#and the nature of the story was one of the things unimpeachably correct about them Lucas was 100% right to refuse to compromise on

[frumfrumfroo]

what do you think george lucas could’ve done to make the prequels as iconic and good as the original trilogy?

Collaborate the way he did with the OT. Let other people help write and direct them. Lucas is extremely strong on themes and concepts, but he’s extremely weak on character and dialogue (not just in screenwriting, but also in directing). He said once his ideal would be making movies with no people in them and doesn’t that explain a lot? Back in the day he acknowledged where he was lacking (there are a lot of old interviews where he talks about this), and he got help with those things. The other directors (ESB and RotJ), other screenwriters, the editors, and much uncredited input on the script of ANH from Lucas’s industry friends were all instrumental in making the OT films great cinema with great storytelling rather than an overambitious jumble of ideas and evocative visuals without sufficient emotional context.

The prequels are an auteur project where he did everything himself and was insulated from meaningful constructive criticism and it shows.

He would still be the absolute last word on the story he wanted to tell if he collaborated, he had 100% of the actual power, he’d just have people with the skills and interests he doesn’t share to help him execute it with greater effectiveness and coherence. That excerpt of him talking to Kasdan about character death in RotJ is a good example- you can be firm on what the story is and what it’s meant to say while still accepting creative input.

[lindsaynsmith]

Jacob Wohl's Imaginary Robert-Mueller-Accusing Girlfriend Had To Go Back To Canada We Guess

Jacob Wohl's Imaginary Robert-Mueller-Accusing Girlfriend Had To Go Back To Canada We Guess https://ift.tt/2JvrytB

Guys, we have some bad news. We had been looking forward to today, when the double genius duo of Jacob Wohl and Jack Burkman would turn the Russia No Collusion Witch Hunt OOPSY DAISY UPSIDE DOWN with their press conference (at the Holiday Inn in Rosslyn, Virginia, naturally) where a very credible woman they DID NOT PAY would come forward to say that special counsel Robert Mueller had raped or sexually assaulted her.

Oh don't worry, the press conference is still happening (right now in fact!), because THE SHOW MUST GO ON! It's just that the accuser isn't there, because, despite how she is totally real and stuff, she FEARS FOR HER LIFE.

But Jack Burkman and Jacob Wohl are there, and they are accusing Robert Mueller of rape! (As The Daily Beast's Will Sommer explains, this is very typical Jack Burkman: "The much-hyped witness who disappears at the last minute is a classic Jack Burkman move. By my count this is the third time he's done this.")

In advance of the earthshaking press conference, Wohl and Burkman again solicited the help of the Stupidest Man On The Internet, Jim Hoft, who runs The Gateway Pundit, where Jacob Wohl does "reporting" sometimes, to make a video about what's really going on here. In the process, they accidentally confessed to some crimes, it would seem. Let's watch, and then we will give you highlights just below!

Jacob Wohl, Jack Burkman: Woman Accusing Robert Mueller of Rape is Credible www.youtube.com

In the first few frames of the video, Jacob Wohl explains where this new and very real accuser came from. You see, she had hired SureFire Intelligence, which he now admits is his company, the one that was incorporated about three weeks ago ...

... and whose phone number is also Jacob Wohl's mom's phone number, to deal with a problem with her "estate." (Later he says the client hired his three-week-old firm SEVERAL MONTHS AGO, if you're keeping track of the lies here.) Sure, she could have gone with a real company, but wouldn't you rather go with the company with the 20-year-old disgraced fraudster as the CEO, but who doesn't actually use his real name on the company website?

OK, Jacob, we're with you so far!

Wohl then explains that his "client" who needed help with "estate stuff" from "Jacob's mom's cell phone" had "brought him" the story of being raped by Robert Mueller. And he didn't believe her at first! Gateway Pundit provides some transcript of why he didn't believe her:

"I am the biggest skeptic in the world of the #MeToo movement. My default position is not to believe the women – you've seen that over and over again as one story after another has come out. And that indeed was my default position in this case. I don't care who's getting accused or who's accusing – my default position is I don't believe it until its proven, until its corroborated."

Jacob Wohl KNOWS that bitches be lyin', so obviously this "gal" -- he refers to her as a "gal" and so does Jack Burkman -- was lying. (But how can imaginary friends lie, Jacob? HOW?)

Anyway, Jacob Wohl determined that just this one time bitches do NOT be lyin'. And he swears they didn't offer her any money, possibly because do imaginary friends even have Venmo? NOPE. Jacob Wohl says the only person who says they offered her money is the fake lady "Lorraine Parsons," who Robert Mueller and the Deep State invented to make Jacob Wohl and Jack Burkman look like dipshits.

Wohl says he vetted the real accuser's story real hard, so we're just guessing he forgot to check to see if there was a public record of Robert Mueller being in a totally different city at the time the alleged assault happened.

The other reason we know this person is telling the truth, as Jacob Wohl explains, is because she is a WEALTHY PERSON:

"The accuser is not a person off the streets. This is a person of unimpeachable character. This is a person with an illustrious background as a fashion designer – well educated, well networked, well liked. This is not a person that somebody dragged up from some politically charged area. In fact, she is not politically charged at all – never registered to vote. Never voted, in fact. So, this is not a political operation, this has very little to do with politics," he said. "This is about getting the truth out about a person who is wielding a tremendous amount of power and we've seen what he's done with it." [...] "In this case, not only is the accuser credible, but one of her best friends who was also there watched her go up to the hotel room allegedly with Robert Mueller. This corroborating witness is also very credible. This is not a person looking for profit. These are not people who are politically motivated. These people aren't political, they've never voted. They are certainly not looking for profit, and they certainly don't need profit. I'll put it this way, these are a couple of very wealth people, prominent people."

Yes, Jim Hoft typed "wealth people." To be completely fair and unbiased, Jacob Wohl clearly says "wealthy" in the video, but fuck it, we're going with the joke, because these guys can all eat our ass.

Anyway, you get all that?

This person is not a street person.

She is a character person.

She is a character person who is also a fashion designer person.

She is a character person who is also a fashion designer person who is also a big education person.

This person was not dragged out of a politically charged area.

She is a character person who is also a fashion designer person who is also a big education person who has never voted.

This person is a wealth person, and also too the corroborating witness is a wealth person.

They are wealth people.

They are wealth people who have never voted, and also character people, and also fashion designer people, because we know how fashion character wealth people with big educations just never vote.

Well, then!

After Jacob Wohl talks for a while, Jack Burkman takes the mic and confirms that "Lorraine Parsons" doesn't exist, and then references Jennifer Taub, who actually exists for real (all jokes aside!) and who actually for real got a letter from "SureFire," which Jacob Wohl admits is his mom's cell phone, offering her money to dish secrets on Robert Mueller. What a liar who was obviously put up to this by Robert Mueller, even though he has never met Jennifer Taub! Burkman says the email to Taub had "nothing to do with us," so we guess Mueller is just a clever old beaver, to gin up a fake letter on fake letterhead from Jacob Wohl's mom's cell phone like that. Later in the video, Burkman says the person from SureFire who wrote the letter is a "fake person," so we guess he's a lot like all the employees of Jacob Wohl's Mom's Cell Phone. Wonkette would like to thank Jack Burkman, on the feds' behalf, for essentially admitting they are the genius brains behind this entire scam.

"We can only surmise as to who did this," Burkman says. And he's not wrong!

Every reporter in the country, from the smallest blog all the way up to NBC news, knows very well that you don't run a story about Loraine Parson before you even talk to Loraine Parsons.

True fact! And they didn't! (Please note in Jim Hoft's transcript that he can't even settle on a correct spelling for the lady name Wohl and Burkman made up.)

"The last few days have been ridiculous," Burkman says. He's not wrong there either!

Wohl takes back the mic and starts whining that the lady he made up is besmirching the good name of his three-week-old intelligence firm, and now CNN is calling his sister in her 6th grade class and Rachel Maddow is making fun of how his company's phone is also his mom's phone. He also says we wouldn't believe how many fake Mueller accusers they've talked to and said "Go away, fake lady! We don't believe YOUR story." And he's right, we wouldn't believe that.

Doing his best impression of a real lawyer, Wohl goes on to claim that there are THREE MORE ACCUSERS, but they're not ready yet, and that there have been a FLURRY of new accusers, but they haven't finished making up stories for them yet aren't sure if they're credible or not. Jacob Wohl didn't want to believe all these women, because GROSS, but he guesses he has to, because they are very real and they talk to him.

Burkman takes the mic and says that "guilty dogs bark first," apparently without realizing that there's only been one comment from Mueller's office, about referring this to the FBI, and that Burkman and Wohl have been barking ALL FUCKING WEEK OH MY GOD.

Jacob Wohl ends the video by whining that the people who found the employee listings for his REAL COMPANY made mean pictures of him and put them on the internet, including one of him dressed up as corn and another one of him gay-kissing Donald Trump.

Also Jack Burkman and Jacob Wohl really really REALLY want to testify under oath against this "Lorraine Parsons" character they created, because MAN, she's a liar!

HOLY FUCK WHAT DID WE JUST WATCH?

Who would have imagined this would all be going hilariously wrong again? After all, didn't Burkman and Wohl just spend weeks trying to bait real journalists with an obviously fake story, from a fake persona named Lorraine Parsons, who was purportedly accusing Robert Mueller of sexual harassment? And when that fell apart, didn't they publish a thing on their buddy Jim Hoft's Gateway Pundit website with their very detailed account of how the REAL accuser was coming forward today with a story of Robert Mueller raping her in New York on a day he was in Washington DC with a full FBI security detail? And didn't they come up with a very convincing cover story about how Robert Mueller and the lamestream media probably invented the first fake accuser to distract America from the real live in the flesh accuser, who was going to appear today, except for how she didn't?

There are a couple of reasons these fucking idiots actually thought this would work, to the point that they continue to set their dicks on fire and eat them without self-awareness or regret. The first and most obvious one is that they are OMG SO FUCKING STUPID. But they also thought this would work because -- as Wohl explained above! -- they don't believe #MeToo victims anyway. They truly think most women lie about this stuff, because they, The Eternally Unfuckable, hate women. So they literally think they can just put up a flyer at the local Costco saying "CRY RAPE FOR $20,000 MONEYS!" and all the ladies would be like "WHAT UP DOLLA BILLS!"

They also really truly believe the media has a liberal agenda and will print anything bad they hear about a conservative without vetting it. They are especially stung after the one-two punch of Roy Moore and Brett Kavanaugh, combined with the three-four-five-six-eleven-million punches of Donald Trump and all the other Republicans who have fallen into disgrace after being credibly accused of sexual harassment and rape. Unfortunately for Burkman and Wohl, nothing they believe is true, and they should probably see a neurologist. Maybe one of their imaginary friends who is a wealthy person who's never voted can recommend one.

OH NO, ANTIFA MOB!

As we publish this, the very real press conference about the very real lady has just ended, and oh no, Antifa was there!

We guess Antifa is inside that big funny statue, because they're sneaky like that. Or maybe it is in the trunk of that Camry. SHRUG. Also oh no there is a box in the back of the truck that says "ACME" and we all know that means it is a bomb because that is how Wile E. Coyote (original Antifa) does it.

Also there is a mob there:

Oh no the mob left:

Scenes from inside:

Yep.

Also, we have a name!

But we don't know how to spell it! The name of our client! For our VERY REAL COMPANY!

We have never laughed so hard in our ENTIRE LIVES.

[Gateway Pundit]

Follow Evan Hurst on Twitter RIGHT NOW, DO IT RIGHT NOW!

Wonkette is the ONLY NEWS ON THE INTERNET. Please give us money RIGHT THERE BELOW if you want us to live FOREVER.

via Wonkette https://ift.tt/2l6ZCkr November 1, 2018 at 01:20PM

[hypertagmaster]

The Old Man and The Pen

This is a simple story about the life of a particular writer, and how he ignored the one thing about his craft that would have given him everything he truly wanted …

A young man in his late twenties decided to become a writer.

At the beginning of the pursuit of his craft, he sought out all the writing advice he could find. He attended writing workshops, went to many parties of a literary nature, drove far into the woods seeking the wisdom of writing retreats, and read countless books on writing by countless other writers.

After several years of this, he began to despair. He seemed to have found the correct knowledge, and a few seemingly valuable contacts along the way, but he hadn’t yet written anything of consequence.

He felt very validated by a number of his very nice friends in his Thursday night writing circle, but he couldn’t keep down the horror in his gut that something was going terribly wrong.

He was having a good time. There were the parties, the drink, the pills, and the long conversations about art and writing.

Then, somewhere in his mid-thirties, the not-so-young-anymore writer looked around and realized that he had wasted many years. This confused him, because his entire circle of friends were “writers” after all.

He had a decision to make.

On a particularly starry Thursday night, the phone rang — like it did almost every other night of the week — at 11:03 p.m. Pacific Time. Only this time, he didn’t answer it. It rang again, and again, and four more times before midnight. He did not pick it up.

Instead of going out with his “writer” friends, that night he just sat at his desk and stared at a blank sheet of paper. He did manage to get 133 words down before sunrise. It was a bad feeling to have accomplished so little — while also missing out on the booze — but it was a much better feeling than anything he could remember in years.

So, he did not answer the phone on the next night, or the next. Instead, he stayed in, staring at blank pages and slowly filling them up with words. And then he just … kept going like that … for another 42 years.

A few weeks before his death, a reporter asked the old writer for the secret to a great literary career.

The old man held up a worn Bic pen and said, “If there is a secret, it’s in here somewhere, swirling around in all that black ink. It spills down on the page, and something happens, or it doesn’t, and you spill more and more of it to try to find your way.”

“What if I use a keyboard instead of a pen?” the reporter asked.

“Don’t get cute with me kid, same damn thing,” the writer said. “Slow and steady.”

The old writer had not become famous or particularly wealthy; he hadn’t won any international awards or even made a single bestseller list. Those things, he said, were not up to him, not in his control, or yours. But, over the course of many years, he had built an unimpeachable reputation, a vast audience, and a very good living.

He could not say what had become of his old “writer” friends, but he was grateful that they had eventually driven him straight into the arms of his chosen craft.

“You can outlast the other guys if you try. If you stick at stuff that bores them, it accrues. Drip, drip, drip you win.” – Seth Godin

Image source: Eli Francis via Unsplash.

The post The Old Man and The Pen appeared first on Copyblogger.

via marketing http://ift.tt/2kncQdp

[marie85marketing]

The Old Man and The Pen

This is a simple story about the life of a particular writer, and how he ignored the one thing about his craft that would have given him everything he truly wanted …

A young man in his late twenties decided to become a writer.

At the beginning of the pursuit of his craft, he sought out all the writing advice he could find. He attended writing workshops, went to many parties of a literary nature, drove far into the woods seeking the wisdom of writing retreats, and read countless books on writing by countless other writers.

After several years of this, he began to despair. He seemed to have found the correct knowledge, and a few seemingly valuable contacts along the way, but he hadn’t yet written anything of consequence.

He felt very validated by a number of his very nice friends in his Thursday night writing circle, but he couldn’t keep down the horror in his gut that something was going terribly wrong.

He was having a good time. There were the parties, the drink, the pills, and the long conversations about art and writing.

Then, somewhere in his mid-thirties, the not-so-young-anymore writer looked around and realized that he had wasted many years. This confused him, because his entire circle of friends were “writers” after all.

He had a decision to make.

On a particularly starry Thursday night, the phone rang — like it did almost every other night of the week — at 11:03 p.m. Pacific Time. Only this time, he didn’t answer it. It rang again, and again, and four more times before midnight. He did not pick it up.

Instead of going out with his “writer” friends, that night he just sat at his desk and stared at a blank sheet of paper. He did manage to get 133 words down before sunrise. It was a bad feeling to have accomplished so little — while also missing out on the booze — but it was a much better feeling than anything he could remember in years.

So, he did not answer the phone on the next night, or the next. Instead, he stayed in, staring at blank pages and slowly filling them up with words. And then he just … kept going like that … for another 42 years.

A few weeks before his death, a reporter asked the old writer for the secret to a great literary career.

The old man held up a worn Bic pen and said, “If there is a secret, it’s in here somewhere, swirling around in all that black ink. It spills down on the page, and something happens, or it doesn’t, and you spill more and more of it to try to find your way.”

“What if I use a keyboard instead of a pen?” the reporter asked.

“Don’t get cute with me kid, same damn thing,” the writer said. “Slow and steady.”

The old writer had not become famous or particularly wealthy; he hadn’t won any international awards or even made a single bestseller list. Those things, he said, were not up to him, not in his control, or yours. But, over the course of many years, he had built an unimpeachable reputation, a vast audience, and a very good living.

He could not say what had become of his old “writer” friends, but he was grateful that they had eventually driven him straight into the arms of his chosen craft.

“You can outlast the other guys if you try. If you stick at stuff that bores them, it accrues. Drip, drip, drip you win.” – Seth Godin

Image source: Eli Francis via Unsplash.

The post The Old Man and The Pen appeared first on Copyblogger.

[nathandgibsca]

The Old Man and The Pen

This is a simple story about the life of a particular writer, and how he ignored the one thing about his craft that would have given him everything he truly wanted …

A young man in his late twenties decided to become a writer.

At the beginning of the pursuit of his craft, he sought out all the writing advice he could find. He attended writing workshops, went to many parties of a literary nature, drove far into the woods seeking the wisdom of writing retreats, and read countless books on writing by countless other writers.

After several years of this, he began to despair. He seemed to have found the correct knowledge, and a few seemingly valuable contacts along the way, but he hadn’t yet written anything of consequence.

He felt very validated by a number of his very nice friends in his Thursday night writing circle, but he couldn’t keep down the horror in his gut that something was going terribly wrong.

He was having a good time. There were the parties, the drink, the pills, and the long conversations about art and writing.

Then, somewhere in his mid-thirties, the not-so-young-anymore writer looked around and realized that he had wasted many years. This confused him, because his entire circle of friends were “writers” after all.

He had a decision to make.

On a particularly starry Thursday night, the phone rang — like it did almost every other night of the week — at 11:03 p.m. Pacific Time. Only this time, he didn’t answer it. It rang again, and again, and four more times before midnight. He did not pick it up.

Instead of going out with his “writer” friends, that night he just sat at his desk and stared at a blank sheet of paper. He did manage to get 133 words down before sunrise. It was a bad feeling to have accomplished so little — while also missing out on the booze — but it was a much better feeling than anything he could remember in years.

So, he did not answer the phone on the next night, or the next. Instead, he stayed in, staring at blank pages and slowly filling them up with words. And then he just … kept going like that … for another 42 years.

A few weeks before his death, a reporter asked the old writer for the secret to a great literary career.

The old man held up a worn Bic pen and said, “If there is a secret, it’s in here somewhere, swirling around in all that black ink. It spills down on the page, and something happens, or it doesn’t, and you spill more and more of it to try to find your way.”

“What if I use a keyboard instead of a pen?” the reporter asked.

“Don’t get cute with me kid, same damn thing,” the writer said. “Slow and steady.”

The old writer had not become famous or particularly wealthy; he hadn’t won any international awards or even made a single bestseller list. Those things, he said, were not up to him, not in his control, or yours. But, over the course of many years, he had built an unimpeachable reputation, a vast audience, and a very good living.

He could not say what had become of his old “writer” friends, but he was grateful that they had eventually driven him straight into the arms of his chosen craft.

“You can outlast the other guys if you try. If you stick at stuff that bores them, it accrues. Drip, drip, drip you win.” – Seth Godin

Image source: Eli Francis via Unsplash.

The post The Old Man and The Pen appeared first on Copyblogger.

from SEO Tips http://feeds.copyblogger.com/~/265340328/0/copyblogger~The-Old-Man-and-The-Pen/

[soph28collins]

The Old Man and The Pen

This is a simple story about the life of a particular writer, and how he ignored the one thing about his craft that would have given him everything he truly wanted …

A young man in his late twenties decided to become a writer.

At the beginning of the pursuit of his craft, he sought out all the writing advice he could find. He attended writing workshops, went to many parties of a literary nature, drove far into the woods seeking the wisdom of writing retreats, and read countless books on writing by countless other writers.

After several years of this, he began to despair. He seemed to have found the correct knowledge, and a few seemingly valuable contacts along the way, but he hadn’t yet written anything of consequence.

He felt very validated by a number of his very nice friends in his Thursday night writing circle, but he couldn’t keep down the horror in his gut that something was going terribly wrong.

He was having a good time. There were the parties, the drink, the pills, and the long conversations about art and writing.

Then, somewhere in his mid-thirties, the not-so-young-anymore writer looked around and realized that he had wasted many years. This confused him, because his entire circle of friends were “writers” after all.

He had a decision to make.

On a particularly starry Thursday night, the phone rang — like it did almost every other night of the week — at 11:03 p.m. Pacific Time. Only this time, he didn’t answer it. It rang again, and again, and four more times before midnight. He did not pick it up.

Instead of going out with his “writer” friends, that night he just sat at his desk and stared at a blank sheet of paper. He did manage to get 133 words down before sunrise. It was a bad feeling to have accomplished so little — while also missing out on the booze — but it was a much better feeling than anything he could remember in years.

So, he did not answer the phone on the next night, or the next. Instead, he stayed in, staring at blank pages and slowly filling them up with words. And then he just … kept going like that … for another 42 years.

A few weeks before his death, a reporter asked the old writer for the secret to a great literary career.

The old man held up a worn Bic pen and said, “If there is a secret, it’s in here somewhere, swirling around in all that black ink. It spills down on the page, and something happens, or it doesn’t, and you spill more and more of it to try to find your way.”

“What if I use a keyboard instead of a pen?” the reporter asked.

“Don’t get cute with me kid, same damn thing,” the writer said. “Slow and steady.”

The old writer had not become famous or particularly wealthy; he hadn’t won any international awards or even made a single bestseller list. Those things, he said, were not up to him, not in his control, or yours. But, over the course of many years, he had built an unimpeachable reputation, a vast audience, and a very good living.

He could not say what had become of his old “writer” friends, but he was grateful that they had eventually driven him straight into the arms of his chosen craft.

“You can outlast the other guys if you try. If you stick at stuff that bores them, it accrues. Drip, drip, drip you win.” – Seth Godin

Image source: Eli Francis via Unsplash.

The post The Old Man and The Pen appeared first on Copyblogger.

from Copyblogger http://www.copyblogger.com/slow-and-steady/

[annegalliher]

The Old Man and The Pen

This is a simple story about the life of a particular writer, and how he ignored the one thing about his craft that would have given him everything he truly wanted …

A young man in his late twenties decided to become a writer.

At the beginning of the pursuit of his craft, he sought out all the writing advice he could find. He attended writing workshops, went to many parties of a literary nature, drove far into the woods seeking the wisdom of writing retreats, and read countless books on writing by countless other writers.

After several years of this, he began to despair. He seemed to have found the correct knowledge, and a few seemingly valuable contacts along the way, but he hadn’t yet written anything of consequence.

He felt very validated by a number of his very nice friends in his Thursday night writing circle, but he couldn’t keep down the horror in his gut that something was going terribly wrong.

He was having a good time. There were the parties, the drink, the pills, and the long conversations about art and writing.

Then, somewhere in his mid-thirties, the not-so-young-anymore writer looked around and realized that he had wasted many years. This confused him, because his entire circle of friends were “writers” after all.

He had a decision to make.

On a particularly starry Thursday night, the phone rang — like it did almost every other night of the week — at 11:03 p.m. Pacific Time. Only this time, he didn’t answer it. It rang again, and again, and four more times before midnight. He did not pick it up.

Instead of going out with his “writer” friends, that night he just sat at his desk and stared at a blank sheet of paper. He did manage to get 133 words down before sunrise. It was a bad feeling to have accomplished so little — while also missing out on the booze — but it was a much better feeling than anything he could remember in years.

So, he did not answer the phone on the next night, or the next. Instead, he stayed in, staring at blank pages and slowly filling them up with words. And then he just … kept going like that … for another 42 years.

A few weeks before his death, a reporter asked the old writer for the secret to a great literary career.

The old man held up a worn Bic pen and said, “If there is a secret, it’s in here somewhere, swirling around in all that black ink. It spills down on the page, and something happens, or it doesn’t, and you spill more and more of it to try to find your way.”

“What if I use a keyboard instead of a pen?” the reporter asked.

“Don’t get cute with me kid, same damn thing,” the writer said. “Slow and steady.”

The old writer had not become famous or particularly wealthy; he hadn’t won any international awards or even made a single bestseller list. Those things, he said, were not up to him, not in his control, or yours. But, over the course of many years, he had built an unimpeachable reputation, a vast audience, and a very good living.

He could not say what had become of his old “writer” friends, but he was grateful that they had eventually driven him straight into the arms of his chosen craft.

“You can outlast the other guys if you try. If you stick at stuff that bores them, it accrues. Drip, drip, drip you win.” – Seth Godin

Image source: Eli Francis via Unsplash.

The post The Old Man and The Pen appeared first on Copyblogger.