12 June 2008

Today in the mail, I got the Spring issue of Eliza, which a magazine edited and run by a lady I once sat next to on an airplane. It's a young women's fashion magazine, but with a bent toward a more modest expression of fashion. Not in the creepy, prairie dress wearing, Baptist-bangs kind of stuff (think Chloe Sevigny on Big Love), but in a respect-for-yourself kind of way.

I had met the editor in January on a flight from L.A. to Seattle, where I was connecting to head over to the UK. She calls Seattle home, I think, and had been in L.A. to do the photo shoots for the musicians in the current issue. She wasn't religious or anything, not that I could tell, but knew that a lot of her readership was. She and her husband started the magazine out of a desire to give girls a way to be fashionable (because what girl doesn't want to be fashionable?) and still show respect for themselves.

So I got my first issue today, and I really enjoyed it. It's printed on quality paper, and the spreads are pretty good. The writing sometimes left a bit to be desired. Back when I ordered my subscription, my mom thought it would be a good idea to write something and send it in to them. I've never been published, but I am a pretty decent writer, and I think it would be cool to just try. Now, I would just have to find something to write about...

I remember one summer, when I was really getting acquainted with using a computer, I made a mock-up magazine, with stories and 'reader submissions' and the whole bit. I wonder why I never got involved in student journalism or anything like that. Part of the reason is that, at least a Biola (and I think most universities, too), journalism is a MassComm major (ugh). Why isn't it under the umbrella of the English department? I've always wondered that...I think that our student writing would be a lot better if it were.

Anyways, I have a review of Why Cats Paint still pending...I know you are waiting with baited breath.

Oh man, if I want to write, I shouldn't use ridiculous colloquialisms like that. What would George Orwell think of me?

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