The Paths of Former Journalists

When someone sent me a link to an audio clip of an interview with former journalists in new jobs, I was curious to hear it. One ex-reporter found work in a scouting organization he'd excelled in as a youth. Another took his investigative reporting skills and transferred them into private detective work. A third, a former talk show host, is now selling cars.

Two of the three sounded like they missed some aspect of their old jobs, but writing was not one of the things they missed. I can't relate. Chasing stories or scooping someone else didn't excite me. It was always about the writing. My favorite part of the job often happened late at night in an empty newsroom where I was tapping away at my keyboard. Thoughts were flowing and the story was taking shape. In the morning, the story would be scrutinized by a deadline-pressured editor. At night, the story was mine. I could mold it and shape it like a sculptor working with clay. Part of the fun was in not knowing exactly how the story would turn out, and that's what makes this blog enjoyable. Plus, there's no editor to face in the morning.

Splitting Up The Daisies

Sometimes a project can seem overwhelming, like this patch of daisies. Each one demands your attention at the same time. Which one do you look at? Where do you start?

I've found success in these situations by breaking tasks into parts instead of trying to tackle the whole thing at once. This can apply to anything: a large work project, a complicated sentence or a household chore. It's easier to edit a few chapters of text to your satisfaction before moving on to the rest. If the construction of a sentence makes it hard to check subject/verb agreement, I mentally strip the sentence down to its bare essentials while I remain fully clothed. If housework seems daunting, I spread it out over a couple of days.

Some may argue that breaking tasks into parts is not the best way to approach them, but it works for me.

Why I Like Deleted Scenes

I like to watch the deleted scenes in the bonus material section of DVD movies, because I'm curious about what they took out. More importantly, I want to know why they removed it.

When I watch these deleted scenes, usually a producer or director from the film explains why the scene was cut. Often, the film was just getting too long. Just as often, the producer will say, "The scene just wasn't moving the story along." I love this reason, and so should any writer or editor. If something isn't relevant to the idea or the story, it has to go.

One director's comment took the idea even further. He said, "You have to be willing to cut your favorite scene." I could not agree more. I can remember running into this same dilemma while writing newspaper articles. I'd have a great quote from somebody I had interviewed, but I could not justify working it into the story. As much as I may have loved that quote, it didn't belong or make sense anywhere. It didn't move the story along. I had to leave it out. Although it was difficult to leave those great thoughts and quotes in the notebook from time to time, the stories were better off without them.

It Really Is The Little Things

Sometimes the smallest things can make your day, like this day lily I discovered in the yard. The way it grew and bloomed, it looks like a twin lily to me. And I love the color.

I told the previous homeowner that it was nice of her to plant so many types of flowers that I like. It's been fun to see what will bloom next. Just as one type of flower dies out, another one blooms.

It's similar to listening to the radio and wondering which song will be next. Or wondering where life will take you next.

Windows up? Ok, sing!

One of the difficult things about summer is that it's easier to get caught singing in the car. If the windows are open and you're stopped at a red light, there's a pretty good chance that the driver next to you can hear you singing. If a sing-worthy song starts playing on the radio or the CD player, I usually do a window check before singing. Of course, people can still see my lips moving. Maybe they think I'm talking to myself.

I remember being stopped at a light once when the person who was driving burst into some spirited singing and upper-body dancing. As the non-dancing passenger in the same car, I witnessed an entire carload of people laughing at this scene.

At a red light a few days ago, I glanced in my rear-view mirror and noticed something going on in the car behind me. The driver's hands were flailing around and thumping on the steering wheel. Must've been one awesome drum solo.

Here's your change and an empty cup.

There's something weird about a cashier handing an empty cup over the counter to a customer at a fast food restaurant. Somehow, it seems more satisfying to be handed a full cup.

It's become so common to be given an empty cup, consumers have grown accustomed to it. Didn't we realize they were training us to do some of their work for them? Yet, we willingly assist.

I'll admit there are some advantages to the empty-cup method. If you change your mind between the time you ordered and the time you reach the self-serve station, you can simply fill your cup with your newly selected beverage. Being able to control the beverage-to-ice ratio is an advantage too. And for the extra thirsty, going back for refills is easy. The store's additional cost of refills is minimal compared to the price of another pair of hands behind the counter. I'm assuming the cost savings was the reason behind the switch to the empty-cup method of service.

Saving money is probably the reason why retailers and grocery stores started allowing people to check out their own purchases. Instead of paying several employees to man a couple of registers, the store pays one person to float around four self-serve checkouts. The self-serve assistant steps in when a perplexed customer has a problem with a coupon or a runaway lemon.

Although I don't use the self-serve checkout very often, I have used it at times. I like to hear the machine say, "Move your (pause) bananas." Grocery shopping is boring. Find humor where you can.

Career Talk From the Piano Man

My favorite part in Billy Joel's classic song, "Piano Man," is when he talks about people who are doing one job while wishing they were in another. The bartender wants to be a movie star and the waitress is practicing politics. The guy in the Navy will probably be there for life.

Then he gets to the punchline: The piano man is just like the others he's singing about. He's staying in a job that's safe and familiar instead of challenging himself. The bar patrons ask what he's doing there because they know he could go on to a bigger and better venue.

It can be easy to stay in a job that's comfortable, but unemployment forces people to make a change. And while the tunnel of change can be scary on the ride through it, there's a sigh of relief at the end. Things worked out pretty well for Billy Joel when he went on to play larger venues.