A few days ago, our technical writing team went on a chocolate outing. This is not a rare occurrence. This time I have some pictures and a few musings about the confluence of teams and chocolate.

Concept:

Reference:

Task:

We decided that was one user guide we could all follow without difficulty!

chocolate.inspire(team)

For me, one of the most important aspects of my job is the team I work with. After all, I spend most of my waking life with them. It’s good to build up some common interests, other than the work itself, so that you have something to talk about, something to bind you together, even something to complain about.

I think fun is very important. But “fun” is a fuzzy concept. People have different ideas of what constitutes fun and technical writing teams typically consist of very disparate individuals. So how on earth do you find something that everyone will consider fun, interesting and invigorating?

Funnily enough (heh), we’ve found that it just happens. We have a great bunch of people in our team. Every one of us wants everyone else to feel good in the team. So when a possible “common interest” arises, everyone buys into it.

skate.go()

Earlier I wrote that it’s even good to have something to complain about together. Don’t we all love to exclaim in anguished tones, and isn’t it a good thing if the object of such gleeful anguish is not our job! I have a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon above my desk at work, showing Calvin’s father with a mangled bicycle, obviously the result of a bad stack. The caption reads something like:

“The secret to enjoying your job is to have a hobby that is even worse.”

Our technical writing team is keen on rollerblading. Actually, we’ve only done it once, but we plan to get out there again soon. And being keen doesn’t mean we do it well, just that we’re happy to give it a go. Or simply to watch our team mates fall off the blades! We made it into the Cherryleaf I’m a technical writer and I’m not boring annals.

But can you guess what the most popular common interest is? You got it: chocolate. And it’s not something we complain about!

chocolate.reward(jens)

We’ve taken to “rewarding” other people, those who are not fortunate enough to be technical writers, when they do something that improves the documentation. How do we reward them? With chocolate of course.

Our latest reward went to Jens, who is doing some awesome work on a “documentation” theme for Confluence wiki. (Yes, it’s true! I’ll let you know more about it when there’s a prototype ready for trial.)

We went to at Max Brenner in George Street, Sydney. Clockwise from the left, here are Rosie, Jens, Ed, Giles and Andrew (I was taking the photo):

Lucky Jens!

tShirt.glow()

Another thing we do to engender team spirit is to dress alike.

Heh, just kidding. But on this occasion, we all made sure that we wore our new Atlassian Dragon Quest T-shirts.

Warning! The shirts are very green. When we all appeared together, an involuntary gasp of horror escaped Penny, one of our QA engineers:

“My eyes, my eyes.”

So here we are, the Atlassian technical writers on a chocolate outing in our Dragon Quest T-shirts. Clockwise from the left — Ed, Giles, Andrew, Rosie and Sarah:

I count myself extremely lucky to be part of such a great team! Do you have any stories about what your team gets up to?

You might think that I’m all about the money, seeing how excited I got at being paid for two radio appearances, and now with my excitement at making buku bucks just for doing one show per month, but that’s not true.

It’s just that Dave and I have plans, dreams, hopes of being independent in our chosen fields, but lately life has been putting some mighty big financial roadblocks in our way—the roof of the house started leaking, and we had to borrow from our 401Ks to get it patched (patched, not even replaced); the washer and dryer had died and so we had to replace them (I mean, c’mon, they were only 10 years old, what’s with that?); and the mechanic said that my car (which was only 9 years old) would cost more to repair than the it was worth, so now we had a car payment that we really couldn’t afford. So, when a chance to get ahead a little on the bills presents itself, well, we tended to get a bit happy and carried away.

I had gotten to Dave’s office with the radio’s offer and instead of trying to explain my elation, I simply handed him the document. As he read it, his eyes grew larger and the look of shock was soon replaced elation almost as great as mine. After some whoopying and hugging, which garnered quite a few stares from a number of co-workers, we escaped his office for a celebratory lunch at one of our favorite little restaurants, Berghoff’s on west Adams.

“So you think I should go ahead and take the deal, right?” I asked as the waiter took away our dirty dishes and left the bill.

“I think it looks good,” he said signing the bill and handing it back to the waiter. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have Bill check it over.”

I nodded. Bill, our neighbor and friend, was a lawyer. He handled primarily wills and probates, but I reasoned mentally, that a will was a type of contract, so he should be able to advise us on this.

Dave walked with me back to his office, and then he went upstairs to his round of meetings. Meanwhile, I continued walking to the train station. Using my cell phone, which I carry only for emergencies (such as when I get lost—and I get lost a LOT—and I need to call Dave so he can help me figure out where I am, and then get me where I’m trying to go), I called Bill. He agreed to see me, saying that he could squeeze me in between Mrs. Camden at 2:30 and Mr. Rowr at 3:30. Bill has an office in downtown St. Charles, so once I got off the train I would only have to walk a few blocks from the train station to get to his place.

The train got to the St. Charles stop a little after 2. Since I had some time before my meeting with Bill, I wandered around the town square park admiring all of the scarecrows that had been created for the annual scarecrow festival. Closer to 2:40, I went over to Bill’s office and let the receptionist know I was there.

The meeting with Bill was quick and relatively painless. He adjusted a couple of minor statements and had me sign the document with his receptionist and him as witnesses. We then agreed that Dave and I would host him and his wife to dinner at a restaurant of their choosing to pay him back for his service, and I was on my way back to the train station.

The first train, the commuter express, zipped past. Ten minutes later the next commuter train pulled in and I hustled on board as everyone else tried to get off. There were no seats available on the car I had gotten on to, so I stood in the aisle with one hand braced against the back of a train seat.

As I stood in the crowded train swaying with the movement, I wondered who at the radio station could be the person who was pinging my energies. There were a number of offices opening right off of the reception area, and several more off of the two hallways at the back of the reception area. Yet, both times I had been toward the front, so it had to be someone in one of those offices, or so I surmised.

I was trying to remember which of the offices had had lights on in them and so were probably occupied when I had arrived this morning, when a particularly tight corner caught me unawares and I overswayed. My hand knocked into the back of the head of the passenger in the seat and the woman turned to glare at me. I gave her an apologetic look as the conductor announced my stop.

I jostled, pushed, and finally shoved my way through the crowds and onto the train platform. I tend to get a bit rude when getting off the train, but then I’m always so afraid that the train is going to start up again while I’m still onboard and trying to get off. I know the conductors are watching and trying to make sure that everyone gets where they need to, but I also know that with the mobs of people on these commuter trains that the conductors can’t see everyone or everything. So, I always have this little panicky fear pushing me forward sometimes to the point that I’m standing at the door to the car two stops before I need to get off. Dave just laughs at me, but then he’s not as short as I am and no one is going to overlook him in a crowd.

Back at home, I was again looking at the deal from the radio station, when I decided I would go down there personally tomorrow. I could fax or mail the agreement to them, but if I went down there to deliver it in person I just might be able to find the person whose energies were pinging mine; the person who just might be responsible for pulling me into their nightmares.

And, just so Dave wouldn’t think I was wasting the entire day, I could go to the library and finish the research I needed to complete that article my editor had asked me to write. Having a plan of action made me feel better, and I turned toward the stairs for the bedroom and nearly fell over.

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A Winkling Wuggley walking by

gave a shiffling, smuffling sigh.

When I inquired as to why;

he shiffled and then merely said,

“Today I should’ve stayed in bed.”

“But it’s a most beglairigan day,

why would you want to hide away?”

“This morning started out just fine,

‘til my sollstippers slipped in the surpen’s tine.

And, as if that isn’t enough,

the neighborhood Crunkers began their miss chuff;

gavelloping me and my property,

and gerwayling my new bents geewee.

Then I sprung a leak in my grizzly grumptures,

from, what are commonly termed as, punctures.

Next, I had to replace the gonns,

but I couldn’t remember if it was three or one.

And when I arrived at Alfawaire’s,

he told me gonns came only in pairs.

Are these reasons enough to answer your question?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied, with a sympathetic expression.

“Then, my good sir, let us part, say goodbye.”

And as we parted, he winked his eye,

and gave a shiffling, smuffling sigh.

Gretchen Muth | Columbus, OH |g.muth@gmail.com

Seeking Writing Assignments and Permanent Positions

Technical Communicator with 8+ years of professional experience researching, writing and editing technical and legal documents. Adept at analyzing complex material and transforming it into clear and easy-to-understand copy. Quick grasp of technical products. Resourceful and trainable with readily transferable skills. Polished presenter.

Professional Skills

WRITING

Writing original copy in a unified voice and with a consistent tone and message /Adherence to organizational standards for style, layout and design /Strong understanding of proper grammar, punctuation and spelling

EDITING & PROOFREADING

Experience using standard proofreader’s marks / Editing for clarity of expression, orderly composition and proper use of English language

RESEARCHING

Conducting thorough research independently / Gathering information from a variety of sources, including interviews, observations and competitive analysis / Collaborating with subject matter experts, engineers, technicians, users and others

PROJECT MANAGEMENT

Organizing and managing complex ongoing projects / Identifying and coordinating review loops and validating information / Confident managing self and others to ensure timely project completion

COMPUTER

MS Word, Excel, Access, Visio, PowerPoint, SharePoint, Adobe Photoshop, Adobe FrameMaker, Acrobat

OS: Windows XP, NT, 2000, Vista, 2007, Linux/Unix, Ubuntu, Cisco IOS

Network Hardware: Cisco Routers/Switches/PIX Firewalls, Wireless Access Points

Security: Access Control, Intrusion Detection Systems, Encryption Systems

Writing Samples

Resume

Writing Sample, Proprioception

Writing Sample, GroupThink Business Analysis (APA)

Writing Sample, HIPAA Pamphlet

Writing Sample, Pearson v Calahan (APA)

Writing Sample, Biometrics and Civil Rights (APA)

I had stayed too long out of body when trying to help Donnie, one of my charges, and had ended up feeling as awful as when I had had the flu last winter. And like the flu, it took several days before I felt normal again. Several days of moving slowly, getting plenty of rest, and absolutely no planing.

Now it was Thursday and I had to do my second appearance at the radio station. Although more aware of how things worked there, having already done one show, I was still dreading this appearance. My body felt normal, but my energies still seemed a bit off, so I really had no idea if I’d be able to do any readings or not.

As the train pulled into the Chicago station, Dave and I prepared to disembark. I gave him a smile feigning a joi de vivre I didn’t feel. Sensing my discomfort, Dave said, “Do you want me to come with you? I don’t have any meetings until the afternoon.”

I did; I really did, but I knew I was being selfish and childish. On top of that, once the show started, there wasn’t anything he could do. He wouldn’t be allowed in the studio with me and AJ, the disc jockey; he’d just have to sit around waiting in the break room or lobby, and that was just silly. So, I hugged him and shook my head against his shoulder.

We stood like that for some moments on the train platform, people struggling to get around us, and some being downright rude about it. Finally, I pushed back from Dave, but without completely breaking the embrace, and said, “You better get going, Sir, or my husband will begin to suspect that we’re up to something.”

I gave him my flirtiest smile, and with a rueful grin he gave me a quick kiss; then we went our separate ways.

I wasn’t quite as early this time when I arrived at the radio station. This time, the receptionist was already ensconced at her desk, her phone ringing, and several people vying for her attention when I stepped inside the lobby.

I was headed her way when the producer for AJ’s show intercepted me. I felt a brief tingling on my energies, as depleted as they were, and my arms were suddenly covered with goose pimples as we passed close by the receptionist’s desk, but before I could really register this phenomenon, we were strolling toward the coffee room and the producer was telling me the plans for the show.

Most of the producer’s chatter faded into the hubbub of the station’s general noise, and my mind wandered back to the strange tingling of my energies and what (or who) might have caused it. This was the second time that something like this had happened here, and I was beginning to suspect that perhaps someone at the radio station was the sender of the email that I had tried to locate, or the creator of the nightmares…or maybe even both? Hmmm, that was a possibility I hadn’t considered before, but now, it seemed more than just possible.

As that thought flitted through my head, the producer’s voice broke through to me, “So, are you okay with all of that?”

Having no idea what all I was supposed to be okay with, I simply nodded in his direction. My mind was still trying to chase down the idea that someone here at the radio station was the one who had been dragging me into their nightmares.

A moment later, the producer and I entered AJ’s studio, and soon afterward the show started. Just like last time, AJ fed me the question in a yes/no format, but unlike the last time, I managed to answer them without fumbling. I even managed to add some insights and advice to at least half the answers. So, all-in-all it was a much smoother and easier time than my last appearance on his show. The last call came and went, and the whole show completed without any surprises.

As AJ’s theme song played, the station manager appeared in the door and signalled that he wanted me to folllow him to his office. Reluctantly, I nodded and followed him through the maze of offices and studios. I really wanted to get out to the lobby and see if I could sense anything. I was really hoping that my guess was right, and that the nightmare creator or emailer (or both) was someone here at the radio station. If I could find them, then just maybe I could clear up some of these issues that were interferring with my own life.

However, I curbed my impatience and followed the station manager to his office. He offered coffee, which I declined, and then he got to the point of this meeting. Evidently, the listeners liked me, or so he said.

“They find you sympathetic; someone they can relate to,” he said.

I was floored. I had been sure I sounded more like a fool or an idiot with all of my erms and ums, but he said the numbers didn’t lie (although who had ever really talked with the numbers to be sure?).

“I’ve spoken with the owners and we agree; we’d like you to do the show with AJ at least once a month,” the station manager continued. “So, what do you think?”

His round, pink face was awash with smiles, as if he were offering me the most fabulous prize in the world—and, come to think of it, he sort of was. For several hours of work a month they were offering an obscene amount of money; money that Dave and I could really use.

I was too surprised to think straight, though. I really needed Dave’s calm reassurance and insights. (Don’t let anyone kid you, for all that I might be able to see the “future”, I have no idea what is going to happen in my own life, and I rarely have the type of knowledge or insights that can help me make decisions like the one I was being presented with.)

Flustered and thinking that the whole offer was some sort of cruel hoax, I finally managed to mutter something about needing to speak to Dave about it.

“Please let us know by tomorrow noon if you will be accepting our offer,” the station manager said as he handed me a copy of the contract.

I nodded dumbly, and in a haze of disbelief I left the radio station. My desire to stay and discover if someone there was responsible for the nightmares was completely forgotten in my rush to see Dave and share the news.

I was in an out of body state and hanging around Donnie’s apartment (Donnie is one of my charges). I had to make sure that he was safe. You see I wasn’t the only one hanging around. Death was also here, and that was the issue.

Before Lawrence, Donnie’s companion, had gotten home and called an ambulance, Donnie had tried to commit suicide. That had triggered our mutual connection, mine and Donnie’s, which was why I was there. But that didn’t explain how Death had known about Donnie; and it especially didn’t explain how he had known before I had.

Death’s usual notification process was usually a little more direct. Most times someone either jumped from their physical body to avoid the pain and while wandering the transitional plane would run into Death; or they would remain in their body but call for Death to take them so they could avoid any more pain. But this was different—strange different—and different with Death made me very nervous.

After all, Donnie had been unconscious, he hadn’t called out to anyone, and he wasn’t out of body (I checked first thing, because the last thing I wanted was one of my charges wandering around lost). Therefore, there was no way that Donnie contacted Death; so how did Death know to be here?

I was exhausted—physically and spiritually—and I just couldn’t wrap my mind around this puzzle. I really wanted to go home and let my body get some real sleep, something I hadn’t been able to do for several nights now.

I could feel the remains of my energy flagging, and I forced myself to remain where I was. The pull from my physical body was getting stronger, indicating that I really need to plane back; however, I couldn’t do that; at least not until Death left and I was sure Donnie was safe.

The EMTs wheeled Donnie, who seemed to be breathing without assistance now, to the ambulance. I hung back as Lawrence followed. I was waiting to see what Death was going to do.

At the sound of the front door closing, Death turned to me, his smile still just as smug as before, and he touched two fingers to his forehead and disappeared.

Not knowing whether he was giving up or tagging along hoping to grab Donnie either on the way to the hospital or once at the hospital, I had no choice but to follow Donnie. So, using the last bit of energy I had, I forced myself to follow the link I shared with Donnie.

I ended up in the back of the ambulance, and it was everything I could do to keep a presence there. Although, I didn’t see Death, I still wasn’t completely reassured that he wasn’t at the hospital waiting, so I clung to the link between myself and Donnie using that to keep me anchored with him.

The EMTs rushed Donnie into the emergency room, and I hovered in the background as they got him stabilized. The first hints of daylight were creeping over the horizon outside as the hospital staff moved Donnie to a room.

I was becoming a shadow of myself, literally. I was barely able to continue my hold on this out of body existence. My body needed me and the pull to return was tearing at me. I had to leave. I hadn’t seen Death since leaving Donnie’s apartment, so I was hoping he was back on the transitional plane where he belonged.

Lawrence was sitting next to Donnie’s bed, stroking Donnie’s hand, when I finally let go of the link between us. I let the connection to my own body pull me down and I fell into myself with a horrible, gut-clenching feeling. I sat up with a start, completely disoriented. I had expected to be in my bed, in my bedroom, with Dave by my side. Instead, I was in the den on the couch, and it took me several moments to remember why.

I swung my legs over the side of the couch, and bit back a cry of pain. I felt as if I had run a marathon, and my head was pounding—I think it was beating in time to one of Gloria Estafan’s songs. I really wanted to just go back to bed and curl up under the covers for a month. I pushed myself to my feet, and wished I hadn’t.

The room whirled around me and I thought I was going to topple over. I dropped back onto the couch and put my head between my knees. When the world steadied, I stood up again, but this time much more slowly.

I toddled to the kitchen in an old lady style shuffle, and sort of clung to the door jamb while I looked around. The coffee had been brewed and a half a pot still sat on the warmer. There was also a note next to the coffee machine, so I continued into the room and picked it up. It was from Dave, and it just said that he hadn’t wanted to wake me, and he’d see me tonight.

I looked at the coffee, but opted for a large glass of water and several ibuprofen instead. Then I climbed the stairs (trying not to moan with each step), and went to our bedroom. There, I crawled between the covers and was instantly asleep.

I woke to the jangling of the phone, but by the time I realized what the noise was, it had (thankfully) stopped. I glanced at the clock on the bureau and saw that I hadn’t slept all that long. Although my body felt like it needed about 10 more hours of sleep, my mind was already chasing itself. Knowing that I wouldn’t get back to sleep again, I disentangled myself from the bed covers and stumbled into the bathroom.

I wanted to soak under a super hot shower for as long as I could stand it. Maybe that would help me overcome the groggy, muscle-cramped feeling that I currently had. As I started the shower up, I realized that I hadn’t felt this awful since I’d had the flu last winter.

While walking in the dovey dark

I heard the song of the wooden ark.

Then gazing up at the pecan pie

I saw some lisping crowds go by.

The blowing of the knobby knees

started swaying the cheddar cheese;

and as the perfect pun slipped west

I headed for my comb to rest.

Despite my trepidations, I had gone to ask Death for information regarding the person whose nightmares I kept getting dragged into. I had expected him to ask me for some of my life—a week, a month, a year—but he had surprised me by saying that he didn’t want any time from me. But now I dreaded to hear what it was he did want.

“Give me the names of the next 10 people you are to escort to the transitional plane,” Death said as he reached out and flicked a finger across the cords that tethered me to the people I was assigned to help within the next few months.

An icy jolt flowed through me, and I backed up a couple of steps. Faces flew across my mind: Ruthie, whose dementia was so bad that she wouldn’t know whether she was speaking with Death or her long-dead husband; Richard, whose heart was so weak now that he could no longer do much of anything for himself but who loved his wife and grandkids so much that he continually overextended himself; Debra, whose lung cancer had spread but who refused to give up hope that a cure might be found; or Donnie, who had just found out he had AIDs and was convinced it would be a horrible death so was contemplating suicide.

I stared at Death as if he were nuts. If I told him about Ruthie, Richard, Donnie and all, he would try to manipulate them into giving up their remaining time. But it would be a lie. He wouldn’t tell them the truth. He would never explain to them that if they left early to avoid the pain—real or imagined, physical or emotional—that they would end up having to face it in another life.

Everything was about experiences and lessons, choices and balance. You could make any choice you wanted, but if your choice created an imbalance (with yourself or someone else) then you had to put things right, you had make choices that would recreate balance. It’s just how it worked.

If you decide to experience the angst of unrequited love, but Death comes along and convinces you that he can help you overcome that pain and you go with him, you’ll just have to live that life at a different time; experience that unrequited love another time.

If you pick a life where you’re dying of cancer, but you decide to end your life early because you can’t stand the pain, then guess what? In the next life or the one after you will have to face a similar death scenario, and if you opt out early again, then you’ll just keep repeating things until you stop doing that. Eventually, you’ll have to experience the whole thing—the pain, suffering, and the eventual enlightenment that comes from them. Ain’t that a kick in the head?

Choosing Death is basically choosing suicide, and while suicide is a valid experience, if it isn’t the experience the soul wanted, then it leaves you out of balance with yourself.

I knew Death wouldn’t bother to explain all of this to my charges, and I couldn’t—it’s one of those things that each person learns at their own pace in their own way—I did the only thing I could, I shook my head and turned toward the door.

My hand was on the doorknob when he gently took my shoulder and turned me around.

“What I do is not hateful, you know. I save them from suffering, is that so bad?” His expression actually looked caring and concerned.

I jerked away from him, and gave him a scathing look. I opened the door as I replied, “It is when you lie to them. When you don’t tell them what they’re really getting from you.”

I then stepped back out into the gray nothingness of the transitional plane.

I was just getting ready to plane back home, when I felt a tug on a cord from one of my “clients”. Although I knew I would be exhausted in the morning, I followed the cord’s pull.

I walked through the building’s wall into a very modern, very comfortable living room. I knew this room, I thought, it was Donnie’s living room.

I heard (sensed) a noise from one of the other rooms, and I headed toward it. When I got there, I stopped in shocked surprise. Donnie lay sprawled across the gorgeous muted brown and purple cover on a rather large mahogany bed, and Death sat on the edge of the bed near one of Donnie’s outstretched hands an empty pill bottle in his own hand.

Overcoming my surprise, I asked angrily, “What are you doing here?”

Death set the pill bottle on its side on the bedside table, before answering me. “I came to see if Donnie here wanted my help.” He stood and fixed the crease in his pants before continuing, “Isn’t that why you came?”

Donnie spasmed and it looked as if he were having problems breathing. It was then that I saw that he had vomit down his front

“He’s having respiratory difficulties,” I said to no one in particular.

“I believe he is, yes,” Death responded while leaning over and studying the now still Donnie. He reached out as if to touch him, and I leapt forward grabbing Death’s hand.

“Leave him alone,” I looked down at the hand I held and noted the beautifully manicured nails, and smoothness of this skin. There were no lines on Death’s hands, because Death had never lived—not in the physical sense, anyway.

A door slammed and a voice echoed through the apartment, “Hey, Donnie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get mad.”

Footsteps came down the hall toward us. “Donnie, are you there?”

A face appeared in the doorway, “Oh my god, Donnie!”

Lawrence, Donnie’s housemate and current live-in rushed over and tried to rouse Donnie. Seeing the empty pill bottle and unable to rouse his friend, he quickly reached for the phone and dialed for help. He told the 911 operator what he needed, and then set the receiver down without hanging up. He then tried to give Donnie CPR as he waited for the emergency team to arrive.

I stood back, a smile on my lips, but Death was also smiling. “It’s not over yet,” he said smugly.

I wasn’t sure what Death was up to, and because I couldn’t trust him I decided to hang around. I could have left. I knew Donnie would be okay now—I had felt the tingling in the connection between me and Donnie fade away, and that usually meant that there was no longer a need for my services. But with Death still hanging around, I wasn’t all that sure that Donnie was safe—he was okay, but not safe.

I backed away into the hallway, as did Death, when the emergency response team arrived. As we stood and watched through the doorway, it suddenly occurred to me that Death had been here before me.

I stopped watching the EMTs and stared at Death’s profile and wondered: How had he known? It wasn’t as if Donnie had come to the transitional plane. In fact, Donnie hadn’t left his body at all. So, how had Death known that Donnie had been close to ending his life? How did he know before me, when we were both on the transitional plane and I had the direct link?

Something was wrong with this situation, I thought, and a shiver ran down my spine.

A beta version of the next Confluence release is out. And guess what — it’s got gadgets. This is pretty cool, so I’m jumping the gun and telling you about it right now.

It’s still just a beta release: Confluence 3.1 Open Beta. The announcement is on the Atlassian News Blog, along with an invitation to try it out. So I got myself a copy and put some gadgets onto a wiki page.

Now, the gadgets I chose are perhaps not the most useful. The most usual business case would be to add gadgets published by other Atlassian applications. For example, you might want to add a gadget that displays some information from another Confluence site or from  JIRA, Bamboo, FishEye or Crucible. (Those are other applications developed by Atlassian, the company I work for.)

But for me, the fun bit is that I can add the gadget that I created and blogged about 8 months ago.

The same 2 gadgets in 3 different applications

Here’s a screenshot of a Confluence wiki page with two gadgets. One is mine, displaying an up-to-date list of recent blog posts about technical writing from WordPress.com. The other gadget was created by Donna, our support diva, showing recent entries in a Jive discussion forum. (Click the image to enlarge it.)

Gadgets on Confluence wiki pages - oh, and in JIRA and iGoogle

Here are the same two gadgets on my iGoogle page:

Gadgets on Confluence wiki pages - oh, and in JIRA and iGoogle

And here they are in JIRA:

Gadgets on Confluence wiki pages - oh, and in JIRA and iGoogle

How do you add a gadget to a Confluence page?

Your Confluence page can display two types of gadgets:

• Internal — These are gadgets published by the same Confluence site as where they are displayed. Typically such a gadget would display information sourced from the Confluence site, such as an activity stream or a search function.
• External — These are gadgets published by another Confluence site, or a JIRA site, or even something totally different like Remember the Milk, a hamster in a wheel or a pet monkey.

If your gadget is external, the Confluence administrator needs to add the gadget to the list of available gadgets before you can add it to your Confluence page. This needs to happen only once for each gadget.

To make an external gadget available in your Confluence site:

1. Log in as a Confluence administrator.
2. Go to ‘Confluence Admin‘ and click ‘External Gadgets‘ in the left-hand navigation panel.
3. Paste the URL of your gadget into the field labelled ‘Gadget Specification URL‘. The URL should point to the XML file that describes the gadget.

For example, take a look at the URLs for the two gadgets in my screenshots above. The URL for the WordPress gadget is:

http://hosting.gmodules.com/ig/gadgets/file/117695765658379330528/
WordPress-dot-comRSSFeed.xml

And the URL for the Jive forums gadget is:

http://confluence.atlassian.com/download/attachments/203394872/forums.xml

Friendly warning: I’m just using my gadget as an example here. It’s a total hack, so please don’t insert it into any Confluence sites that matter! You’ll get all sorts of weird display problems, plus potential security issues too.

To add a gadget (external or internal) to a Confluence page:

1. Create a new page or edit an existing page.
2. Put your cursor in the edit box where you want the gadget displayed.
3. Click the ‘Insert/Edit Macro‘ icon  in the toolbar.
4. You’ll see the ‘Select Macro’ popup window. Enter some text into the search box at top right, to find the gadget you want.
   
5. Click the gadget you want. You’ll see a preview of the gadget. Most gadgets also offer you some options to configure the gadget, such as width of the display, background colour, etc.
   
6. Change the settings if you like, then click ‘Insert‘.
7. Save the Confluence page.

Extra authorisation step (OAuth)

Some gadgets require extra authorisation, to reassure the publishing server that it’s OK to send its data to the server where the gadget is displayed. Gadgets use an authorisation protocol called OAuth. There are two parts to the authorisation, one performed by the administrator and one by the person adding the gadget to or viewing the gadget on the page.

1. The administrator needs to set up the OAuth relationship between the gadget publishing server (called the provider) and the displaying server (called the consumer). This authorisation step needs to happen only once for each site. Once you’ve authorised one server to send information to another server, then you can add multiple gadgets from that server. For example, let’s say you want to display JIRA gadgets on a Confluence page. Your JIRA server needs to trust your Confluence server. So you’ll need to add Confluence as an OAuth consumer in JIRA. To do this, you will give JIRA the URL of your Confluence server. The instructions are in the JIRA documentation.
2. When you add a gadget to a page, you will need to authorise the display of information under the authority of your user ID. Similarly, every user who views the page will need to authorise the display of the information under their user ID.  The authorisation lasts for a while (a week or so, unless you revoke it). The gadget will display a ‘Log In and Approve‘ button. When you click the button, you will go to the login page of the site concerned. Log in and then approve the gadget’s access to the server’s information. Now you’ll see the gadget information displayed. There’s a full write-up in the Gadgets documentation.

Phew, I’m glad we’ve got that out of the way!

Would you like to try it yourself?

The Confluence 3.1 beta release is out, so you can hack away. If you’re very brave, you could even write your own gadget and put it on a Confluence page!

My mind kept wandering to the crazy idea I had gotten while out digging in the garden. Evidently I wasn’t so distracted that Dave noticed, though, or at least he didn’t say anything.

We ate the reheated stew, and watched TV, though I have no idea what we watched—even if it had been one of my favorite shows, I don’t think I could have concentrated on it because my mind was like a dog with a bone, and just kept gnawing on the idea of making a deal with Death.

That night my thoughts went back and forth. Yes, no, maybe. I tossed and turned, until worried I was keeping Dave awake; then I finally got up and went downstairs to read. Only instead of reading, I ended up staring into space or out the window. I needed to make a decision if for no other reason than I was killing myself with all this worrying.

The next day I worked on my writing (or at least attempted to). Mostly I drifted through the day trying to do the things I do on a normal day-to-day basis. All the while, I struggled with the idea of calling Death and striking a deal with him. One minute it was a horrible idea, and I wasn’t going to do it; the next moment, I was folding the laundry and wondering just how bad it could be—I mean, how much time could he possibly want for some simple information?

I got no where with my decision making, and that night, although exhausted, I couldn’t get my mind to shut up. Knowing I wasn’t going to get any sleep again, around midnight I finally decided that it couldn’t hurt to at least ask. If I didn’t like the deal I could always just leave. With a finality and determination I didn’t really feel, I planed to the gray nothingness of the transitional plane.

I stood there, the calming fog-like nothing swirling around my ankles and wondered how I was going to contact Death. I mean the few times I’d had to deal with him, he usually just showed up. I’d never had an occasion to want to seek him out.

I thought about going to the waiting room and leaving a message for him, and then it occurred to me. To get to the waiting room, you just thought about being there and you were. So, what would happen if I thought about Death? Maybe that would be enough to bring him to me? What the heck, it was worth a try.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the being I knew as Death, the one who had taken me to dinner, and who had tricked me into marrying him. I did that for what felt like several minutes, and then I opened my eyes. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t what I saw when I opened my eyes.

It had worked, but not the way I had thought it would. Instead of bringing Death to me, I was now standing in a very luxurious, if rather austere office. The floor was a black and gray marble, the walls were covered in a deep cherry wood paneling (except for one wall, which was covered floor to ceiling with heavy satin draperies in a gray and burgundy stripe), and smack in the center of the room was an oversized desk made of carnelian marble and rose wood. Sitting in a dark leather chair behind the desk was Death himself a cold smile tilting the corners of his lips up.

“How nice to see you,” he said pleasantly. “Please, have a seat,” and his hand extended in invitation toward the front of his desk where two chairs in a gray and burgundy silk stripe appeared.

Holding in my surprise and unease, I walked as calmly as I could to the chairs, and sat in the one to the right.

“To what do I owe this visit,” he gazed at me much as a cat eyes a mouse. “Though, I’ll admit just having you visit is a pleasure.”

“I need some information,” I paused, not for effect, but to quell the quaver in my voice. “some information about something going on in the transitional plane.” There I said it, I thought.

“And just what information do you need from me?” His voice was as smooth as black ice.

Swallowing my fear, I met his eyes, and replied, “I need to know who has been pulling me into their nightmares here on the transitional plane.”

Death sat there behind his elaborate desk with an enigmatic smirk on his face and his hands steepled. “That kind of information doesn’t come cheaply,” he said.

My lips drew inward, and my mouth became a straight line. Here it comes, I thought. I stared at Death wondering just how much of my life he would demand—a day (I doubted the information would be that cheap), a month (it would be difficult to give up, but I supposed I could make myself do it), a year (now that would hurt. I prized every moment of my time with Dave, and with our friends and families; I didn’t know if I could give up a whole year and lose some of that together time).

Death leaned forward, and placing his palms flat on the desk he said, “Don’t worry. I don’t want your time.”

The breath I didn’t realize I was holding whooshed out. For a brief fleeting moment I thought he meant to just give me the information, but then I knew he wanted something else. Probably something much more dear. But what could be more precious than part of my life?

He stood in one fluid motion and stepped around the desk. Leaning against the front of the desk, he peered at me. With nothing between us, I felt vulnerable, naked. I wanted to stand up and get behind the chair so I would at least have that between us.

His gaze was intense, and I fought my instincts to cross my arms.

“I don’t need any time from you. We’re married, remember?” and he leaned forward his eyes now level with mine.

He fingered a curl of hair off my forehead, and I refused to flinch. Instead, I tried to remain flinty and calm.

His smile grew, showing his perfect, white teeth, “I can call you whenever I want and keep all the years you had left.”

I was on my feet before I could stop myself. I could feel my face grow hot, but my smile turned icy and my reply was softly sharp, “You can call, but I choose whether to respond and you know it.”

I glared at him and he flipped his hand at me as if shooing away a gnat.

I calmed myself, refusing to succumb to his manipulations. “So, what do you want?” I asked stonily.

I watched his face as the corners of his mouth curved upward just slightly, like a cat that had just cornered a mouse, and my breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t sure how I had screwed up, but by the self-satisfied smirk on his face, I was sure I had. But just how bad was it?

Without realizing it, I held my breath waiting for his response.

              Two                            streams

          gently                          flowing

      on their                                own. Th

         ey cross,                             they tou

              ch, then                    contin

                 ue sepa           rate and

                alone.       Two strea

                ms   flowing, they

                    join as one;

                     now a river

                      has begun.

               So, the blending

        of each heart, brings

   together lives apart.

   In gentle strength

         with love entwin                                                   

               ed, two souls, two

                 halves, now one c

               ombined. A special

           pairing, filled with lo

        ve, and kissed with bles

           sings from above.

              Two                            streams

          gently                          flowing

      on their                                own. Th

         ey cross,                             they tou

              ch, then                    contin

                 ue sepa           rate and

                alone.       Two strea

                ms   flowing, they

                    join as one;

                     now a river

                      has begun.

               So, the blending

        of each heart, brings

   together lives apart.

   In gentle strength

         with love entwin                                                   

               ed, two souls, two

                 halves, now one c

               ombined. A special

           pairing, filled with lo

        ve, and kissed with bles

           sings from above.

I had had an unsatisfactory meeting with Nikki, and so had gone off to dig up the remnants of the vegetable garden. While wearing myself out physically, I had finally seen that I had two paths I could follow. I could let things run their course—which meant getting pulled into the transitional plane and someone’s nightmares without knowing when it was going to happen, therefore, having no control over my life; or I could talk to the guy who knew everything about the transitional plane.

Unfortunately, his information wasn’t free. I was referring to Death. The king of manipulators—okay, so maybe just the prince, but I’d never met his father, the Devil, and had no desire to do so, so to me Death was the king of manipulations and deals.

I grimaced as I contemplated choosing to set up a deal with Death. I wasn’t sure what this choice would entail, but I had my suspicions.

I know most people don’t understand my distaste for Death. After all, he and I do the same thing, right? Not even close. While it might seem that what Death and I do is the same thing, I’m not even in the same league with him. On the surface we both appear to lead souls across into the transitional plane, but if you delve beneath the surface there’s a world of differences.

I escort folks from the physical to the transitional, or from the astral to the physical. I often create constructs for those on the transitional so that they can feel comfortable, learn a lesson, or practice a task, but I do it because I want to help, because I care. Death also does all that, and more, but he doesn’t do it because he cares about you, because he likes you, or even because he thinks it might make things easier for you. No. He does it because he’s a business man, first and foremost. So, he looks for opportunities which he then exploits as much as he can.

You’re thinking, what is it that Death can possibly gain from people like us? Well, let me ask you this: what if you were in agony? What if you were suffering day after day and no amount of medicine or pain medication seemed to help? And what if some smooth-talking, seemingly caring and kind-hearted person came to you and said he could stop all that pain? Wouldn’t you jump at the chance? Now, what if he said that all it would cost was a few weeks, a month, a year, would you still jump at the chance? Most people would, and do.

However, what he’s offering isn’t what people think. He promises to stop their suffering; he might even give them a sample of what he can do. He’ll reach out and gently touch them, just lightly, just for a second, and suddenly their pain is gone. It might be gone only for an hour, a day, or maybe even for a whole week, but to most everyone he fools, that’s miracle enough to persuade them to make the deal.

I mean, who wouldn’t jump at a chance to feel wonderful again? To feel like they did before the illness, accident, or malady took over their body? The only problem is that the next time he touches them, they’re dead. Sure the pain is gone, but that’s because the life is gone. Even the sample of a pain-free life he gave them wasn’t free. He probably stole an hour, a week, or a day from their lives. And the moment they agreed to the whole deal, he took what remaining time they had and gave them absolute freedom from pain—he gave them death.

So, what’s the harm, you ask; after all, weren’t the people dying anyway? Maybe. But not always. Some victims of his manipulations are hypochondriacs (they’re not dying, they just think they are), others may have been helped by a new drug that was just being released, some usually have several years left on the physical plane, while still others might have been able to reconcile with a family member or friend with that last few hours or days that Death stole from them.

And Death doesn’t explain the fine print to them. He doesn’t tell them that he makes the pain stop by removing them from their physical bodies. Nor does he tell them that by choosing to die early they will have to repeat the illness, accident, or trauma again in a different life. No, he doesn’t bother with any of that.

But that’s not the worst of it. You see, Death doesn’t need those years, months, weeks, and days of physical life that he takes. After all, he lives on the transitional plane, not in the physical plane. But he uses them. He uses them to manipulate our world, to create havoc and chaos, and death.

He might look at our world and decide that it needs a little shaking up, a little more random violence. So, he’ll make a deal with someone—a religious fanatic, a political fanatic, or maybe someone who’s just a little too fond of violence in general. It’s usually someone whose paths—potential and realized—need just a small nudge (from him, of course) to knock our world slightly askew. So, he’ll offer them more time in exchange for a “favor”—place a package (he might not tell them what’s in the package, but they can probably guess) in a locker at the bus depot, airport, or parking garage.

Again, though, he never fully discloses how things work. The person puts the package (the bomb) where Death asks, and Death gives the person the additional five years he promised them, but it’s five years spent in prison.

Of course, sometimes he uses legitimate business men for his nefarious deeds; after all, he does speak their language. He’ll offer them years, maybe decades, in exchange for destroying the ecosystem in South America, or for continuing to block progress on developing vehicles that use something other than biofuels. Oh yeah, he’s a businessman, con artist, and the best darn manipulator around.

He can make you forget you ever saw him; he can be anyone (look, sound, and act like anyone); and he can twist our reality to such a degree that you don’t know what’s real and what isn’t.

And this was the guy I was going to ask a favor of. Man, am I nuts or what?

Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I called out to my husband who was still standing on the deck watching me walk toward him, “I’ll be right there, Sweetcheeks.”

With a little wave of acknowledgment, he went back inside. I knew he would be settling into his comfy chair, the remote in his hand and the evening news filling the silence of the house with their dire news of the day’s happenings.

I set the spade and gloves on the deck by the sliding doors, and went inside. I buzzed my lips across Dave’s forehead and he gave me a playful swat on the butt. As I headed to the bathroom to clean up, I said, “Why don’t you heat up the leftover stew from Saturday while I take a quick shower.”

This is a 1 year contract.

Work Description:  

• Develop new documents as well as update existing documents for various computing applications and processes
• Stewardship of document publication process
• Confer with customer representatives to establish technical specifications and to determine subject material to be developed
• Creation and coordination of SharePoint site
• Facilitation of Lotus Notes collaboration database
• Publication of monthly metrics
• Identify general opportunities for process improvement
• Maintain records and files of work and revisions
• Strong communication skills are a must.

Contact me if you are interested. Questions can be posed as a comment below or directly to me.

This is a 1 year contract position.

Work Description:  

• Provide editing and stewardship for technical documentation of SAN and Backup infrastructure. 
• Coordination and Facilitation of communications.
• Facilitation of monthly metric reporting.
• Consult with Storage regarding their processes, identifying opportunities for improvement.

Roles and Responsibilities: 

• Assist with development of security and controls and other technical documentation
• Adhere to Problem and Change Management Best Practices
• Stewardship of document publication process
• Coordination of intranet website content
• Facilitation of Lotus Notes Collaboration Database
• Publication of monthly metrics
• Identify opportunities for process improvement. 
• Strong communication skills are a must

Contact me if you are interested. Questions can be posed as a comment below or directly to me.

Nikki and I were meeting in the waiting room on the transitional plane, and I was trying to find a way to explain why I pinged her.

Feeling awkward and uncomfortable, I finally just blurted it out.

She nodded at me, and then said, “I saw part of this during my own training.”

For a moment I was confused until I remembered that she was learning to work with multiple timelines and alternate realities. “So, tell me, how did this all work out?”

Now it was her turn to look uncomfortable. A moment later she turned away from me to face a blackboard that until that moment hadn’t been there.

“Look,” she said pointing to a diagram that was now sketched on the blackboard. “Here’s you,” and she pointed at the start of the diagram where a small dark blue circle was drawn, “and here are the possible choices.”

There were 3 lines leading from the symbolic me on the blackboard and extending to the right. The one in the middle was a thick, dark blue, while the two to either side of it were thinner and a pale yellow.

“You chose to come see me,” and her finger followed the middle line. “Based on this meeting, there is another possible path that could arise.”

A pale yellow dotted line began to grow out of the dark blue line. It extended at a downward angle, then turned and began to parallel the middle line.

“It doesn’t really get you what you want, though” she said, and I stared at the drawing again.

Now, the dotted yellow line merged back into the heavy blue line. It seemed that while meeting with Nikki might grant me some insight as to where my life was going in general, it wasn’t going to answer the question I came here to resolve.

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t monitor the happenings on the transitional plane,” she turned back toward me, and I saw the caring in her eyes. “Even if I did,” she continued, “it’s not really my place to interfere with someone’s life.”

I gripped her hand, “I’m not asking you to interfere,” and I was surprised by how much of my frustration carried through in my voice. “I just need some help identifying whose nightmares I’m getting trapped in.”

“But that’s just it,” and she cupped my hand in both of hers. “That’s your task, your lesson. For any of us here to answer your question would be like living your life for you,” she replied quietly.

I could feel myself stiffening with anger, and I tried to calm myself.

“It’s up to you to find the answer, and it’s up to you what you do with that answer once you get it,” she gave me an understanding look, the kind that mothers the world over give to their kids when the kid has done something stupid and they want the parents to make everything all right again. “You chose this puzzle before you took on this life, this physical existence. It was part of your life’s plan. I’m not sure you planned all the details or exactly how this task would manifest itself, but you did want this, so I can hardly just give you the answer, now can I?”

I wanted to scream, “Yes, give it to me!” But in my heart of hearts I knew what she was saying was truth. It just wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Angry and resentful, I growled back, “Fine. I’ll work it out myself.”

Without a thank you or goodbye, I planed back.

I sat up on the sofa still angry and out of sorts. I had been so sure that I would have the answers; that one quick meeting with Nikki and things would be resolved. Instead, I had gotten my hands slapped. Oh she was nice enough about it, but it was a slap nonetheless.

A lesson. Harrummmmph! I crossed my arms, my lips pursed. I could feel the frustration percolating inside of me. I punched at one of the sofa pillows, and then stood up. I was looking toward the sliding doors, and the overgrown and frost-touched gardens beyond. The smell of the leaves and the lure of the sunshine won. I bundled up my body and my anger, and grabbed a spade from the garage.

With my work gloves on, I headed out to the vegetable garden, or what was left of it. The frost of the last few nights had pretty much killed the remaining plants in the garden, so I needed to pull out the dead vines and plants, and turn the soil.

Working in the garden would help me calm down, and it would also help me think. Nature and working with the soil was very therapeutic for me. As a consequence we had more flower beds than lawn, and a huge vegetable garden. I never even thought of hiring a gardener, because I needed the energies that the gardens gave me, and I needed the therapy that I found in working them.

I could have gone for a walk, both working in the garden and walking helped me calm down and think; but getting the garden turned was a bit more useful.

I started pulling out the vines that had been crisped by the frost, and then I started turning the ground. With my hands and body fully occupied, my mind was free to work out problems for me. It was amazing how many times I would come back from a walk or from working in one of my gardens and an idea would be just sitting there in my head waiting for me to stumble across it.

It wasn’t until Dave came out on the deck and called over to me, “Hey, did you want me to start dinner?”, that I realized just how late it was.

I had dug, pruned, and pulled frost-touched plants and frost-burned vegetables until my shoulders ached. I straightened up, and leaned against the spade I had been using. I pushed some curls off my cheek, leaving another line of dirt on my cheek, and I added a smile to my dirty face. Gazing up at Dave as he stood on the deck, I thought how handsome he looked, even in his grubby jeans and torn sweatshirt—his favorite at-home attire.

I gave him a small wave, and then, tools in hand, I headed back toward the deck, peeling my dirt encrusted work gloves off as I walked.

The weekend came and went in a haze of blurry activity, and the next thing I knew it was Monday again. Amazingly, I hadn’t been bothered at all during the weekend by nightmares, calls to help out in the transitional plane, nor any calls to escort anyone over (in either direction). It truly had been a restful weekend, and one that I was able to fully share with my husband and friends.

Of course, by focusing on the here and now, I also hadn’t put in a call to Nikki, LuEllen’s mentor and one of the few beings I knew that actually lived in the astral planes. I remember one time when she and I were in the waiting room and, curious, I began to ask her questions. I wanted to know what it was like to be an astral being; what did they do; what goals or aspirations did they have; that type of thing.

She had told me that as a level 3 astral guide—I’m guessing that’s either the top level or pretty near it, though I don’t know for sure—that she worked as a guide and teacher (or mentor) to physical plane folks who wanted to keep visiting or working in the transitional plane and needed some help refining their skills and learning the ropes as to how things work—like LuEllen.

Then she went on to tell me that she was studying to be an interdimensional reality splitter. When I had looked at her blankly, she tried to explain it to me. I’m not sure I really understood, but it had something to do with alternate realities and different timelines. I remember she said that every time a decision was made—whether it was a personal decision, organizational decision, communal (like a city, state, town), country decision, or global decision—that it often created a separate reality. So, interdimensional reality splitters would instantly create the new timeline.

She said that when I decided to marry Dave another reality was split off, one where I decided not to marry Dave (and I pity the me in that reality, because being married to Dave is one of the best decisions I ever made). But evidently while there are decisions that create small splits (like me and Dave), there are also decisions that create major splits. She tried to explain to me how difficult it was to keep track of all the different Earth’s and that even a single (and she snickered at that term) timeline like ours had millions of offshoots and splits.

Evidently, things like whether Hitler winning or losing WWII, or President Kennedy being shot or not, or even Princess Di being in the car accident or not, all create multiple interdimensional reality splits. And there is a whole organization of astral beings who keep track of these and make sure that the realities split when they should, or come back together when they should—oh yeah, some realities can separate for a day, a month, several years, and then merge back with the original timeline—it was all very interesting, but extremely confusing.

Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I think about what she told me, and I try to backtrack my life and figure out just how many of my own interdimensional reality splits I may have caused. It either sends me back to sleep or gives me a horrendous headache. I mean, just from the start of my life there were already 2 realities—one where I was me and one where I was a guy (now that has to be a weird life; I mean me, a guy?)—anyway, I’m just lucky to figure out what I’m doing on a day-to-day basis most of the time, without worrying about all the other me’s roaming around out there somewhere.

Somewhere between finishing my coffee and seeing Dave off to the train, I pulled on the link I had with Nikki. Just after noon I got a response. I finished what I was writing, and settled into the comfy sofa in the family room. I had the sliding glass doors open letting in some of the warm autumn day, and the sound of the breeze making the leaves dance on the deck soothed me. As I listened to the leaves and concentrated on the sunbeam that streamed into the room, I soon drifted away.

I met Nikki in the waiting room of the transitional plane. When I got there we gave each other big hugs, and then I asked her how LuEllen was. She told me that LuEllen was well and learning quickly, “If LuEllen keeps up the way she’s going, she’ll be training and mentoring people in no time.”

I had to smile at the thought, because it was so far from the LuEllen I had known. “I’m glad you’ve been able to curb her wanton planing,” I told her.

“It wasn’t easy, but after a few close incidents, she finally started listening to me,” Nikki smiled.

“Oh yeah,” I chuckled, “I remember the type of incidents you and the other teachers use—I’ve seen a couple that are pretty darn scary.” I shook my head as I remembered how my teacher had sent me planing while I was very angry. Unbeknownst to me, he had followed me, and “enhanced” the already volatile landscape I ended up creating with my own overcharged emotions.

Frightened and unable to escape the horrors I was creating, my teacher had “appeared” and rescued me. That was when I finally started paying more attention to what he told me, and what state my emotions were in when I planed. It hadn’t been an easy lesson for me to learn—we all know that teenagers always know more than anyone else, and I was no exception—but it was a very necessary lesson. One that LuEllen had needed to learn, too.

We finally finished speaking of lessons and LuEllen, and I was faced with having to explain why I really wanted to meet with her.

I had already tried doing two layouts with the cards, and I hadn’t liked the results of either of them. Hoping for something better, I had dumped all the cards together again, and was trying once more.

With all the cards mixed together, I was starting the process from the beginning—separating the greater arcana from the lesser, and then selecting eleven lesser arcana to mix with the greater.

With a new mix of 33 cards, I began shuffling and focusing on getting an answer to my question. After nearly ten minutes, I laid out the first card. This time it wasn’t mine. It was the star—inspiration and transcendency.

Intrigued, I laid out the next one. This was the three of rods (fruitful collaboration). The hope card was the ten of cups, which was the attainment of desires; while the fear card was the nine of pentacles (deception and bad faith).

The past and future influences was the moon (threatening situation), and the seven of swords (sound advice). I went to turn over the final card and found two of them had stuck together. The hierophant (possible non-worldly alliance) was stuck to death.

I had been leaning forward as I laid the cards out on the carpet, and as I laid the last two cards down, I sighed and leaned back. There was a definite theme here, and not one I really cared for. It seemed that if I continued to involve myself in this matter, I was going to have to deal with Death (again). Of course, if I didn’t involve myself, it seemed that I was still going to have to deal with Death. What was the saying, damned if you do, and damned if you don’t? That was me, it seemed.

Of course, just because the cards I laid out said that I needed to collaborate with Death, it didn’t mean that I had to. Everyone has choices, even me. Our lives aren’t laid out in any fixed pattern, we all get to decide for ourselves what to do and where to go and who to do it all with.

Of course, the thing about using the cards for myself (or doing readings for anyone else) is that what tends to appear are the paths that are the strongest—the path most likely to be taken. Now, that doesn’t mean you can’t change which path you take, but if it’s that strong, it’s gonna be much harder to change.

In this case (at least according to the cards), if I wanted to resolve the issue of being dragged into the transitional plane by someone, I don’t know who, and being subjected to their nightmares, then I was going to need to collaborate with someone not from this world; someone who dwelled…well, maybe in the transitional plane? But it could just as easily mean someone who dwells in the astral planes, couldn’t it? After all, it simply indicated that it was with someone not of the physical world.

If I collaborated with someone on the astral planes, then I wouldn’t have to deal with Death since he dwells in the transitional plane. In fact, he’s one of the true residents of the transitional plane. I mean other than him, no one really lives there. There are some trappers, sure, but they only hang out there because they want to get back to the physical plane as quickly as they can, and by any means that they can.

I was smiling now. I had several “friends” from the astral realms, including Nikki, LuEllen’s new mentor. I could contact her and see if she had any information or could get some. I knew that just because she was an astral being it didn’t mean that she knew everything. Astral beings aren’t any more omniscient than we are, but they do have a broader perspective on things than we do. They’re not hampered by the same rules that we are. They don’t have to abide by the rules of time, and cause and effect aren’t nearly the same for them as they are for us. They can see all the causes and all the effects, not just the one, like we do.

So, while she might not be tuned into my little drama, she might know someone on her side of things who is, someone who might be able to offer me some advice or insight, or even direct me to the person down here who sent me the email (at least I was hoping so).

Deep in my heart I knew that my best bet for finding out what I needed to know was Death. The transitional plane really was his domain, and little happened there that he didn’t know about. But the more I thought about trying to strike a deal with Death, the better it sounded to contact Nikki.

Decided on a course of action, I hoped I might have time during the weekend to make a connection with her. However, the weekend passed in a blurry haze of activity.

I was trying to gain some insights as to what to do about what was happening to me. I mean, c’mon, who really enjoys getting dragged into other people’s nightmares on the transitional plane? And who had made the phone call to WKRV requesting help while I was on the air? Was it the same person who sent me the email?

I had reached a point where I simply didn’t know what to do or who to ask anymore, so I was going to try and use my tarot cards. Yeah, go ahead and snicker, I used to, too. But you know what? I found out that I have a talent for them, just like I have a talent for interpreting dreams, knowing what people are really thinking and feeling, and for planing. When I do a layout with the cards, the information I get is 90 to 95% accurate. So, yeah, I don’t snicker any more.

I hadn’t used the cards in quite a while, but when I picked them up, I could feel still feel the energy I had poured into them. It was weaker, like a battery draining out over time, but there was still energy there. It wouldn’t take much additional energy to open the links to the world at large and pull in all the possible realities. That’s really what cards or other objects do for you.

If you can’t read the energies but you want to know what possibilities are lurking out there in the world, you find an object (cards, runes, chicken bones, matchsticks, whatever works for you), and you focus your energy into it. Then when you ask your questions while using the imbued object, the links to most of the possible outcomes to your question should be available in the answer. Of course, you have to be able to “read” the answer, just as you have to be able to stoke up the energy in the object, but neither of those had ever been an issue with me.

When I use the cards, I tend to use a basic 7-card layout, which is good for either quick yes/no answers, or for a simple reading. To use it for yes/no questions, you check to see if 4 or more of the cards are inverted. If so, then the answer is no. If the majority of the cards are upright, then the answer is yes. For more details, you read the position (1 through 7), and then determine the meaning based on whether it is inverted or upright.

I was going for the details, not the quick yes/no, since I didn’t really have enough information to make a yes/no question. I laid down the first card, the base card (this signified the foundation to the answer or the questioner, based on the type of card that you laid down). This time it was the queen of rods in an upright position.

That was auspicious. The queen of rods was my significator card, the card that I identified with myself. The queen of rods represented light-eyed and fair-haired women (just like me), and in first position and upright it indicated the start of a positive path. That could mean that I was on the right track to getting some answers.

I put down the second card, which represented the environment around me. It was the two of swords, and it was also upright. That meant a peaceful hiatus in a discordant situation. Hmmm, maybe I’d get a good night’s sleep for a change, I thought with a smile.

The third card (which indicated my hopes) was the six of rods also in an upright position. This card meant the realization of my hopes; sort of a blank there. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping for, therefore, it wasn’t much help.

Frustrated with the obtuseness of that one, I laid down the fourth card. This card represented my fears regarding the situation. The card was the moon inverted. That meant that peace would come only after some difficulty.

Another obtuse response. Did it mean more difficulty was coming, or that peace was coming now because the difficulty was nearly over?

The next two positions were past and future influences affecting the situation. The cards I put down were the page of swords inverted—unforeseen danger—boy, was that the truth; and death upright.

I caught my breath, and my hand paused mid-turn of the card.

Now, I know that the death card doesn’t mean death. It actually means great changes to one’s life or awareness, a rebirth of sorts. However, when I looked at the card, a chill went down my spine, because in my mind, I saw Death. Smooth, smarmy, Death. The same guy who had tricked me into marrying him a while back.

He lives on the transitional plane, and he’s one of the best magicians—users of magic not legerdemain—that I know. He’s reputed to be the son of the Devil, but whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. What I do know is that he is one of the most manipulative and egotistical beings I have ever encountered, and I really didn’t want to have to deal with him again.

Scolding myself for jumping to conclusions, I put the last card down. The culmination card was the six of swords upright. That meant that the resolution I sought would be found through the intervention of another. My eyes strayed back to the death card.

I reached out and scrambled the cards into a pile. I would not accept that dealing with Death was the only way to resolve this thing.

Picking up the cards I mixed them back with the remaining 26, and immediately began shuffling them again. Once again I focused on the emailer’s energy pattern and tried to ignore the slip of fear that had wedged its way inside me.

When the cards felt right, I again began to put them out. The first card was once again the queen of rods. Rather than feeling that this was auspicious, though, a chill of dread seeped into me. I quickly put the rest of the cards down—a group of 3, a group of 2, and then 2 more. The last two were again death and the 6 of swords.

This time when I swept the cards up, my hands were shaking.

The smile I had when I picked up Boxer, our cat, faded as I headed back to the kitchen for more coffee. I shoved the dreams to the back of my mind and tried to finish my series of articles regarding financial applications for home use. Of course, that meant coming up with a polite way to keep the subject matter expert focused on her expertise (the application) and away from mine (writing).

It was anything but easy to keep my cool with that woman. She added hours to my work, but she did know the inner secrets to the top-selling applications. I just hoped I never had to work with her again.

It was late afternoon when I shoved away from my desk to stretch, though the gray, overcast skies made it seem much later. The editor had emailed and said the series was great, and then had passed along several more assignments. One of them was something that the editor had mentioned about a week ago as a possible, so I had already gathered some notes about the topic. The other topic looked intriguing, but was going to require some serious library time.

Everyone thinks that research is easy—just dial up the internet. The problem with that, though, is verifying the sources. There are too many self-proclaimed experts out there, and when you try to verify their credentials you either hit a million roadblocks or you find out that they’re as legitimate as fool’s gold.

I write because I love it, but I also want people to be able to trust what I write. So, I research topics before I write about them. And because I don’t want any lawsuits, I make sure that the research is valid.

Even Wikipedia—the great encyclopedia of the internet—isn’t reliable, and sadly, not everyone realizes that. People seem to think that Wikipedia is just the online equivalent of the Encyclopedia Britannica, and while I’m sure they’d like to be, the problem is that anyone can contribute to the topics in Wikipedia. In other words, people like you and me—or gaaaaads, even the SME I just got done arguing with—can just go out there and add content to one of Wikipedia’s topics.

Can you imagine this woman, whom I will grudgingly admit knows a lot about two of the top home financial apps, plunking down her opinions on grammar and writing as if they were the gospel? How many people would then believe that a gerund really was the same as an adjective phrase? Scary, isn’t it?

So, no, using the internet for research, while a nifty idea for getting general information, is not the best or easiest way for me to do my work. I’ll stick with the old fashioned method—the library.

I made a note in my time planner for tomorrow to visit the big library downtown. Of course, that meant blocking out most of the day since I would have to take the train into the city, do the research, then train back home. Hmmmm, maybe Dave and I could do lunch. I’d have to ask him what his schedule looked like for tomorrow.

As I put away the time planner, the email I printed out yesterday, the one whose energies I had tried to follow, got in the way. I unfolded it and smoothed it flat. Staring at it, I wondered what I could do to figure out who the sender was. I was beginning to tire of being caught up in other people’s dramas, especially when I didn’t know whose dramas they were, or what I could do to help.

I thought about trying to get readings on the names the sender had included, I had a couple of hours before Dave got home. But reading the names again, I realized that it would be futile. There was nothing to give me a link to the names and the names were much too “common”.

I had no way to verify that the Donald Fairweather I might link to was the same Donald Fairweather that the emailer wanted a reading on. After all, the name Donald Fairweather was hardly unique, and the emailer hadn’t given me any other information except the name. Trying to do a reading on a name with no other identifiers made it too easy to get the wrong person. I mean, there were probably hundreds, maybe thousands of Donald Fairweathers.

I could try connecting to every Donald Fairweather in the universe. Once connected, I could then search for an energy link matching the emailer’s energy pattern…gee, that might only take a few years, I thought morosely.

What I really needed was the person’s birth date or location or something, anything to help me identify the correct Donald Fairweather. If I could just connect with even one of the people on the emailer’s list, I could use their connection to link back to the emailer themself. However, since I didn’t have the emailer’s name, I was unable to link to the emailer, and I didn’t really have enough information to find the correct Donald Fairweather.

Irritated with the situation, I tossed the email back towards the desk. There had to be something I could do. I was tired of being on the fringes of this drama. Tired of getting dragged into other people’s nightmares, and not being able to understand what was going on. I either wanted to be left alone, or to resolve it. But which one? Was I supposed to help the emailer? What if helping them left me with a karmic debt? What if I was just supposed to let the situation resolve itself?

I pushed away from the desk and stood up. I was giving myself a headache with all this circular thinking. I didn’t know what to do, or who to help, or even who needed help. My energies were spiking and scattering, and I could feel the anxiety swirling in my stomach making me regret the spicy lunch I’d had.

At that moment I wished I could do a reading for myself. I really wanted to be able to just look at my own energies and my own links and figure out what to do next, and where to go from here. However, most people like me can’t read themselves. That’s one of the biggest drawbacks of having this kind of ability. While I can look at almost anyone and see what paths, what choices, they have coming up, I can’t do it for myself. When I try to see what paths or choices are available for me, I usually get a blank.

The few times that I do actually manage to see my path, it’s because it’s absolutely unchangeable. For instance, when I was 23, I was out with my friend Katy and I remember telling her that I was going to get married in the next 6 months. She thought I was crazy, because neither of us was even seeing anyone at that time. But the following week I met Dave, and 6 months later we eloped (and we’ve been happily married now for nearly 10 years;-).

There have been a number of instances like that, things that I just knew were going to happen, and nothing was going to change it. But for times like now, now when I really wanted and needed answers; now when I really need a direction, blank.

I started towards the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea, but when I walked past the bookcase, I noticed my well-used deck of tarot cards. I didn’t use them very often anymore, though there had been a time when I’d used them all the time. Now, I only used them when I had no other way to get the information I needed. Like now, I thought.

I know how crazy it sounds, but believe me it works. I had started out using tarot cards to do readings for family and friends—and myself, now that I thought about it. Interestingly enough, the information I had gotten when I used the cards was just as accurate as the readings I did now (usually between 90% and 95% accurate). I had grown beyond the tarot cards, at least when doing readings for everyone else, but this was one of those times that going back to the basics might actually help, especially since using the tarot cards was about the only way I could get good reading for myself.

Scooting several of Boxer’s boxes out of the way, I sat on the floor with my back to the large sliding doors. The dark carpeting needed vacuuming, but I ignored it. Instead, I set about separating the cards. The sun was peeking through the clouds, and I enjoyed the warmth of the late afternoon sun against my back while I separated the major arcana cards from the lesser arcana cards.

I set the major arcanas aside and began shuffling the stack of lesser arcana cards. I focused on the energy pattern of the email while thinking about how to resolve my involvement in their drama.

When it felt ready, I took the top eleven cards from the pile of lesser arcane cards and mixed them together with the 22 major arcanas. I then shuffled the 33 cards together while concentrating again on the energy pattern and my quandary.

When it felt right, I started laying out the cards.

I was in the midst of a classroom dream—the type that indicates that you need to learn something; the type of dreams I pretty much hate.

The classroom bell had begun ringing, but I didn’t want to leave; not now. I hadn’t figured out what anything meant yet. The bell grew louder, but now it was buzzing, and it sounded more like a fire drill. A hand touched my arm and I shot up tipping over the desk and spilling everything across the floor. I was watching the water from the rock-filled bowl puddle around the doll furniture, and then I finally woke up.

I was sitting up in bed, my heart racing, with my husband’s worried face hanging in front of me.

“Hey, you okay, Hon?”

I stared at Dave in confusion.

“It’s time to get up,” he turned away for a moment as he headed toward the bathroom. “You said you wanted me to wake you when I got up, remember?” he looked over his shoulder at me, his blues eyes holding concern and worry.

I tried to smile at him, to tell him I was fine, but the dregs of the dreams were still clogging my brain and I couldn’t think. He gave me a nod, and closed the bathroom door.

Classroom dreams…man, I dislike those. They always mean that I need to learn something, and it’s usually something I don’t want to learn. I thought about the objects on the desk in the dream. I probably needed to learn what the connection between all those objects was.

I grabbed a pen and pad of paper from the side table drawer by my side of the bed and started to list them out:

River rocks (12) in a small bowl of water

Stethoscope

Letter in an envelope, both addressed to me

Doll furniture—4-poster bed, side table, chiffoneer, lamp

I still couldn’t see any connection between the objects. The doll furniture and the stethoscope could be related to the nightmare triplet I got drawn into in the transitional plane—hospital, alley, and old mansion. But what did that have to do with a bowl of rocks?

I could even make the leap that the letter might be representative of the email, and if so, then maybe the sender was the one with the nightmares. But that was quite a leap, and I had no way to be sure that it was correct.

And what about the guy at the front of the class? I didn’t think it was a teacher per se, but he had to be there for a reason; I just didn’t know what that reason was. I tried to remember what the guy had been saying, but it had just seemed like noise—a voice in the background.

I let myself drift back into the memory of the dream, and instead of focusing on the objects on the desk, I tried to hear the voice and what it was saying. At first it was still just noise, but then individual words began to pop out—death, destruction, rain, end of the world. That seemed totally unhelpful. It just seemed like the usual end-of-the-world kind of diatribe.

I was about to give up and go downstairs, but then “heard” the voice again in my head. There was something more important about what the guy had been saying than I was giving him credit for.

I focused harder and pulled a phrase out; something about death and destruction raining down on us. While it seemed to be just more of the same, somehow I felt that it was also one of the objects, just like the rocks and water. Somehow I needed to find a connection not only between the objects on the desk, but also with that phrase.

I added the phrase to my list of objects and stared at them:

River rocks (12) in small bowl of water

Stethoscope

Letter in an envelope both addressed to me

Doll furniture—4-poster bed, side table, lamp

Death and destruction raining down upon us

I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see any obvious connections between the objects other than the tenuous ones I had come up with before. My brain was still too asleep to see anything. Getting nowhere, and realizing that Dave was almost done bellowing in the shower (he called it singing, I preferred to avoid naming it at all), I headed downstairs to get the coffee going.

It was going to be a long day. I still had that witchy subject matter expert to deal with if I wanted to finish my series of financial articles. Briefly, I thought about sneaking back to bed and avoiding the whole thing, but I’d had too many days already when I hadn’t gotten much work done. I really needed to buckle down or my editors would start giving the assignments to other writers—writers who actually met their deadlines.

Pulling my wrapper tighter, I headed downstairs still thinking about the objects from the dream. I kept going back to the doll furniture and the stethoscope, which reminded me of the nightmare, but none of the other objects fit with the sequence of nightmares. There was nothing reminiscent of alleys on the desk

I started musing about that series of nightmares I had prior to the classroom dream. They were similar to ones I had had before, but they weren’t as vivid enough—not as real—as before. On top of that, the perspective was all wrong. The perspective had been mine last night, which meant I had probably created the nightmares myself, unlike the first time when I had been dragged into someone else’s nightmare. Mine were probably caused by my rather disappointing day, I thought.

In fact, I would say the images fit quite well…my performance was sick and should be put out of its misery. I shot myself down through my own stupidity, and I killed myself by sleepwalking through my performance. Yeah, WKRV was definitely not one of my finest moments.

Besides making a complete and utter fool of myself on the air, I hadn’t been able to get the phone number of the caller, and I hadn’t been able to pursue the link to the email.

Even Katy, my best friend, had called on her way home to tell me how ridiculous I had sounded. She couldn’t stop laughing, even as she was telling me that she hadn’t enjoyed a program like that one in ages. Thanks a lot, Katy, I thought grumpily.

I told her that I thought I had recovered fairly well once I got the hang of what AJ had been doing, but Katy just kept laughing. I finally hung up on her. It may have been funny to her, and maybe I’d laugh about it later, but right then it was still too hurtful.

Thinking about Katy’s call triggered something, and I began to wonder if the classroom dream were trying to show me how some of the things that had been happening to me lately were related. Could it be that simple? Could it possibly be that I just wasn’t seeing the patterns when I was awake?

Dave came through on his way out, and I gave him his travel mug full of coffee, a bagel and shmear to eat on the train, and his lunch, which he threw into his briefcase.

After a quick kiss that promised much more than either of us could deliver at that particular moment, he disappeared into the garage. I heard his car start up, then his headlights disappeared down the driveway.

As I turned to head back to the table and my own cup of coffee, my ankles were strangled by Boxer our 10 pound Russian Blue feline. She was reminding me that I still belonged to her, and that her food bowl needed replenishing.

Smiling, I scooped her up and headed into the kitchen to fill her bowl. I needed to do some writing, and I needed to do some thinking, and both required a refill of coffee.

Attention Technical Writers: Through Summit at a Click, The Society for Technical Communication is making the content—both the audio and visuals—of more than 90 sessions, available from the 2009 Summit in Atlanta. (Only progressions, keynote, and workshop sessions were excluded.)

Note: According to the STC site, “If you paid the conference registration fee, SUMMIT@aClick was included. STC Members who did not attend the Summit may purchase SUMMIT@aClick at an introductory price of $595. Nonmembers may purchase it for $895.”

Of special relevance here is Tom Johnson’s session, Blogging: A New Role for Technical Communicators, which the STC has made available for free to demonstrate SUMMIT@aClick.

In his session, Johnson, the well-known blogger at I’d Rather Be Writing: A Blog about the Latest Trends in Technical Communication, makes the following case for technical communicators, as natural corporate bloggers:

• Technical communicators often possess literary and creative writing skills, in addition to traditional technical communication skills. Most technical communicators are writing specialists.
• Typically, technical communicators focus on information, not hype. Information is what many searchers are looking for on the social web.
• Technical communicators have direct access to projects, including project managers, product managers, and technical subject matter experts.
• Technical communicators are well-accustomed to working reporter-style, already gathering and synthesizing information, as part of their day-to-day jobs. 
• Through indexing documentation deliverables and their attention to consistent terminology, technical communicators are used to paying attention to keywords, and are able to come up to speed quickly on SEO basics. 
• Again, natural writers at heart, many technical communicators would be easily incented to blog and to diversify their writing deliverables. 

Reporting on the results of an informal survey on Twitter, Johnson noted that the #1 perceived value of blogging is increased visibility for your brand, whether that brand is corporate or personal. From there, he provides a nice overview of basic search engine optimization techniques, including using the keywords people are searching for in the first few words of your title and first paragraph. Johnson further explains the importance of backlinks, and how Google trusts other people’s opinions of your site, more than your site’s own content.

For me, Johnson’s tips on using your own personal voice and transparency to tell the story of your brand were particularly helpful…”It’s the story that makes blogging appealing,” Johnson explains, citing as an example, a technical writing blog, where the author shares professional wisdom, via a series of stories drawn from his own career.

I listened to Johnson’s thoughts on bloggers as story tellers, right on the heels of my most successful blog entry to date: On Making Your Own Game: A Parable. In that post, I offered a loosely disguised metaphor for business and life, based on my daughter’s lessons learned, after a recent try-out for the part of Belle, in a children’s production of Beauty and the Beast. Through my most narrative blog post to date, I finally figured out what makes for succesful blogging. Successful blogging is the direct connection with your readers, via a compelling, coherent, and cumulative story about your brand, which most often rests on a combination of information and entertainment—in other words—bloggers are good story-tellers.    

Like Johnson, I agree that technical communicators are ideally positioned on cross functional teams to be highly effective bloggers, especially given their strong writing abilities, access to information, and reporter-like ability to synthesize content from a variety of sources. Where I believe technical communicators can learn a great deal from their more customer-facing and management colleagues, is from the relationship-building, and yes, business strategy, that we sometimes lose sight of, in the pure pursuit of information.

In my opinion, the blogger who can bring all those ingredients together—information, relationship-building, and strategy—within the framework of a story that represents what your brand is all about, in an engaging way—that’s who should be blogging for your company, no matter what the discipline. In all likelihood, “that person” is probably a combination of a few people in your company, who could work together collaboratively in a group blog format, which to me seems the most sustainable format, in a corporate setting.

Without further ado, make sure to double-click on the image below to hear Tom Johnson’s insightful thoughts on blogging and technical communication. Many parts of this STC session, especially the blog usability tips, apply to all bloggers, not just to technical communicators. 

Double-Click on This Image For Recorded Session on Blogging: A New Role for Technical Communicators

Related Links: Technical Writing Blogs

• Tom Johnson’s I’d Rather Be Writing
• STC’s Notebook: The Official Voice of STC and the Tech Comm Community
• Ellis Pratt’s Cherryleaf Blog
• Anne Gentle’s justwriteclick
• ffeathers — a technical writer’s blog
• Ugur Akinci’s Technical Communication Center
• Scott Abel’s The Content Wrangler
• Scriptorium Publishing