Transitional writing

I've decided it's time for me to let go of being a journalist and just think of myself as a writer.

I realized when I was still working at the newspaper that many of the standards I tried to adhere to as a journalist were no longer valued, at least not to a point of being a priority among competing interests for limited resources of time, money and space. I had a hard time accepting this reality, which added to my difficulty in keeping up with other changes in the newsroom culture.

Interestingly, after I was laid off, I found myself trying to maintain those standards when I pitched freelance work, even when I was aware the company (or at least the department) I was offering to write for probably didn't care. As a result, I made work much more stressful than it needed to be.

Much of the stress came from the inner conflict regarding three key areas: integrity, transparency and value.

As I prepare to submit another story or two for possible publication, I've decided to try a different approach. I don't think I have to be a journalist anymore. I can be a writer.

For me, the biggest difference is that I can be honest that I'm writing about things I have personal interest in. I likely will be writing about things involving my husband's work, whether it has to do with events his company puts on or places we travel in connection with those events. I may write about events and places for which I'm given free admission. I may write about my church or my friends. I'll be upfront about those connections when I pitch my stories, leaving it up to the publication whether this is a deal-breaker. And I'll be honest in what I write. I won't say I like something if I don't. But I will tend to emphasize the positive parts of any experience.


Another difference is that it will free me from some of the survivor's guilt about writing for far below market value for a journalist. Sometimes I'd rather be paid a little than nothing. And sometimes, I'm more interested in seeing a story published than in getting paid for it. If I hold out for a fair price, my work won't get published for a local audience. I know that makes things harder for journalists, especially freelancers, who are still out there trying to make a living in this field. It's possible it will also backfire on me sometime if I need to re-enter the workforce.

For now, this seems the most honest and realistic path for me.

I look forward to seeing where it leads.

What's up

I'm not sure what's up with me and the blog. I keep having ideas to write about, but when I sit down to do it, they vanish!

I had three ideas earlier today and was looking forward to writing tonight. But about an hour ago, I realized, once again, the ideas had vanished!

I'm posting this, in hopes it might help clear some of the mental fog! (UPDATE: It did!)

Not feeling it

Even when things are going well and I'm surrounded by blessings, sometimes it seems as if something is missing. Today was one of those days.
It's Mother's Day. I sent mom a beautiful greeting card with a gift card inside. I called her. And I likely will visit on Tuesday. She knows I love her everyday, and I know she loves me.

I just feel a little sad that I didn't express it better. 

Even though I'm not a mother, many years I manage to be involved in celebrations of mothers. There was some of that at church today. Mostly it just seemed like another Sunday.

I hope it seemed like more than that for all the mothers.

Again? Yes.

So, I missed my self-imposed deadline again. The deadline was Sunday; it's Friday already, and I'm just now writing. And this isn't even what I have in mind to post. I have two ideas I hope to flesh out before the next deadline passes me by. I'm strangely optimistic I'll get it done. And posting this in the interim could help that happen.

A small step toward serenity

Last week, I forgot about my self-imposed Sunday deadline for a blog post until Monday. And that's all I wrote.

This week, I'm remembering the deadline on Sunday, but I can honestly say that taking time to write a legitimate post is not a priority. I have some ideas I would like to write about, so I hope I can make it a priority soon.

For tonight, that brings to mind the Serenity Prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

And Amen!

Oops!

Forgot that yesterday was blog deadline. Still no idea what I might write about.
(So I didn't write about anything.)

Defying or redefining reality?

I'm tired of people blaming every little thing I complain about on age!

Whether it's me forgetting something or not able to move as fast because of a new ache or pain -- or the washed-out color of my hair in a recent video -- the response recently often has been a reference to either to my age or as blatant as that's what happens when you get old.

I don't buy it.

I've been defying this crazy spring that keeps feeling like winter by finding ways to wear my lighter fashions and brighter colors while still staying warm.

And I realized I also was defying my age, although not intentionally.

Maybe it's because this year's birthday started out in San Juan and included several hours in the air and airports, with two time changes, before ending up with a few hours at home in Norman. I just know that it was probably a month after March 11 that I realized I was still thinking I am 58.

I was pulled back to reality when I was trying to remember my husband's age. It wasn't computing, because he's three years older than me, and the math just didn't add up. So I fell back to the trick that never fails when I get confused on ages, and realized, yep, it's 2018, I was born in 1959, I've had my birthday, so: 59.

That's still no reason for someone to insinuate that the reason my hair looks so washed out on an Easter video is because it's turning white or gray!!!! I mean, yes, I have plenty of gray, but that's the only picture ever where my hair looked like that!!!

So, I really am 59. Yes -- I will be 60 when the next birthday rolls around. That just doesn't seem right. But it really doesn't matter. Age is just a number and I don't plan to let it slow me down.

Maybe I owe a debt of gratitude to those folks who keep reminding me that I'm getting older. The reminders inspire me to keep defying the stereotype.