My background is diverse, my experience deep and my education cutting-edge. I have spent the past 15 years building a proven track record by helping companies create comprehensive and solid marketing plans and campaigns that work and bring results. Quite simply I do what I promise, my follow-through is impeccable and my portfolio is second-to-none.



Vice Princess.

I have recently made a career shift, and it feels pretty darn good. For the past 8 years, I have worked part-time with a regional economic development organization. The work was interesting, (most of) the people were wonderful, and this gig allowed me to learn an entirely different world of business. While working with this organization, I continued to maintain my own freelance marketing business on a part-time basis. As you may have guessed, I thrive on diversity.

This organization is funded, partially, by the federal government. As time marched on, I found myself spending more and more time completing forms, scopes of work, and meeting federal reporting requirements and less time doing anything meaningful. My attitude soured, and I knew it was time for a change.

I left this organization last month, and decided to take my own advice and focus on what I know and love- marketing, PR, event planning, and communications. I've had a ball expanding my own business. The clients are diverse and fantastic, the work is fun, and it's a privilege to help these businesses realize meaningful results. I am one over-the-moon gal. Life is too short to not do what you love.

With this change, several new opportunities have presented themselves. Earlier this month, I officially joined the team at AdventureWenatchee as a partner and Vice President. Or, as my family likes to call me through fits of laughter "Vice Princess." I get to apply my "business brain" to one of my favorite industries- outdoor recreation. Jackpot!

Now my days are filled with teaching, helping clients with marketing, PR, and event planning efforts, working with fascinating people, and dreaming up creative ways to grow outdoor recreation in the greater Wenatchee Valley. My role with AdventureWenatchee is just one part of what I do, but it's pretty darn fun. And the potential is most definitely there. Here is the official press release announcing the newest Vice Princess...

AdventureWenatchee has added Jennifer Korfiatis as a partner to its organization. She will act as an owner and vice president for business development, the company announced Wednesday.

Korfiatis, owner of Jennifer Korfiatis Marketing and former executive director of the Economic Development District of North Central Washington, also serves as an adjunct business and communications professor at Wenatchee Valley College. She will oversee strategic initiatives for AdventureWenatchee, a Wenatchee-based outdoor sports promotion company. She joins co-owners Steve Maher, and Joel and Michele Rhyner.

We are growing as a company and Jennifer brings excellent skills and community ties to the organization,” said Maher, AdventureWenatchee president. “As an endurance athlete herself, she has a keen understanding of the industry and its strengths and weaknesses in our region.”

I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to bring my marketing and communications experience and background to an organization that focuses on a passion of mine —outdoor recreation,” Korfiatis said. “I moved to the Wenatchee Valley 19 years ago for the recreation, and it’s an honor to work with partners who hold the same values.”

AdventureWenatchee promotes Wenatchee Valley sports endurance events and provides services to event organizers and community groups. Its clients and partners include the Wenatchee Marathon, TedDriven, Leavenworth Winter Sports Club, Mission Ridge Ski and Board Resort, Wenatchee Valley Velo, Tour de Bloom, Wenatchee Row &Paddle Club, Mission Ridge Ski Team, Wenatchee Valley Chamber of Commerce, Chelan County and RunWenatchee.

The company was founded in 2013 by Maher and the Rhyners.


Intervention Time.

I would like to request an intervention. But first, before you start hatching plans, I want the really dramatic kind. The kind where we can only speak while holding the therapy pillow. The kind where people are hysterical and demands are lobbed into the air like missed shots from the top of the key. And here's why...

I have a major problem, and I fully recognize it, which I believe is the first step. When our beloved  amazing-and-fourth-member-of-our-family, Pearl, passed away earlier this year, I spent a fair amount of time at the Wenatchee Valley Humane Society taking dogs for test drives, and usually while crying hysterically. I followed blogs about dogs. I trolled dog websites. And when we found our new “son” Zamperini, we were over the moon. We always said that we’d know our dog when we met him, and that’s exactly what happened. He’s a freak. But he’s our perfect freak.

All of this is very normal, and the perfectly acceptable behavior of a grieving dog mom.


But this is where it gets weird.


I can’t stop. I try to stop, and I can’t. I still visit the WVHS with alarming frequency. I review the list of adoptable dogs before I go to work. I still follow the blogs. And I show up to walk specific dogs with the very clear presented intention that I am there to adopt that very dog. Except that I’m not.


Now, mind you, I don’t stand in the way of anyone else adopting my pretend new pet. I’m not placing holds on them, and I’m not “really” claiming them as mine. If that is your perception of my behavior, frankly that’s your problem.


There is no way, under any circumstance, that we can adopt another dog. First, we don’t have the room. Second, we can barely manage Zamp. And third, my husband would very likely leave me. And I would be the single mother of a pre-teen and (at least) two dogs. Not pretty.

But you see, dear reader, I speak about them like I know them. Oh, Booster? He’s very shy. I think someone was mean to him and he’s timid around males. And Jarvis? Well isn’t Jarvis just the life of the party?! He’s most definitely a contender. Poor little Muffasa... he is simply misunderstood and frankly a bit overwhelmed by kennel life. I think a quiet home would be best for this little guy. These are the words that come out of my mouth- to friends, the WVHS staff, and volunteers. I sound like a maniac.


I see friends at the shelter who are doing legitimate volunteer work. IMPORTANT work. And I strut by, out on a walk, with my pretend new dog.


And I imagine myself adopting these dogs- the current obsessions are Jarvis and Booster, though last week it was Darrington- and we will go for trail runs and eat bologna and I will pack them around in a Baby Bjorn while a Michael Bolton soundtrack plays in the background. Zamp will love them. The universe will balance. Our yard will expand. I can find a way to earn extra income to pay for all the additional bologna. It’s ridiculous. And a bit alarming.


And so, dear reader, I implore you: If you see me at the WVHS taking a dog out on a walk (I’m not a legitimate volunteer) slap the leash out of my hand. And if you are within earshot of me talking about these dogs like they’re mine- ALL MINE!- slap me. Please.


So there. The first step is in the books.



Strike a Pose.

Every year I challenge myself to do something so far outside of my comfort zone that it initially appears to be impossible. This year, I was able to check that box by mid-January, which brought the promise of 11.5 blissful months of anxiety-free living. It's true that I've been able to wallow in my status quo, but it has brought a bit of unexpected boredom. So, I say it's time to shake things up. Seems reasonable, right?

I've recently started "doing yoga." And by "doing yoga" I really mean flailing around a dimly-lit room while simultaneously trying to control my breathing and translate the foreign language the instructor seems to be using. My instructor promises that yoga is an individual endeavor, and that no one cares what anyone else looks like, and as I make extra attempts to ensure my body is pointing in the right direction and my face isn't doing anything alarming, I silently pray that she's right. But I'm pretty sure she's a liar.

Yoga to me is really just the thing I do before having a glass of wine and dinner with one of my BFFs. It's fun and challenging, and while no one is supposed to be looking at those around them, I do sometimes sneak a peek at my fellow classmates for my own personal entertainment.

To say I am terrible at yoga is an understatement. Tragic is more appropriate. But, I am determined.

So far my favorite pose is this fun thing we get to do at the beginning and end of class where we lay flat on our backs and get our heads into yoga mode. This kind of yoga is for me.

But, I need a challenge. And so I'm upping the ante to "master" what is called the Bird of Paradise, which is this little number:

I've given myself until the end of the year to be able to bend myself into this nifty jumble of limbs with ease. This seemed reasonable enough, until I made this announcement to my husband and son, whose disbelief instantly collided with my disbelief over their disbelief. And so now I am determined to become a Bird of Paradise just to prove them wrong.

This is really more of a warning than an accountability announcement. You see, once I master the Bird of Paradise, I intend to strike this pose at any opportunity; in meetings, while teaching, on the side of the road, while grocery shopping, during my son’s conferences. I will use it to convey emotion and punctuate sentences. Just because I can.



Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Our family has a new dog. Zamp a great dog, but he's young (we're guessing about a year), strong, and full of energy. He's also a breed made to run. Rhodesian Ridgebacks were bred to hunt lions, and our family likes this breed because we fancy ourselves runners, and frankly we like the company when putting in the miles.

Within a week of adopting Zamp, my athletically-gifted husband tore his ACL. This is very bad news on several fronts, including the fact that when it comes to running, he is on the DL. Which leaves the task of running the dog up to me.

I quickly realized that Zamp is too strong, and too fast, for me to run with him like a normal, civilized dog owner. Putting in the miles on the canal or Loop with him is totally out of the question. He's so strong and fast that I can't control him and frankly, I'm tired of careening down the street behind a galloping dog while shouting various commands hoping one of them will make him stop. It doesn't work and these old joints can't take it.

So, what's a girl to do? Luckily, this dog loves to trail run, and so we spend a significant amount of time in the Foothills trail system right outside our door. Wouldn't this be a nice end to this story?

Except it's not that easy. Because this dog is so strong, so fast, and so excited to be out of the trail, and as it turns out, I can't control him there either. And so, I'm forced to let him off his leash. And, by some small miracle, he tends to stay right with me. For the most part.

But, I learned during one particularly difficult run that if there is anyone else anywhere on the trail at the same time as us, Zamp is a goner. He's off faster than I even realize to make a new friend, assert his dominance, or shop for a new family. In fact, on this one particularly difficult morning, we came upon a mountain biker, surprising all three of us, and leash-free Zamp chased this poor guy for a quarter mile.

Running in town is out of the question. And now, running on trails when other trail users are around is out of the question. And not running this dog is out of the question because he becomes very destructive. I curse my husband's torn ACL.

So, the solution, at least so far, is to hit the trail before anyone else has even considered it. Make first tracks. Watch the sun rise from a dirt path. Pray that no one decides to do the same.

So these days, my alarm sounds at 4:20 and we're at the trailhead by 4:35. Any later and we meet other trail users on our way out. Any earlier and I can't get out of bed.

This blog post is really a desperate plea more than anything. If you love Sage Hills as much as I do, could you please just wait to get started until 5:45? We'll be out by then, my dog will be tired for a few blissful moments, and I'll be eternally grateful.



Those who work with me know that my preferred method of professional communication is email. I love it for several reasons, including the ability to respond on my timeline, the written history of correspondence, and the ability to professionally convey a point without having to slap someone upside the head. In short, in my opinion, email rules.

To manage the three inboxes I maintain, I typically schedule myself for one hour each day to conduct what I call "email triage." This is when I carefully sift through that day's emails, dot my I's, and cross my T's. Make sure I haven't missed anything.

But this week, more so than weeks of recent memory, has been tough. It's been busy, chaotic, and I've been on the road for part of it; a perfect storm. And I have not enjoyed the luxury of any email triage. My inboxes are vast wastelands of unanswered correspondence, unfulfilled requests, and chinks in my professional armor. I am a woman in a skirt with unshaved legs.

For some, it's probably not a big deal. But for me, it's a very big deal. I don't ignore emails. And I pride myself on accessability and  timely responses.

And so, my daily email triage is now relegated to the bowels of the workweek: Friday evening. I sit, poised at my computer with the only armor I have: a glass of wine. I am ready, I am equipped, and I'm going in.

A few years ago, I recall reading an article about people who were declaring email bankruptcy. They were admitting, in essence, to their inability or unwillingness to keep up with the barrage of electronic communication. They were starting over. Demanding a clean slate. And, as someone who has let her inboxes go, I get it. But I'm not quite there yet.

And so, while some may be starting their weekend and relaxing, I am poised to begin picking off days-old messages, one by one. Like an email sniper.

Wish me luck.