Rebecca TutcherPhone: 614-563-5948Email: rtutcher@gmail.com

Hello! My name is Rebecca Tutcher and I write and edit stuff. Communication can be hard--especially when that communication needs to be technical, clear, concise, and readable to a wide variety of audiences. Melding creativity with multiple types of projects is what I do, and I do it well. From product copy that informs and engages customers, to technical/procedural manuals that need to be easily and quickly digested, writing and editing is paramount for a company to be both interesting as well as understandable and professional. That’s where I come in.

About

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Manager Duties ExcerptCreated to inform my replacement of the essential duties and responsibilities of the Media Lab Manager.

Technical

1. Click on the CK number. Find the proper equipment and open each container. You must inspect all equipment to make sure it is working. Make sure all accessories are with the resource. The most accurate list of accessories can be found under the "Content" tab and are listed after "Accessories."

2. Take a look at all of the items they have requested. If you notice that the items selected won't work

together, or they may need something different, feel free to reach out to the patron and get more information about what they are trying to do so we can provide the best equipment to complete their task.

3. When preparing the equipment, you can swap out items as needed. You do not have to find the item with the exact asset tag in the request. As long as you find an item of the same model, you can remove and add the new asset tag.

4. Once the equipment has been prepared, save any changes to the reservation and click on "Print Agreement Form". You will only need to print out one agreement form.

5. Remember, do NOT to click on "Pickup" at this point. The Pickup button is only used for when the

patron is physically there to collect the equipment. 6. Place the printed receipt on top of their equipment on the holding tables.

Training Manual Excerpt Created to instruct GA Media Lab employees on how to use webcheckout.net during an AV pickup process.

Technical

Mobile Print InstructionsCreated to inform students on how to utilize the mobile printing service. Designed to be understood by individuals of all ability levels and to be visually appealing while maintaining the colors and brand of UW-Whitewater

Technical

AsylumShort short story that had to feature a bag, a city scape, and an old woman. This was written for a writing competition, which won 2nd place. Everything was all noise, light, taste and touch. Dragons on diminutive rounded feet rushed past me. Crimson and jade, cerulean and silver—they all roared, spewing a noxious vapor out into the air. The gray smoke twirled portentously upward, creating a shadowed sky and hazy shapes that took on the form of fairies dancing in the air. I assumed fi res raged in the dragon’s bellies, smolder-ing on and on in order to create their excrement. Towers as soaring as the sky reached their colossal fi ngers heavenward, the black tinted coating refl ecting the light from the sun like some monstrous-ly distorted diamond. I imagined that wizards lived at the tops of each of these sky giants so they could twist their fi ngers languidly along the clouds, along the stars, maybe even along God himself. This is how I viewed the city, like it was some magical landscape where anything and every-thing was possible. I had never been out in the real world before, and watching the populace wan-der about aimlessly drove me to both pity and envy those that got to spend their whole lives out in this magical place. I walked in garments that I had stolen so I could blend in and tried to fi nd my way among the mislaid souls that hurried past with their heads crooked forward, unacquainted with everything but what was right in front of them. I had to look over my shoulder every minute in order to assure myself that I was not being followed. When I was suffi ciently appeased with the fact that they would not fi nd me, I relaxed into the fabric of this magical place, and breathed in air laden with smoke and freedom. I had escaped my little stone purgatory, unable to stand the men in sterile coats and gloves telling me that my imagination wasn’t healthy. My steps were light and deliberate as I milled about with the rest of the people. Most ignored me, others stared after as I walked by. I did not know why they looked; maybe it was because I was not talking on small plastic devices, looking at the ground, and generally ignoring possible future companions. Instead, I gazed with unveiled interest at the sights around me and grinned with feral merriment at those whose eyes met mine. But as I continued to walk, the sky became darker, more sinister, and held no mirth for me. The sun seemed to dim before my eyes and the clouds looked heavy with some sort of appalling secret. The winds starting pushing at me, making my hair fl y back and away from my face. I felt exposed, like the entire universe could see me and didn’t like what it saw. Nervous now, I picked my way from the crowd and glanced over my shoulder once more, then looked to the sky to watch it bulge with clandestine desolation. This was my pattern; look over my shoulder, look to the sky, and walk faster. Faster so I could escape whatever was coming, faster so I could escape myself. Before I could run outright, I looked forward fl eetingly and saw a woman. She stood at the core of the sea of people, everyone allowing her a wide birth as her opaque eyes looked somberly at me. Soft Amber hair whisked

Creative

Creativeout of an elastic tie positioned at the base of her neck. Pale like the moon, she seemed to shine with an inner luminosity that was betrayed by her dark attire. A windswept scarf hung around her neck and blew out and away from her. In her hand was what appeared to be a bag. It was small, with mauve stripes along a predominately ashen background. The woman simply stood there, looking at me with far away eyes. I advanced to her side slowly, unsure what to think. As I made my way toward her, the clouds cried out tears of wintry de-spondency, chilling me, striping from me any notion of who I once was. Soon, I was standing mere feet from her and stopped, taking in her tranquil expression. Mutely, she brought her hand forward and held out the mauve striped bag. For a moment, I didn’t move, I didn’t think. I just looked at those opaque eyes that held so much time in them. It felt as if she was an essential piece of the world and, without her, we would all cease to exist. When my thoughts returned, I reached my hand out, no longer aware of the torrent from the clouds or the people scurrying to get away from the wretched cold. I took the bag from her and nodded my head once in greeting, unsure of how to act around someone who held such a majes-tic essence. She smiled a beaming smile at me, her inner luminosity expanding outward to cover both of us in an intense light that sent away any distress that I felt and allowed my skin and heart to warm. Her hand fell from the bag as the light dimmed. The air became cold once more, and rain poured over all living things. Then, suddenly, she was no longer there. In a twisting of fabric, she blended seamlessly with the crowd. I was alone again, but the quiet desolation of the milieu no longer affected me negatively. Instead, I held the strings of my bag tightly and walked, feeling the comforting weight of it against my hand. At a turn in my path, I paused. A man waited at the corner with a mauve striped bag in his hand, moving from foot to foot nervously. He looked up, dark hair falling in even darker eyes. His eyes widened slightly when his gaze caught the sight of my bag, and then rose almost immedi-ately to my face, searching for something. Together we looked away and opened our small bags. I gasped at what I saw and shot my eyes to the dark haired man, who was gazing at me with a knowing intensity that I couldn’t place or comprehend. No words were spoken as we suddenly stepped into each other, drawn to one anoth-er through something unexplainable. His arms twined around me, and I clung to him like he was the only rock in a vast and mighty river that I had to hold on to. Without him, I knew I would drift away. “Elizabeth,” he whispered my name once. I didn’t need to know how he knew who I was. I was just thanking the woman for leading me to this man. To my true asylum.

Creative

-Mechanical-

Mechanize the fl esh of the weak,Give them wheels instead feet.Have their torsos painted redAnd build them all out of leadSo that we might have retribution.

Drench the scales in scalding iron,Strike the plate and sound the siren.The Machines have come again.(And we have built again)The war is now wholly mechanized.

Sing a song of wicked prayerAs we dance into their lair.Fire and fi re strain against the nightAnd we, The Machines, seek a fi ghtWith those who sought us to destroy.

Metal with steel, though we cannot tellWhich of us was from this hell.Shining bright, we’re all the same.Can it be? Have we lost this game?All freezes in confusion.

We’ve mechanized fl esh of the weak,We all have wheels instead of feet.Alas, we cannot tell friend from foe(This war was lost long ago).And, enemy with enemy, we live as one.

-Sweet Remembrance-

The curse of brilliance is far from easy,But I know well the give and take. I long for light and the sunshine daisy,Because it is for them that this I make. I cannot describe with ease or fi nesseThe intricate designs of a loving heart. I do not know the feeling, but I digress,For I do understand how I can start. The rainfall shows me a lovely pattern,Written in nature and changed by the eye.It fl ickers in shadow made by the lantern But unlike the fl ame, it never will die. It is this I feel when I think of your loveAnd I fi nd myself lightened by the tune.The tune of the song sung by the dove,Singing softly of how I will see you soon.And the whispers of darkness do not encroachUpon this little happiness that I cannot share.It can bite and it can scratch and call up reproach,But for all the darkness tries, I do not care. My fondness knows no bounds or restraints,You are the most important face in my life.Despite all my nonsense and trivial complaintsI know it is you who banishes all my strife. So I will tell you in a whisper, a murmur of air,Of the respect and the pride that I feel for you.It is you, my sweet angel, with your loving careThat has shown the good in the world is true. I end this now on a sweet sigh of remembrance,Of days long past but certainly not forgotten.With the angels I will wait at the castle’s entranceAnd we can play in the fi elds that time has begotten.

Poetry

DesignBusiness CardDesigned for LeeAnn Stone for her Herbal Life business.

DesignLab Hours SignDesigned for GA Labs to comply with UW-Whitewater brand.

Lab Walls PosterDesigned for GA Labs to comply with UW-Whitewater brand.

Design