An interesting article in Psychology Today brought back memories of graduation, specifically the morning after a rousing party with some of my peers in J-school.
The hangover had firmly set in, and a friend popped by to pick up ... okay, here's where the hangover-cloud comes in ... a cake? Yes, I believe it was the tray on which a celebratory cake of some sort had been consumed from the night before.
This friend, who shall remain nameless, always held a very esteemed place in my mind. The go-getter, the organizer, the one with lofty goals. AND she was NICE. (One time I even revealed my envy -- I mean, esteem -- for her to one of my teachers, who kindly said that this student had a lot of support from family in the city and we're not all that lucky. I've tried to hold on to that consolation in the years that followed, but as I watch her Skype location dart from one exotic locale to the next, it sometimes feels like just that: a consolation.)
So, in my alcohol-induced half-day depression, and with a bright-faced go-getter at my door, I collapsed. I let this girl hear my sad story about how I don't think I'll actually make it out there in journalism 'cause I"m just not... her. Not willing to file innumerable forms and put in countless years for a permanent position with a national media company. Not willing to volunteer my summers away in the hopes that I outshine the other unpaid interns. Not willing to trust that the future will all be fine if I just buy a pantsuit and keep my nose to the grindstone.
I can't remember what she said but it really didn't matter. She was nice, the hangover wore off, and I continued on with my own, unique career path. It hasn't been completely boring, but it's not a bio that would rock anyone's world, either.
But Psychology Today came at me today with some good news: the bad economy doesn't foster skyrocketing success, so we should just lay back and enjoy ourselves!
In A Vacation From Your Dreams, Judith Sills, PhD. argues: There's a hidden bonus in our mass loss of net worth ... It's a respite from ambition.
For Sills, the news her own competitor (well, a slacker she knew in high school) had lost his job meant a relief from the rat race:
"My own practice has felt the sting of this economic downturn and, if Marty has it worse, maybe I don't have to scramble so hard. Maybe I can just be grateful to be where I am."
She also points to an increase in the barter system and a genera 'giving up' when it comes to meeting annual sales. All of which sidelines the sideways glances. Sure, it's being replaced by communal fear -- but at least we're in this together.
Of course, it can't all be R&R, especially if you're the type to read Psychology Today. Use the extra mental space to do some big-picture planning. Go back to school. Or just step up to plan the Christmas party.
I do love the way she finishes this advice:
"Being forced to stand still can help you figure out if your ambitions truly coincide with your strengths and passions, or if they represent a younger, different you -- a restless you who will always want more.
Now, I've already changed career tracks once in this decade, so I'll stick with journalism (for now ;). But within these slow(er) afternoons, there's definitely room for cogitation.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Enjoying the down time
Is it possible? I used to be able to take the ebbs and flows of freelance life with ease, trotting off to the coffee shop for a session of reading and window-gazing on days like today.
The work keeps coming, this I know. But I haven't pitched a solid story in months, it seems, and I'm out of practice so I should be boning up on the cold emails and the perfectly crafted pitch. And the coffee shop doesn't feel appealing.
Maybe it's my new status as wife and dog-owner? I do feel a twinge of guilt when I spend money on myself, knowing my guy carefully calculates how many colour copies he can make with the bit of change in his pocket. And the guilt upon leaving Foster for anything that doesn't directly relate to filling his bowl (or meeting his vet appointments) ... well, that's a given.
Maybe it's just this new office. What's different? For one, I can't stare out the window at passersby. I thought that was a good thing, an attention-saver.
And another thing: we don't have a kettle, which means tea time is a confusing task of boiling water, standing by the stove (dont' want another *accident*), and then re-heating said water after the first cup is done. Might as well have taken the dog for another walk, with all the walking and impatient looks.
Lastly, the house is a mess. The last house was also often a mess, but this room is smaller. Fewer places to look.
That's it. This afternoon, I'll clean. It's the only way to justifiably use my time and energy in an act that will benefit all -- and hopefully feed my writing life.
The work keeps coming, this I know. But I haven't pitched a solid story in months, it seems, and I'm out of practice so I should be boning up on the cold emails and the perfectly crafted pitch. And the coffee shop doesn't feel appealing.
Maybe it's my new status as wife and dog-owner? I do feel a twinge of guilt when I spend money on myself, knowing my guy carefully calculates how many colour copies he can make with the bit of change in his pocket. And the guilt upon leaving Foster for anything that doesn't directly relate to filling his bowl (or meeting his vet appointments) ... well, that's a given.
Maybe it's just this new office. What's different? For one, I can't stare out the window at passersby. I thought that was a good thing, an attention-saver.
And another thing: we don't have a kettle, which means tea time is a confusing task of boiling water, standing by the stove (dont' want another *accident*), and then re-heating said water after the first cup is done. Might as well have taken the dog for another walk, with all the walking and impatient looks.
Lastly, the house is a mess. The last house was also often a mess, but this room is smaller. Fewer places to look.
That's it. This afternoon, I'll clean. It's the only way to justifiably use my time and energy in an act that will benefit all -- and hopefully feed my writing life.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Just say No -- to work
Not that I'm adopting a slacker lifestyle, or encouraging anyone to do so, but I've recently realized that I have a bit of an addiction (if it's possible to be mildly addicted -- is that a contradiction in terms?). To work.
I've never said no to a story, and this Friday I almost cancelled plans with a friend (not to mention my dog) in order to do a casual catering shift for a person I've never met, for a wage I didn't know, during hours undisclosed.
And I'm not even sure it's the money, though I do love depositing cash into my account. We just made rent, and all signs point to another month of steady work with my usual publications -- and maybe even a few new ones. Plus, we have this back-up account that we can access in case of emergency. It even earned us $23 last quarter.
So what's the deal with my penchant for work? I think it may all go back to my inhibitors -- or lack thereof.
See, back in my college years (and I mean that literally, not as some Americanized version of university), I drank quite a bit. Heck, I even enjoyed imbibing with gusto in during university, and for some years after. But my partner isn't much of a drinker, and my body says no, but during these years I often wrestled with the whole "why do I do this?" (often while wrestling w. a porcelain altar), and a friend in psychology offered some advice on the subject.
He said some people are born with more inhibitors than others, or should I say more "inhibitory neurotransmitters."
We all have both inhibitory neurotransmitters and excitatory neurotransmitters, but some have more than others. The later spark an action; the former tells the brain NOT to do an action.
The idea makes sense to me. It wasn't that I wanted to get shitfaced or really liked the taste of alcohol -- but saying no felt like a lot of work. And now, saying no to work seems like a lot of work. I'd rather take on the task and deal with the consequences than make the mental leap and say No.
But life is changing. My husband curbed my enthusiasm for booze, and now I have to think of him (and my dog) when I make decisions. I already made one big leap this year; maybe next year I'll try scaling back my workload.
I've never said no to a story, and this Friday I almost cancelled plans with a friend (not to mention my dog) in order to do a casual catering shift for a person I've never met, for a wage I didn't know, during hours undisclosed.
And I'm not even sure it's the money, though I do love depositing cash into my account. We just made rent, and all signs point to another month of steady work with my usual publications -- and maybe even a few new ones. Plus, we have this back-up account that we can access in case of emergency. It even earned us $23 last quarter.
So what's the deal with my penchant for work? I think it may all go back to my inhibitors -- or lack thereof.
See, back in my college years (and I mean that literally, not as some Americanized version of university), I drank quite a bit. Heck, I even enjoyed imbibing with gusto in during university, and for some years after. But my partner isn't much of a drinker, and my body says no, but during these years I often wrestled with the whole "why do I do this?" (often while wrestling w. a porcelain altar), and a friend in psychology offered some advice on the subject.
He said some people are born with more inhibitors than others, or should I say more "inhibitory neurotransmitters."
We all have both inhibitory neurotransmitters and excitatory neurotransmitters, but some have more than others. The later spark an action; the former tells the brain NOT to do an action.
The idea makes sense to me. It wasn't that I wanted to get shitfaced or really liked the taste of alcohol -- but saying no felt like a lot of work. And now, saying no to work seems like a lot of work. I'd rather take on the task and deal with the consequences than make the mental leap and say No.
But life is changing. My husband curbed my enthusiasm for booze, and now I have to think of him (and my dog) when I make decisions. I already made one big leap this year; maybe next year I'll try scaling back my workload.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Writing about sex
It's weird, that's for sure, to call up a sex therapist at 8:30 in the morning and ask for details about her weight loss and libido gains. And when she launches into a description of how women try to get in on while ironing or applauds the invention of sex toys, well, you just better have your nimble fingers ready to record these jems...
The story appeared in Saturday's Life section, allowed me to use the word proverbial in a lede, and opened my eyes to the world of a sex therapist. You can read it here:
Buy a big cake -- Nov. 18 is Libido Day
Somehow, even at 8:30 a.m. my fingers were able to record plenty of Sue McGarvie's quotables, but the fact is I censored her a bit. Though I mentioned her book chronicles her own sluggish sex drive, I didn't push her for details.
Why? I'm still trying to figure that out. I already know I am somewhat more prude than the average editor.
I know this from an interview for a position with a school newspaper some years ago. I thought it had all gone pretty well, and was looking forward to slicing down my student loan, when the editor-in-chief (/teacher) laid before me a hypothetical situation.
"There's a cleaning company called Rent-a-Wife. They have these small ads, with cartoon women dressed in french maid outfits. But they're a legitimate business and they want to advertise with us. Do you accept the ads?"
I said no, and I didn't get the job. Learned later, in said teacher's Ethics in Journalism class, that he's a stickler for freedom of expression -- and that turning down an ad like that would breach that company's freedom.
Now I've strayed far from Sex with Sue, but I'm just getting warmed up... the new D will write unabashedly about underwear (I'm going back for more plain white cotton... comfort is sexy, I learned at the steam room... except not with capoeira pants, then it's thongs all the way). I'll dig for details from sex sources and pitch more stories about whoopee...
Just don't ask for first person.
The story appeared in Saturday's Life section, allowed me to use the word proverbial in a lede, and opened my eyes to the world of a sex therapist. You can read it here:
Buy a big cake -- Nov. 18 is Libido Day
Somehow, even at 8:30 a.m. my fingers were able to record plenty of Sue McGarvie's quotables, but the fact is I censored her a bit. Though I mentioned her book chronicles her own sluggish sex drive, I didn't push her for details.
Why? I'm still trying to figure that out. I already know I am somewhat more prude than the average editor.
I know this from an interview for a position with a school newspaper some years ago. I thought it had all gone pretty well, and was looking forward to slicing down my student loan, when the editor-in-chief (/teacher) laid before me a hypothetical situation.
"There's a cleaning company called Rent-a-Wife. They have these small ads, with cartoon women dressed in french maid outfits. But they're a legitimate business and they want to advertise with us. Do you accept the ads?"
I said no, and I didn't get the job. Learned later, in said teacher's Ethics in Journalism class, that he's a stickler for freedom of expression -- and that turning down an ad like that would breach that company's freedom.
Now I've strayed far from Sex with Sue, but I'm just getting warmed up... the new D will write unabashedly about underwear (I'm going back for more plain white cotton... comfort is sexy, I learned at the steam room... except not with capoeira pants, then it's thongs all the way). I'll dig for details from sex sources and pitch more stories about whoopee...
Just don't ask for first person.
Friday, October 16, 2009
My first correction
That's not to say I've never written an article that included disputable facts or statements that might be seen as sweeping, presumptuous, or even inaccurate. But I've never been called on it. (In fact, in a few cases I've actually called editors before the article has run, informing them of an error. Often these realizations come to me in dreamland or in the wee hours of waking-ness... but thats another post.)
No, when I got a message with the subject FW: possible error -- and filled with messages from colleagues and supervisors tracking back from the weekend when some irate reader had called the newsroom to complain -- it was a first, most humbling experience.
The error came from some hasty research I did on HER2-positive breast cancer tumours, and the survival -- I mean recurrence -- rates of the women they affect. Yes, I switched up the terms survival and recurrence, which is especially bad because the whole article was about a website aiming to dispel the 'death sentence' reputation of HER2 breast cancer... and survival rates and recurrence rates are sort of like opposites. A low recurrence rate is good -- a low survival rate is bad.
In my defence, the study did compare these two rates. As reported in Science Daily:
"Our findings show that women with early stage HER2 positive breast cancer have a 23 percent chance of recurrence. In contrast, the five-year survival rate of all women with such early-stage breast cancer is more than 90 percent."
This made the correction tough to write, because I couldn't compare apples to apples. But I got some help from my editor, a few harsh words from a managing editor, and came up with this
And because I'm ever the optimist, I'd like to add on a positive note: at least people are really reading. The experience definitely connected me to my readership and, of course, humbled and warned me -- especially as I continue down the heath beat.
No, when I got a message with the subject FW: possible error -- and filled with messages from colleagues and supervisors tracking back from the weekend when some irate reader had called the newsroom to complain -- it was a first, most humbling experience.
The error came from some hasty research I did on HER2-positive breast cancer tumours, and the survival -- I mean recurrence -- rates of the women they affect. Yes, I switched up the terms survival and recurrence, which is especially bad because the whole article was about a website aiming to dispel the 'death sentence' reputation of HER2 breast cancer... and survival rates and recurrence rates are sort of like opposites. A low recurrence rate is good -- a low survival rate is bad.
In my defence, the study did compare these two rates. As reported in Science Daily:
"Our findings show that women with early stage HER2 positive breast cancer have a 23 percent chance of recurrence. In contrast, the five-year survival rate of all women with such early-stage breast cancer is more than 90 percent."
This made the correction tough to write, because I couldn't compare apples to apples. But I got some help from my editor, a few harsh words from a managing editor, and came up with this
And because I'm ever the optimist, I'd like to add on a positive note: at least people are really reading. The experience definitely connected me to my readership and, of course, humbled and warned me -- especially as I continue down the heath beat.
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Health Beat
As mentioned in an earlier post, I'm writing more about health issues these days. Weird how these things turn out: I wanted to diversify, and I like tackling complex problems and making them accessible to a general audience, so I thought I'd start contributing to this small health publication.
That should get my health chops working, then I'll pitch to larger, better-paying mags, I thought.
But then, about a month before I got my first official letter of assignment I got TWO health-related assignments from one of my regular editors. Coincidence? Maybe they knew I was ready for a change and open to doing the extra research the beat demands?
Either way, proud to say two article appeared in this weekend's new Life section!
Tellher2 -- about a new website that aims to help young cancer patients connect
and
Shake it -- about a fitness device that claims you'll lose inches in weeks (but it's not an all-in-one, or a weight loss regime, or..)
OK, so my party of coincidence and celebration about getting into a new beat is over. This beat holds plenty of important stories, like the state of smoking in Nunavut. This guys' face broke my heart this morning.
That should get my health chops working, then I'll pitch to larger, better-paying mags, I thought.
But then, about a month before I got my first official letter of assignment I got TWO health-related assignments from one of my regular editors. Coincidence? Maybe they knew I was ready for a change and open to doing the extra research the beat demands?
Either way, proud to say two article appeared in this weekend's new Life section!
Tellher2 -- about a new website that aims to help young cancer patients connect
and
Shake it -- about a fitness device that claims you'll lose inches in weeks (but it's not an all-in-one, or a weight loss regime, or..)
OK, so my party of coincidence and celebration about getting into a new beat is over. This beat holds plenty of important stories, like the state of smoking in Nunavut. This guys' face broke my heart this morning.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Editors: Aim to please or stand your ground?
A comment made on my Facebook page today, made by a former journalism teacher, made me remember one of my favourite lessons of freelancing.
I was a fourth-year journalism student with a hefty assignment on green roofs. He was a senior editor who made quasi-promises about printing (and paying for!) said article.
But after weeks of sending him well-crafted, overly-polite emails -- one of which included the full 2,500-word article -- I started to get scared. In his first email he expressed sharp interest ... so why didn't he return any more emails?
Finally, I changed my tune. I wrote and said I was scared I'd made a mistake sending the article. Though I prefaced the note by claiming ignorance on the finer points of freelance ("they don't teach us this is J-school"), I ended with the aggressive "I hope I don't see this article, with the same sources but under a different byline, in a future edition of your newspaper."
Well, that got a response!
"I'll give you some advice about freelancing," the editor wrote, "don't go around accusing senior editors of stealing your story."
Whoa. Was i shut down or what?! I took his advice, and got more comfortable in my powerless freelancer position.
The thing is, just year later, I was on staff at that publication, and of course it wasn't long before I ran into that editor. Yes, he remembered me -- he even remember my article.
And a couple months later he recommended me for an article that dealt with some of the issues my original assignment had schooled me in. Because I was a copy editor at the time, I was able to earn some extra cash writing it, put my knowledge gained from the previous article to use, and give my freelance hopes a boost.
So did I make a mistake that day when I made such an accusation? I'm still not sure. I think I'd rather be remembered as someone who stepped out of line than forgotten among the heap of freelance pitches. And it remains a favourite story ... 'cause it helped lead me to give up the copy desk and write many more stories.
I was a fourth-year journalism student with a hefty assignment on green roofs. He was a senior editor who made quasi-promises about printing (and paying for!) said article.
But after weeks of sending him well-crafted, overly-polite emails -- one of which included the full 2,500-word article -- I started to get scared. In his first email he expressed sharp interest ... so why didn't he return any more emails?
Finally, I changed my tune. I wrote and said I was scared I'd made a mistake sending the article. Though I prefaced the note by claiming ignorance on the finer points of freelance ("they don't teach us this is J-school"), I ended with the aggressive "I hope I don't see this article, with the same sources but under a different byline, in a future edition of your newspaper."
Well, that got a response!
"I'll give you some advice about freelancing," the editor wrote, "don't go around accusing senior editors of stealing your story."
Whoa. Was i shut down or what?! I took his advice, and got more comfortable in my powerless freelancer position.
The thing is, just year later, I was on staff at that publication, and of course it wasn't long before I ran into that editor. Yes, he remembered me -- he even remember my article.
And a couple months later he recommended me for an article that dealt with some of the issues my original assignment had schooled me in. Because I was a copy editor at the time, I was able to earn some extra cash writing it, put my knowledge gained from the previous article to use, and give my freelance hopes a boost.
So did I make a mistake that day when I made such an accusation? I'm still not sure. I think I'd rather be remembered as someone who stepped out of line than forgotten among the heap of freelance pitches. And it remains a favourite story ... 'cause it helped lead me to give up the copy desk and write many more stories.
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