Last week was a great example of why I hope to eventually get out of the newspaper business and into a different form of writing.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy my work. Really, writing for a newspaper is one of the best jobs I’ve ever had, in terms of quality of work. And people seem somewhat impressed when I tell them I write for a newspaper. I can actually feel a twinge of pride when I tell acquaintances what I do for a living, instead of saying what I used to have to say: ‘Well, I work for a gym, but there’s a lot more to me than that. My job doesn’t define me.’ Now I can say, ‘I get paid to write. And my job is sort of a good descriptor of who I am. Or at least it's within the infield of what I’m interested in, in life.’
Newspaper reporting allows me to get to know different, interesting people (at least on occasion). I get to hone my people skills in a non-customer service environment. I get to learn about sometimes interesting topics. And I get to write, which I believe has helped me become a better writer.
But there are still some problems. And yes, I know every job has its shortcomings. But the newspaper industry has a rather large one: it’s difficult to move “up the ladder” at the moment. Newspapers don’t have the money to hand out pay raises, and are often forced to lay people off to keep the publication afloat.
That brings us back to last week. Last Tuesday, I hit my one-year mark at the paper. It reminded me that I’ve been getting the same, steady paycheck for the past 12 months. That’s not necessarily a bad thing these days, with others fighting just to stay employed. But $12.50 an hour is not big money, either. The anniversary also reminded me that my pay will not change in the foreseeable future. Most employers outside the newspaper industry would have given me a cost of living pay increase by now. My paper can’t even afford to pay me a couple hours of overtime. Which brings me to my next point.
I hit overtime on Thursday night, which meant I had to take Friday off. I enjoyed having the extended weekend, but now I’ll have to cram Friday’s work into Monday instead of getting ahead. Welcome to yet another stressful week. All this because of another grievance I have. In order to keep the newspaper out of the red, we publish several “special sections” each year, which generate additional ad revenue. These are inserts that cater to specific audiences, and they require the reporters to write copy to fill space and inform readers. I do get two hours of overtime to write for some special sections (which I’m required to do anyway), but not for the one I was working on last week. So, once I had amassed 80 hours over the last two-week period, I was done.
I might sound bitter, but I’m really not. Like I said, I do enjoy my job. But, as any reader can see, an industry that has trouble sustaining itself can sometimes frustrate those working within it. Maybe being more of an entrepreneurial writer will be just as frustrating. I’m willing to at least give it a shot, eventually. I just hope newspapers hold out long enough for me to take that step.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
On Travel: Flight search tips
(Originally published Jan. 30, 2010)
Yesterday I continued to work on the new writing project I’ve mentioned in earlier blog posts. Like I said before, the project will involve some travel. I’m not sure when that travel will take place, but I do know where I’ll be going. Yesterday I spent more than two hours figuring out possible flights (at least a few of them will be necessary) and timelines. It was fun. And it made me think of some things I’ve learned.
First of all, flights are almost always cheapest on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. People travel for business on Mondays and Fridays, and for pleasure on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. So that leaves the middle of the week for airlines to attract extra customers by offering lower rates.
Tickets are also cheaper in the winter than any other time of year, unless the place you’re going has a big tourist attraction during the winter. For example, flights to South Africa seem to be most expensive during the weeks when the FIFA World Cup is going on. But the prices go down in late July, the country’s winter. Although getting there from SeaTac is extremely expensive no matter when you go.
I could fly pretty cheaply to Europe next month, but expensively in June or July, even though buying tickets long ahead of time is usually cheaper than buying at the last minute. Summer seems to always be the exception; it’s expensive no matter what. Spring is next in line for cost, followed by fall, for most destinations.
No matter when and where you’re going, it’s also a good idea to be flexible on dates in the beginning. And keep checking prices often, because sometimes deals sneak in there quietly.
All these things are probably common sense for most travelers. So let me close by recommending a few Web sites. I like to use Fly.com, but have also found some good deals on CheapTickets.com and Kayak.com. CheapTickets also has an email newsletter I receive, and sometimes there will be interesting tidbits in there. Finally, Travelzoo.com has a couple good newsletters worth checking out. Just remember that the more sites you compare, the better off you are.
Yesterday I continued to work on the new writing project I’ve mentioned in earlier blog posts. Like I said before, the project will involve some travel. I’m not sure when that travel will take place, but I do know where I’ll be going. Yesterday I spent more than two hours figuring out possible flights (at least a few of them will be necessary) and timelines. It was fun. And it made me think of some things I’ve learned.
First of all, flights are almost always cheapest on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. People travel for business on Mondays and Fridays, and for pleasure on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. So that leaves the middle of the week for airlines to attract extra customers by offering lower rates.
Tickets are also cheaper in the winter than any other time of year, unless the place you’re going has a big tourist attraction during the winter. For example, flights to South Africa seem to be most expensive during the weeks when the FIFA World Cup is going on. But the prices go down in late July, the country’s winter. Although getting there from SeaTac is extremely expensive no matter when you go.
I could fly pretty cheaply to Europe next month, but expensively in June or July, even though buying tickets long ahead of time is usually cheaper than buying at the last minute. Summer seems to always be the exception; it’s expensive no matter what. Spring is next in line for cost, followed by fall, for most destinations.
No matter when and where you’re going, it’s also a good idea to be flexible on dates in the beginning. And keep checking prices often, because sometimes deals sneak in there quietly.
All these things are probably common sense for most travelers. So let me close by recommending a few Web sites. I like to use Fly.com, but have also found some good deals on CheapTickets.com and Kayak.com. CheapTickets also has an email newsletter I receive, and sometimes there will be interesting tidbits in there. Finally, Travelzoo.com has a couple good newsletters worth checking out. Just remember that the more sites you compare, the better off you are.
On Travel: Planning is where the fun begins
(Originally published Jan. 23, 2010)
I continued working on this year’s new writing project this week. While I haven’t actually written much about this project, I assure you, dear reader (if you exist), that I am hard at work setting the stage. I also have not yet done any of the traveling I will need to do for this project, but I have begun planning.
I love the planning phase of travel. It fascinates me to search for the best and cheapest flights, buses and routes to and from where I’m going. And I could stare at a map for hours on end without getting bored, just studying the different cities, their distances from each other, and the various geographic features in and around them. Geography was always one of my favorite subjects in school.
A few days ago, I woke up thinking about Manaus, Brazil, because of a story I read in Tim Cahill’s book, “Road Fever.” I hopped out of bed and stood looking at my map of South America on my bedroom wall. I studied it for six minutes before I snapped out of my little cocoon of thought and realized I needed to take a shower and get to work. I could have pored over that map for much longer if I’d had the time.
The planning phase allows me to dream. It allows my mind to wander and wonder at what might be on the road ahead. It gets me excited about what I might see and experience. The actual travel experiences almost always turn out differently than what I’d imagined, but that’s fine. I get to dream in the beginning and I’m free to roll with whatever the road tosses my way later on.
I’m looking forward to every part of that process.
I continued working on this year’s new writing project this week. While I haven’t actually written much about this project, I assure you, dear reader (if you exist), that I am hard at work setting the stage. I also have not yet done any of the traveling I will need to do for this project, but I have begun planning.
I love the planning phase of travel. It fascinates me to search for the best and cheapest flights, buses and routes to and from where I’m going. And I could stare at a map for hours on end without getting bored, just studying the different cities, their distances from each other, and the various geographic features in and around them. Geography was always one of my favorite subjects in school.
A few days ago, I woke up thinking about Manaus, Brazil, because of a story I read in Tim Cahill’s book, “Road Fever.” I hopped out of bed and stood looking at my map of South America on my bedroom wall. I studied it for six minutes before I snapped out of my little cocoon of thought and realized I needed to take a shower and get to work. I could have pored over that map for much longer if I’d had the time.
The planning phase allows me to dream. It allows my mind to wander and wonder at what might be on the road ahead. It gets me excited about what I might see and experience. The actual travel experiences almost always turn out differently than what I’d imagined, but that’s fine. I get to dream in the beginning and I’m free to roll with whatever the road tosses my way later on.
I’m looking forward to every part of that process.
A new project
(Originally posted Jan. 18, 2010)
Here’s the latest update on my aspirations to become a travel writer: I’m still not sure how exactly I’m going to accomplish my goals, or even if my goals will stay static for long.
There. That’s it.
OK, so there’s more to it than that.
At the beginning of this year, I started a new writing project. But I’m afraid to say too much about it. On one hand, I think blogging directly about it could help me publicize it, which could lead to a small following of readers (since no one is reading this right now) and thus help my career. But on the other hand, I fear telling too many people about it could be dangerous, because my idea is such an original one and I don’t want anyone to steal it.
So for now, let’s just say I have a new idea for a project that will hopefully take me all over the U.S. and at least two other continents, while at the same time giving me something very interesting and relevant to write about. I’ve already begun the project, and now I’m just working on the logistics of finishing it in a timely and cost-effective manner.
But, like I said in my last post, I’m still wondering if my goals for this project and my career will have to change. I have a need to do something meaningful with my life, in a way that makes a positive difference to others and not just myself. My career goals are not necessarily at odds with that desire. But it might be easier to accomplish what I should if I put some of my own career and life goals on the back burner for a while, or at least do a better job of making my goals and God’s goals for me work together. I hope I can at least do that. A selfish life is far too costly and lonely, even when success is found.
Here’s the latest update on my aspirations to become a travel writer: I’m still not sure how exactly I’m going to accomplish my goals, or even if my goals will stay static for long.
There. That’s it.
OK, so there’s more to it than that.
At the beginning of this year, I started a new writing project. But I’m afraid to say too much about it. On one hand, I think blogging directly about it could help me publicize it, which could lead to a small following of readers (since no one is reading this right now) and thus help my career. But on the other hand, I fear telling too many people about it could be dangerous, because my idea is such an original one and I don’t want anyone to steal it.
So for now, let’s just say I have a new idea for a project that will hopefully take me all over the U.S. and at least two other continents, while at the same time giving me something very interesting and relevant to write about. I’ve already begun the project, and now I’m just working on the logistics of finishing it in a timely and cost-effective manner.
But, like I said in my last post, I’m still wondering if my goals for this project and my career will have to change. I have a need to do something meaningful with my life, in a way that makes a positive difference to others and not just myself. My career goals are not necessarily at odds with that desire. But it might be easier to accomplish what I should if I put some of my own career and life goals on the back burner for a while, or at least do a better job of making my goals and God’s goals for me work together. I hope I can at least do that. A selfish life is far too costly and lonely, even when success is found.
Uncertain future
(Originally posted Jan. 10, 2010)
I’m beginning to wonder if a career in travel writing is in fact the best one for me. I realize it sounds stupid to say that, just a few weeks after restarting this blog and being all gung-ho about travelling more and writing more during the coming year. But I also realize that just because I love to travel and I love to write, it doesn’t necessarily mean that I have to combine the two for the best possible career. After all, I do have other loves.
I’ve been thinking for a while about what type of work would be the most fulfilling for me, and I’m not sure that selfishly pursuing dreams of travel is the best fit. Yes, I love to travel. I love to write. I love to explore new cultures and cuisines and sights. But I also feel like I’d like to have a little more meaning in my work. A lot of the above seems selfish.
So maybe I can find a career that allows me to explore new places and peoples and languages, et cetera, but also allows me to help people. Or maybe I just need to incorporate that into what I’m doing and striving to do, career-wise. Maybe a little volunteerism? Or maybe I just need to rethink my idea of what I’d like my life’s work to be, and change paths a little.
I’ll keep thinking and praying and reading about it and exploring the ideas I’m having. Then we’ll see what I figure out.
I’m beginning to wonder if a career in travel writing is in fact the best one for me. I realize it sounds stupid to say that, just a few weeks after restarting this blog and being all gung-ho about travelling more and writing more during the coming year. But I also realize that just because I love to travel and I love to write, it doesn’t necessarily mean that I have to combine the two for the best possible career. After all, I do have other loves.
I’ve been thinking for a while about what type of work would be the most fulfilling for me, and I’m not sure that selfishly pursuing dreams of travel is the best fit. Yes, I love to travel. I love to write. I love to explore new cultures and cuisines and sights. But I also feel like I’d like to have a little more meaning in my work. A lot of the above seems selfish.
So maybe I can find a career that allows me to explore new places and peoples and languages, et cetera, but also allows me to help people. Or maybe I just need to incorporate that into what I’m doing and striving to do, career-wise. Maybe a little volunteerism? Or maybe I just need to rethink my idea of what I’d like my life’s work to be, and change paths a little.
I’ll keep thinking and praying and reading about it and exploring the ideas I’m having. Then we’ll see what I figure out.
A polar plunge to start the decade
(Originally posted Jan. 5, 2010)
The new year started off with a bang. Well, sort of. The bang actually came 12 hours late.
The New Year’s Eve party I went to turned out to not be much of a party after all. I went to my buddy Randy’s house, and as soon as I drove up I knew it was going to be a bad night. I began cursing when I saw his mother-in-law’s car in the driveway. I needed a buffer. So I called my friend Chad to see if he was coming. But he and the wife had other plans. Dammit.
So the New Year’s Eve party turned out to be a bust. I sat on the couch with Randy, his wife, her mom and Randy’s step brother, playing the Wii and trying to keep an annoying golden retriever puppy off the couch. My real New Year’s celebration didn’t start until noon on Jan. 1.
Basically, I froze my ass off to start 2010. About a month ago, I decided I wanted to try a polar bear plunge to celebrate the new year. So, I put an announcement of my intentions up on Facebook to see if any of my friends would bite. None did. I talked to some in person as well, and they all said they didn’t have the balls for it or they didn’t want to come out of their comfort zone or they just didn’t want to put forth the energy. That seems to be the case with most people, not just my friends and acquaintances, so I can’t blame them. But I wish more people would realize how fun and rewarding it is to step outside their comfort zone and be more open to new things and ideas. You have a more interesting life, with more stories to tell and better memories than if you just sit at home or go out to the bar night after night.
Anyway, enough of my preaching. The good news is, someone finally agreed to come along with me. My buddy Tom was back in town for the holidays and wanted to have an interesting New Year’s experience, so he met me at Pleasant Beach, along Rich Passage on the south side of Bainbridge Island. We were both nervous about the plunge, but it turned out the worst part was the five minutes leading up to it, during which we stood outside in 40-some degree weather, with wind and rain smacking our bare backs. Don’t get me wrong, the water was cold. But when the water is about the same temperature as the air outside, there’s not much shock involved in jumping in. It’s only after that you start to grow numb. So we dunked and ran back out.
After we came back to the shore, the air didn’t seem so bad. I was shivering far less than before. But it still felt great to hop into the shower when I got home an hour later.
Anyway, Tom and I were both glad we did it. I think one other friend is going to join us next year, if we decide to do it again. Maybe I can convince more of them to open up.
The new year started off with a bang. Well, sort of. The bang actually came 12 hours late.
The New Year’s Eve party I went to turned out to not be much of a party after all. I went to my buddy Randy’s house, and as soon as I drove up I knew it was going to be a bad night. I began cursing when I saw his mother-in-law’s car in the driveway. I needed a buffer. So I called my friend Chad to see if he was coming. But he and the wife had other plans. Dammit.
So the New Year’s Eve party turned out to be a bust. I sat on the couch with Randy, his wife, her mom and Randy’s step brother, playing the Wii and trying to keep an annoying golden retriever puppy off the couch. My real New Year’s celebration didn’t start until noon on Jan. 1.
Basically, I froze my ass off to start 2010. About a month ago, I decided I wanted to try a polar bear plunge to celebrate the new year. So, I put an announcement of my intentions up on Facebook to see if any of my friends would bite. None did. I talked to some in person as well, and they all said they didn’t have the balls for it or they didn’t want to come out of their comfort zone or they just didn’t want to put forth the energy. That seems to be the case with most people, not just my friends and acquaintances, so I can’t blame them. But I wish more people would realize how fun and rewarding it is to step outside their comfort zone and be more open to new things and ideas. You have a more interesting life, with more stories to tell and better memories than if you just sit at home or go out to the bar night after night.
Anyway, enough of my preaching. The good news is, someone finally agreed to come along with me. My buddy Tom was back in town for the holidays and wanted to have an interesting New Year’s experience, so he met me at Pleasant Beach, along Rich Passage on the south side of Bainbridge Island. We were both nervous about the plunge, but it turned out the worst part was the five minutes leading up to it, during which we stood outside in 40-some degree weather, with wind and rain smacking our bare backs. Don’t get me wrong, the water was cold. But when the water is about the same temperature as the air outside, there’s not much shock involved in jumping in. It’s only after that you start to grow numb. So we dunked and ran back out.
After we came back to the shore, the air didn’t seem so bad. I was shivering far less than before. But it still felt great to hop into the shower when I got home an hour later.
Anyway, Tom and I were both glad we did it. I think one other friend is going to join us next year, if we decide to do it again. Maybe I can convince more of them to open up.
This is why I got a P.O. Box
(Originally posted Dec. 31, 2009)
I just moved for the fourth time this year.
That means I’m living in my fifth residence in the last 11 months. The need to save money for travel drives me to live this way. That, as well as the need for some type of independence and the desire to not live out in the middle of nowhere, I suppose.
When 2009 began, I was working and living in Port Orchard, in the southern part of Kitsap County. Two weeks later I got a job in Poulsbo, in the northern part of the county. A week after I started that job, I moved in with my parents, near the center of the county but still a 25-minute drive from work. Living with my parents was a great way to pay off my car and to save money for travel – that’s how I saved enough to frolic around South America for seven months in 2007. But it didn’t do much for my pride or social life. So after about three months I moved into a one-bedroom apartment in Poulsbo, just five minutes from work.
The Poulsbo apartment was great, for the most part. There, I could have women over if I wanted. Something that rarely happened, and never in a romantic way, much to my chagrin. But I could also have my buddies over. Another thing that rarely happened, mainly because my buddies have huge TVs with cable and Netflix, and I have a 20-inch RCA tube and burned DVDs. Nevertheless, it was a nice little place that suited me well. The only real problem (after the upstairs neighbors apparently grew bored of intercourse) was the moisture in the air. A leak in the south wall allowed water in and turned certain areas moldy. One morning, I moved my bed away from the wall to find part of my comforter soaked.
So by the time I left Poulsbo for Kingston, I was glad to go. But I wasn’t too thrilled about my new place. It was about $200 a month cheaper than the Poulsbo apartment, but it was just a room in a basement. I had to share a kitchen and bathroom with a tree-hugger couple who were very kind but only gave me about one tenth of the refrigerator. The location was also no good. The house was tucked back in the woods on a muddy alley off of a busy highway (Bond Road), and I had to drive 10 minutes or more to get anywhere. I’m not a country boy, and can’t stand being cut off from civilization like that, so I decided the place wasn’t for me.
And then my dad mentioned something that motivated me to get out even faster. He asked if I had a window in my basement room. I said, “No. Why?” And he said, “Well, you have no fire escape. Your bedroom door leads into the kitchen, and if there’s ever a fire in the kitchen/common area, you’re toast. Literally.” OK, I added that last part. But we both realized it was actually illegal for the owner of the house to rent out that room as a living quarters, because it had no fire escape.
So I quickly started looking around for a new, cheap place to live. This was two weeks after I’d moved into the basement, mind you.
One of my coworkers said she and her boyfriend were also looking for a cheap place, and might want to share a house if I was interested. I was all set to start checking out homes with them when my brother texted me. He said it would be easier to pay his brand new mortgage if he had a roommate, and he knew I wanted to live cheaply. I thought about it. I knew he liked to get drunk and act like a dick every weekend. And plenty (but not all) of his friends are shallow bags of douche. And he was living one neighborhood away from my parents’ place. But he was only asking $300 for rent. In a brand new house. I figured as long as we stay out of each other’s way, this might work.
So here I am, back in East Bremerton. The house is nice, and my brother has been OK for the most part. But who knows how long I’ll stay here. Maybe a few months, until I save up enough money to backpack around Europe or road trip around the U.S. Or until I find an equally cheap place within 30 minutes of work and have the energy to move yet again.
But I’ll try to ignore the annoying parts and enjoy the advantages of being here in the meantime.
I just moved for the fourth time this year.
That means I’m living in my fifth residence in the last 11 months. The need to save money for travel drives me to live this way. That, as well as the need for some type of independence and the desire to not live out in the middle of nowhere, I suppose.
When 2009 began, I was working and living in Port Orchard, in the southern part of Kitsap County. Two weeks later I got a job in Poulsbo, in the northern part of the county. A week after I started that job, I moved in with my parents, near the center of the county but still a 25-minute drive from work. Living with my parents was a great way to pay off my car and to save money for travel – that’s how I saved enough to frolic around South America for seven months in 2007. But it didn’t do much for my pride or social life. So after about three months I moved into a one-bedroom apartment in Poulsbo, just five minutes from work.
The Poulsbo apartment was great, for the most part. There, I could have women over if I wanted. Something that rarely happened, and never in a romantic way, much to my chagrin. But I could also have my buddies over. Another thing that rarely happened, mainly because my buddies have huge TVs with cable and Netflix, and I have a 20-inch RCA tube and burned DVDs. Nevertheless, it was a nice little place that suited me well. The only real problem (after the upstairs neighbors apparently grew bored of intercourse) was the moisture in the air. A leak in the south wall allowed water in and turned certain areas moldy. One morning, I moved my bed away from the wall to find part of my comforter soaked.
So by the time I left Poulsbo for Kingston, I was glad to go. But I wasn’t too thrilled about my new place. It was about $200 a month cheaper than the Poulsbo apartment, but it was just a room in a basement. I had to share a kitchen and bathroom with a tree-hugger couple who were very kind but only gave me about one tenth of the refrigerator. The location was also no good. The house was tucked back in the woods on a muddy alley off of a busy highway (Bond Road), and I had to drive 10 minutes or more to get anywhere. I’m not a country boy, and can’t stand being cut off from civilization like that, so I decided the place wasn’t for me.
And then my dad mentioned something that motivated me to get out even faster. He asked if I had a window in my basement room. I said, “No. Why?” And he said, “Well, you have no fire escape. Your bedroom door leads into the kitchen, and if there’s ever a fire in the kitchen/common area, you’re toast. Literally.” OK, I added that last part. But we both realized it was actually illegal for the owner of the house to rent out that room as a living quarters, because it had no fire escape.
So I quickly started looking around for a new, cheap place to live. This was two weeks after I’d moved into the basement, mind you.
One of my coworkers said she and her boyfriend were also looking for a cheap place, and might want to share a house if I was interested. I was all set to start checking out homes with them when my brother texted me. He said it would be easier to pay his brand new mortgage if he had a roommate, and he knew I wanted to live cheaply. I thought about it. I knew he liked to get drunk and act like a dick every weekend. And plenty (but not all) of his friends are shallow bags of douche. And he was living one neighborhood away from my parents’ place. But he was only asking $300 for rent. In a brand new house. I figured as long as we stay out of each other’s way, this might work.
So here I am, back in East Bremerton. The house is nice, and my brother has been OK for the most part. But who knows how long I’ll stay here. Maybe a few months, until I save up enough money to backpack around Europe or road trip around the U.S. Or until I find an equally cheap place within 30 minutes of work and have the energy to move yet again.
But I’ll try to ignore the annoying parts and enjoy the advantages of being here in the meantime.
Oh, the joys of small town reporting!
(Originally posted Dec. 14, 2009)
Today I was lucky enough to experience one of the many joys that can only be had at a small-town newspaper.
Late this morning, a woman called and informed me that “something terrible has happened.” I was skeptical about how terrible it really was, since she added a caveat saying I may or may not even be interested to hear her news.
She proceeded to tell me about a charity Christmas event she and her children had attended, at which her children and six others were not given presents along with the other hordes. Apparently someone at her child’s school had forgotten to tell the event hosts that those eight kids would be there, and the hosts ran short on gifts. So a paperwork snafu had ruined the children’s faith in Santa and the idea of goodwill toward men (and women and children, etc). And now this woman wanted someone to pay.
I listened attentively to the woman and then to another parent who called five minutes later. On the one hand, I felt sorry for them. They were told they would receive a gift, and that gift failed to materialize. They had a right to be upset. On the other hand, by the first woman’s own admission, the children’s school had said they would pool some money together and buy the kids some type of gift. The replacement gifts might not have been as expensive as the ones the kids missed out on, but at least it was something. But this woman would have none of it. Her anger just continued to boil over, despite the school’s attempts to shake hands and make up. I started to lose my sympathy for both parents as the day went on and I learned more about the situation.
First of all, I felt like I was in the middle of a Jerry Springer episode. All around me was a bunch of he-said, she-said nonsense. The argument only affected a handful of people, and it was the result of a paperwork foul-up, by the parents’ own admission. Even in an 8,000-person town like Poulsbo this seemed pretty inconsequential. I could not justify writing an article about something so small and pointless. Yes, people had their feelings hurt. But the people who screwed up were trying to make things right. So where was the story?
Nevertheless, my coworkers made a good point that I could still write about the charity event itself. And in such an article, I could mention this little mix-up. The purpose would be to laud this wonderful charitable event put on by a large local business, and to show that it is not foolproof and that when things went wrong, the people in charge took certain steps to find a solution. That way, the company gets credit for doing some things right. And if they mess up or slack off on fixing their mistake (or the school’s mistake), we tell the public about it.
So at the end of the day, something that started as a little tiff between a school, some parents and a local business – meaningless to the broader public – turned into what will probably be a 500-word story on page 3, about a great charity event and the tiny glitch that almost ruined it. But I suppose you gotta do what you gotta do to fill space in a slow news week in a small town.
Today I was lucky enough to experience one of the many joys that can only be had at a small-town newspaper.
Late this morning, a woman called and informed me that “something terrible has happened.” I was skeptical about how terrible it really was, since she added a caveat saying I may or may not even be interested to hear her news.
She proceeded to tell me about a charity Christmas event she and her children had attended, at which her children and six others were not given presents along with the other hordes. Apparently someone at her child’s school had forgotten to tell the event hosts that those eight kids would be there, and the hosts ran short on gifts. So a paperwork snafu had ruined the children’s faith in Santa and the idea of goodwill toward men (and women and children, etc). And now this woman wanted someone to pay.
I listened attentively to the woman and then to another parent who called five minutes later. On the one hand, I felt sorry for them. They were told they would receive a gift, and that gift failed to materialize. They had a right to be upset. On the other hand, by the first woman’s own admission, the children’s school had said they would pool some money together and buy the kids some type of gift. The replacement gifts might not have been as expensive as the ones the kids missed out on, but at least it was something. But this woman would have none of it. Her anger just continued to boil over, despite the school’s attempts to shake hands and make up. I started to lose my sympathy for both parents as the day went on and I learned more about the situation.
First of all, I felt like I was in the middle of a Jerry Springer episode. All around me was a bunch of he-said, she-said nonsense. The argument only affected a handful of people, and it was the result of a paperwork foul-up, by the parents’ own admission. Even in an 8,000-person town like Poulsbo this seemed pretty inconsequential. I could not justify writing an article about something so small and pointless. Yes, people had their feelings hurt. But the people who screwed up were trying to make things right. So where was the story?
Nevertheless, my coworkers made a good point that I could still write about the charity event itself. And in such an article, I could mention this little mix-up. The purpose would be to laud this wonderful charitable event put on by a large local business, and to show that it is not foolproof and that when things went wrong, the people in charge took certain steps to find a solution. That way, the company gets credit for doing some things right. And if they mess up or slack off on fixing their mistake (or the school’s mistake), we tell the public about it.
So at the end of the day, something that started as a little tiff between a school, some parents and a local business – meaningless to the broader public – turned into what will probably be a 500-word story on page 3, about a great charity event and the tiny glitch that almost ruined it. But I suppose you gotta do what you gotta do to fill space in a slow news week in a small town.
Welcome!
I've decided to restart my blog, with a new URL and title. It is now called, "The Traveling, Starving Writer," as you can see. I hope to do a better job than I have in the past of updating this page with new, interesting content without too much procrastination. But I have to go right now, so I'll get to that later.
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