Since learning to rely on G-Recorder earlier this year, I’ve found that the biggest benefit is how it allows me to listen. As long as I see the microphone and envelope icon beating in the tray, I can relax knowing the call is being recorded.
G-Recorder icon pulsates to show it's working
I still take notes, both as insurance and for
interviews where the recording is simply a backup − but not copious notes, which boosts my concentration.
My need for “insurance” caused my one snag with G-Recorder. In an early interview, I captured the receptionist but not the call transfer to the client giving me the brain dump for his book. At the time I felt fortunate that I had also recorded this two-hour interview on Pamela, my old system. G-Recorder sent an update with a solution, but also said that using two recorders was likely the problem.
I haven’t had a conflict since I stopped also using Pamela. I prefer to trust the real insurance, which is that G-Recorder puts one copy on my hard drive and keeps one in the Gmail cloud.
Several analogies come to mind as I try to explain how the gap in my blog can be blamed on too much paying work.
The condition is the cheery opposite of explaining a gap year in a work resume.
Sowing seeds for writing and web work: Everything came up
It is like a yo-yo, the usual issue with any freelance-style work. But is it like being up and secure with the world in the palm of my hand because of frequent pay checks or is it risking being at the end of my string and over-extended?
One Friday afternoon in March, in the hours after accepting a nice, creative position, no fewer than nine more inquiries came in by way of email. Startups that didn’t start up were ready to try again. Fabulous work for a company that shuttered its doors now was needed at the acquiring company.
Along the way, my business partners and I declared the recession officially over. At summer’s start, several of these jobs are at full steam, and the emails keep coming.
I keep thinking of a line from the movie, “Stevie,” with Glenda Jackson playing the English poet, Stevie Smith. Remarking on an older relative’s impossibly flowered dress, Jackson labels it: “Everything came up.”
So the blog goes fallow as everything comes up from the seeds we’ve sown the past two years. Until we’re sure the dust is out of our lungs from the long dry spell, we’ll keep saying a bloomin’ yes to almost everything.
