The most important shit you need to know about her, written by Brianna Bond
My friend Jett is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. Professional chops aside — we’ll get to those in a few — she’s just impressive as a human in a way I nearly can’t even articulate.
But I’m gonna try.
- She makes the best damn spaghetti sauce I have ever had. My entire family grieved when the hoard she left us was gone.
- When she’s having a rough go of life, she looks to how she can help someone else. Can you even?
- Her most persistent life dream is to just be able to hand out money or other help to those in need whenever she pleases.
- One time she bought five people a 36-inch by 18-inch sheet cake and let us eat it for dinner.
- The world doesn’t deserve her, to be honest.
Jett is gracious and kind, yet never a doormat. She will always grab brass knuckles and go into battle for the wronged, underserved, societally ignored, mistreated, abused, or timid. And for herself, which is so important.
She could tell you to go fuck yourself, and you’d thank her. That’s because she wouldn’t do it unless you’re in the wrong and she’ll gallant about it.
Writing about her makes me want to cry, in the way that people cry when they see the Sistine Chapel. “Am I even good enough to be here seeing this?”
Professionally? Look, she’s capable of much. Her life and its circumstances have blessed her with skills and savvy in lots of areas, but her true love is writing. And Lordt, can this woman write. The best thing you could do for your business/brand copy is to give her free reign over all of it. I can go on about this for a while; I think you should just read the answers I gave about her work back when she worked on my Ledger site. Then hire her, immediately.
The best part is that while writing this, I’ve stopped to check myself at least seven times. “Is this too over-the-top?”
It’s not. It’s not even close.
And now, her life story
I was one of those ‘conceived on leave’ babies when the conflict in Vietnam was at its height. My mother was a supervisor for the telephone company at the time and hid her pregnancy at first. She planned to transfer to another city, give birth to me, and say that my father was a war casualty.
Things worked out differently, and she and my father were married before I whoopsy-daisied into the world on April Fools’ Day.
When I was two, I was involved in an accident that broke my right femur in multiple places. I hung out in traction in a hospital for several weeks, where I grew famous by pegging a nurse in the head with an all-glass Gerber bottle. I mention that because that hospital stay was a study in adapting. The nurses started removing their caps and donning bright sweaters before coming into my room so they wouldn’t get beaned with a bottle, too, and I began developing a rich inner life and fondness for hearing stories that I’m convinced are the root of my becoming a writer.
A few months in a body cast cemented my smashed bones and my love of story.
I was a precocious kid, highly curious and articulate. I had the good fortune of being born into a large Irish-Italian family, so in my formative years there was always someone to teach me something or answer my questions or expose me to new people and things. My parents fostered independence of action and thought from a very young age, and encouraged my adventurousness. They also loved the shit out of me, as did all those aunts and uncles and cousins.
I was a military brat, which I thought was great. New people and places and ways entertained me, even as I pined for my overlarge and extremely close extended family. My siblings were not as enthralled as I was. We got a world-class education via experience, so I’d say I was more right than wrong with the ‘great’ verdict.
I come from a musical family, so I learned to cling to song for solace and expression early-on. (Yes, I was in a couple dumb bands. No, you cannot hear those tapes, even though some of that stuff is pretty decent.) This deepened after my father exited stage right. My roots in the blues and gospel of the Mississippi Delta gave way to immersion in punk and its ethos.
Overall, I’ve had a twisty-turny life, full of the unexpected and fantastical. If I laid out all the stories end-to-end, some would call me a liar. Maybe one day I will … and cite my witnesses, who can lay a hand on the Bible and attest to every last thing I’d recount.
One of those fantastical things led me from my home in Memphis to a little town in Alabama, where I was surprised to meet the love of my life. Gabriel and I married then raised three kids here. Now we’re chilling with our super-awesome dog Clem in this big-ass house, where we entertain some seriously adorable grandkids on the weekends.
After many years of long hours and lean incomes, Gabe and I now both work digitally. These days we like to road trip together. We spend time marveling at our good fortune and how long it took us to claw our way into the middle class. It’s not unusual for us to talk about what wealth will mean for us and the causes we believe in when we finally attain it.
We also laugh like fools every damn day we draw breath.
Jett’s professional background
My professional landscape is dotted with a variety of occupations, each one teaching me something of value and framing my worldview. The one constant throughout has been communications and marketing: In every job I’ve landed, there was an aspect that required me to flex my pencil and employ my empathy.
I’ve had numerous side hustles along the way due to my like of money and my brain’s propensity to pound me with ideas (while depriving me of sleep). In 2011 I made one of those side hustles into my main gig and started writing for hire full-time.
Today I help independent businesses hone in on their voice, refine it, and use it effectively in the vast digital landscape. And I’ve finally got an outline for that book people keep asking for.