shift + Hyphen.

You're welcome. 🙃

Why I’m Still on Facebook (and Why You Should Be Too)

The Case for Connection Over Virality

I know, I know—when most people think of social media these days, Facebook isn’t exactly the first name that pops into their heads. There’s TikTok, Instagram, X, and whatever the next shiny app is that promises to make you “viral” overnight. But here’s the thing: I’m not in this for virality. I’m in this for connection. And for me, Facebook is still the best place to do that.

Real Connection, Not Just Content

When I say connection, I mean the real kind. The kind where you’re not just scrolling past strangers or chasing likes, but actually staying in touch with the people you genuinely care about—your friends, your colleagues, your extended family, the folks who have been part of your life story in some meaningful way. That’s what Facebook does best.'

It’s not about pandering to a crowd of strangers (though I admit, there’s a certain thrill in that too). It’s about seeing the lives of people you’ve known for years, sharing in their triumphs and milestones, commenting on their thoughts, and yes, sometimes just laughing at a ridiculous meme they shared.

My Digital Living Room

For me, Facebook has become my digital living room. It’s where I check in on people I don’t see as often as I’d like but still consider important. It’s where we celebrate small victories, support each other during tough times, and yes, occasionally debate over things we don’t agree on—but always from a place of respect.

And I love that. I love that I can scroll through my feed and feel genuinely connected, not just entertained or distracted.

The Joy of Familiar Faces

Now, don’t get me wrong—I also enjoy reaching new people, testing ideas, and sharing content that might resonate beyond my immediate circle. That part of social media—the broadcasting, the growing, the showing off a little—is valid and fun. But it’s the private, quieter joy of connection that keeps me coming back to Facebook as my primary platform.

It’s the difference between shouting into a void and talking to people who actually care to listen.

Staying Where My Heart Is

So yes, while other platforms may promise trendiness or fame, I’m sticking with Facebook. Because here, I see the people I actually know. Here, I can nurture relationships that matter. Here, I can be present in the lives of people who have been present in mine.

And if you’re reading this, yes—you are part of that, and I want you to know how much I value it.

Why It Still Matters

Facebook may not be the new kid on the block, but it’s where the people I love are. And for that reason alone, it should be one of your platforms of choice too. It’s not about chasing the algorithm—it’s about cherishing the connections that enrich our lives.

That’s what keeps me coming back, and that’s why I’ll keep showing up. Because when it comes to real connection, nothing else quite compares.

When Life Hands You Lidocaine

I was going to post something fun and exciting, but my tooth… had other plans.

Look, I know I’ve been a little MIA lately—classic case of adulting taking over—but don’t worry, I’ll be back to my regular posting in a couple of weeks. I’ve got a backlog of “catch-up” posts waiting on the sidelines (and sadly, no, none of them involve tropical vacations or lottery wins).

In the meantime, remember when we all thought adulting meant having a clean home and paying bills on time? Turns out, the real “self-care” is remembering to floss before life decides to schedule a root canal for you.

Sure, I’m smiling in the photo, but don’t be fooled—that’s not joy. That’s a delicious mix of lidocaine and several hundred milligrams of "happy pills". It's AMAZING what that can do for your mood.

Smile with Style

Sunny Hills Endodontics

Sunny Hills Endodonitcs

post root canal

Huge shoutout to the dream team who made this surprisingly not-terrible experience possible:

For general dentistry:
Smile With Style
3261 N Harbor Blvd, Suite A
Fullerton, CA 92835
(714) 870-9445

For endodontics (aka the root canal heroes):
Sunny Hills Endodontics
220 W Laguna Rd Ste 3
Fullerton, CA 92835
(714) 738-6651

10/10 recommend. Would (hopefully not) do again.

Thanks for hanging in there, friends—see you in a couple of weeks with happier updates and fewer dental drills!