So I’m in Dallas at a journalism conference (being not just the copy editor, but also an article writer for the student newspaper); I’ve always believed that a news story lasts a day, but a book lasts long after the writer’s body and soul have separated. I remember in one of my English composition classes, my professor asked us to name a news story that changed our life; no one spoke up. He then asked us if we could name a book that did, for which several had answers.
That said, I like to believe some newspaper articles mean something to someone (besides the writer), so I try to write them with that in mind.
My parents saved every article I was ever mentioned in, which I’ve scrapbooked. Some articles do stand the test of time, if for no other reason than a person’s name is mentioned.
The above article, written in May of 1981, for the Daily American Republic of Poplar Bluff, Missouri, wasn’t very well-written. But, like a snapshot, it captured a memory (one my parents would rather forget, I’m sure); I have an interest in it, because my mom was pregnant with me when she and my dad were robbed at gunpoint. (But that’s another story for another day.)
I’m glad my parents kept this little write-up, for thirty-six years later, it gave me the idea I needed for the personal essay/narrative category I entered in this year’s college writing contest, entitled, “It Happened One Night in Poplar Bluff.”
So I’ve been poring over college newspapers from all over the country, and it’s amazing how much I learn from them. My head is so full of ideas, it’s hard to take it all in. I’ve also been attending different speaker sessions, and am supposed to leave with ten takeaways. (I already have quadruple that because I pay attention and take notes–it’s as easy as that.) What’s interesting isn’t so much what they say, but how what they say sparks ideas. I’ve been outputting so much lately, it was time to get some sauce for my noodle.
I’m learning about layout and design (not my strong point because I’m already in front of a screen enough), photography (again, not my forte, unless it’s taking pictures of my daughter or pretty things I’ve baked), and that’s because I don’t have a very good camera; I don’t have the proper tools. It’s like trying to bake with a crappy oven.
For now, I really like being a copy editor. I feel like I’m the finishing touch fairy, and one great piece of advice I got when we got our paper critiqued was that with copy editing, “the eye is good for catching grammar, the ear, for content.” Read everything you write out loud, because your eyes will fill in the blanks.
I was in Dallas with one of my fellow journalists yesterday when President Trump came to town. Downtown Dallas is like the city of rose gold, a veritable concrete jungle; I stood out there in the dry, Texas heat for almost two hours among protesters and beating drums, with cops surrounding us (that I don’t mind–I felt much safer), as well as the local news gal in her royal blue dress and flip-flops. All this we did, just to catch a flash of what we thought to be the car President Trump was in disappear into what we assumed to be an underground garage. I was thinking, I am so not this kind of reporter. I am such a columnist!
Being a weekly humor columnist would be my dream job. It’s hard to know what you want, not knowing quite how to get it, but I know I will always be doing what I love, and that is writing, no matter what job I get (whether it be copy-editing or medical whatever).
Even though I’m not cut out to be an editor-in-chief (I don’t want it badly enough) or a hard news journalist (I prefer a little more creativity and not “just the facts, ma’am”), I am learning how to become a better writer by writing all kinds of stories–from volunteer columns to book and restaurant reviews to human interest stories. That said, the only type of article I’ve yet to write is a sports piece–the thought of which makes me cringe, because I loathe sports.
However, if ever there’s another Intramural Archery session I can cover, I’ll make that the one sports story of my life.
Once, and done.