Missing the pitch

Sometimes it happens: you see the perfect story for a publication you're familiar with, at a time that hits the zeitgeist in a way that's a touch provocative, completely relevant, and yet not so out-there that it doesn't have mass market appeal.

And yet, something holds you back. It's a busy week. There are other stories. Or worse, you develop the pitch but decide to look at it again in the morning, with fresh eyes.

And then, when the morning comes and you step out to the porch to get the paper, you see your idea on the front page (teased -- I'm a "lifestyle" writer, after all).

It's easy to curse these moments, and yet, with more thought the situation can be seen in a more positive light. While I missed the byline and subsequent paycheque, in this biz I have to be a bit of a Pollyanna. So I've developed a few ways to remain optimistic at the whole missed pitch:

1. Confirmation of news judgement: If someone else thought of it, and you thought of it, and the story ran, then you're doing something right. (Just not enough of it.)

2. Getting on with the 'geist: Sometimes a story/ issue engages the writer so much that they think it marks some pivotal moment in humankind. It's rarely true, and often leads to fruitless searching for new ways to explore the issue, so missing a story might just a be an efficient -- if not financially productive -- way of avoiding all that.

3. No need to wait for that cheque: OK, I'm reaching here. A late cheque is better than no cheque at all, right?

4. Motivation for the next time I'm up to bat: Don't let it happen again! Fire off that pitch, follow up if you don't get a response, but don't let it happen again.

Don't blame your gumption (or lack of). Don't analyze the freelance budget. Just pitch, and pitch often.
(And always take your own advice.)

On Rewrites

Life's been pretty good in the freelance game, wiht editors regularly sending me quick-hit type stories and cheques coming in a few weeks after. I was getting into fashion writing, to the surprise of my rubber-boots-and fleece-wearing mom, and I was never short of work. I even took a month off!
(Well, sort of. On my honeymoon I wrote on the opening of a new Michael Kors store in Ottawa and contributed to KMKK radio/ MolokaiNews on Molokai).

And maybe it's true that "if people don't shop, people lose their jobs," but I was starting to feel like I shouldn't be placing all my eggs in one basket (no matter how fashionable that basket may be).

So I'm looking to health issues. I love physical activity, and I enjoy writing about that stuff, but medical issues are a bigger challenge, and probably a bigger market.

I should have known that this noble challenge I was taking on would mean going back to J-School, if just in terms of CP stylebooks and asking big questions about what the heck I'm really writing about. Yes, I got a big, overwhelming note from an editor saying that I hadn't answered some big questions and, worst of all, was writing in a promotional style. Maybe it was the year of fashion writing, because in J-school I think I was more inflammatory than promotional, but I took her comments to heart and ripped the article apart.

So last weekend, Saturday morning no less, saw me jotting down the gist of each point I wanted to make, then arranging them, then taping this arrangement to the wall in front of my desk. Of course, once I got my steam going I hardly glanced at this arrangement, but it helped me ask important questions about the subject at hand: the T-Zone machine, and exercise device that uses vibration technology to strengthen muscles.

And I still wasn't 100 per cent satisfied -- but my editors were. And I got more satisfaction out of answering basic questions about anaerobic exercise and muscle atrophy than I did finding the right descriptor for silk dupion (which I understand is made with double cocoons!)

PS -- I'm also hoping that rewrites lead to a better, more collaborative relationship with my editors. I know they're busy, but if I were an editor I'd try to make the time for this sort of thing. A springboard, a writing coach, a person to vent to. Once trust is there, it will make me work faster (and even for less. shh).

Free Stuff: a rebuttal

There's been a spark of discussion in my own media circles about the conflict of free stuff. Whether it's the packed calendar of the fall season or the new marketing plans of the NAC, I've had to ask myself if I'm too accepting of swag bags.

So here's where I come clean -- in a blog no one reads! I do accept the bags, usually with a humble smile and not a peak to what's inside until I'm home and/ or the heat of the deadline has passed. Usually I don't want the stuff, I cringe when the crinkly paper and pretty bag gets pulled out from behind the desk or between shots for a photo spread.

But I just can't be bothered to explain. Maybe I don't like their stuff that much, or maybe I just don't need more samples (though pretty bags do come in handy when birthdays come around). But I'm too ... polite? humble? awkward? to decline, especially since it would involve explaining journalistic ethics.

Speaking of which, journos have opinions aplenty when it comes to this situation. In a recent online discussion among Toronto freelancers, suggestions were made about where to draw the line. Apparently some newsrooms say if it can be consumed in a day, it's okay (though I hear this was in an era where heavy drinking in the newsroom was also okay, so 40 oz. bottles were passed around for swigs. Needless to say, a lot has changed).

And what about free lunches? The coffee'n'donut table at a conference? A ride home on a rainy day with an important source?

Okay, so the last one was made up. But I have to admit, I was left feeling like a very bad, very compromising writer by the time the talk dwindled.

Since then, I've developed a devil's advocate rebuttal:

I've said it before and I'll say it again: this economy is fucked. I don't mean the stock market or the way mortgages work (both of which are probably fucked, but I don't totally understand how either work). I mean the whole way that society evaluates work, paying huge amounts to bureaucrat, people who, over dinner, can't seem to convey exactly what they do all day, while others, like customer service people who really have to ability to impact others are kept at very wages. Or people with tangible skills, people who cook or fix or do the jobs that no one else wants -- they're at the bottom, too. Artists? Just live in your own mind, be thankful, shut up.

And as a writer, especially one for lifestyle pages that usually feature stuff that's only accessible to people who make 100K+, I can't really experience much of what my readership lives with -- except through swag. There are stores I walk by everyday, glancing in at the unique fabrics and wishing I was at least dressed better so I could feel comfortable doing a walk through. And then I get the opportunity -- an interview with the designer!

I put on my best, take a tour incognito beforehand, and spend more time than necessary with the source -- 'cause I actually like fashion and design and enjoy my job.

And then, the offer. The stuff is kind of weird, I want to try it on again, with the help of the designer's eye... and I'll never be able to afford it.

Fast forward to now, and I'm feeling bad about my choice and I won't do it again. It's my resolution and I've already tested it (though it was a swag bag and I did take a cupcake!).

Interviews ... I mean ... meetings

So I had an interview yesterday. Or at least I think it was an interview -- the interviewers had copies of my resume, I brought work samples, and we talked about future work possibilities.

But it wasn't an interview in the traditional sense: there was no coveted job on the line, and my expectations were (and remain) fairly low.

Now, I have gone for many an interview. Some have been fantastic, leading to successful stints and professional relationships that lasted long after I left the employer. Others ... notsomuch. I remember one particularly awful experience in the basement of a ski lodge that left me crying, broken down by the sheer struggle of working in a field that didn't fit. Needles to say I didn't get the job.

As a freelancer I have a much different frame of reference when it comes to dealing with higher-ups. When I meet or speak by phone with editors it's mostly about content, results, projects. We try to find what will fit -- we don't try to find that elusive bi-weekly paycheque. And I've been told (I believe it was by Craig Silverman at a PWAC event last year) that face-time really counts when it comes to getting gigs as a freelance journalist.

I could definitely have been more prepared for this 'meeting,' but I took the advice of a contact who has worked for years with this organization. She said be yourself -- so I was. Doesn't mean that self -- skill set, and all -- can't change, but they should know the truth about where I am now. I don't need to fake enthusiasm or sincerity, at least with this employer. I feel it's my dream employer and I feel like I've entered some other, better world when I consume their content.

So I will do more of this, and get better at it. I will take what I've got and see what they have, and see if we can't make something fit.

On Sullivan's Why I Blog

OK, so I'm late reacting virally to this manifesto. But my delay can be directly related to one of the points in the article.

And, because the piece was so choc full of reflections on the state of, and projections for the future of, all things bloggy, I'll stick to this one point.

It came at the end, when Sullivan was wrapping up his argument for blogging and it's place within literature. It came when I, having slipped off for a wee sunset-hour nap, stood up, said hello to the home-from-work fam, and returned to the comfort of my couch to finish the article. (It's no dis to the piece, I swear I have narcolepsy).

Throughout the piece, Sullivan defended the blogosphere, comparing (good) blogs to Pascal's Pensees, deconstructed his own development as a blogger, etc. And throughout the piece he insisted on the potential for the peaceful co-existence between conventional journalism and blogging. But it wasn't until his conclusion that it really hit home.

You see, I'm blogging -- and living, for the month -- at my to-be in-laws, at the top of a hill in a small town in northwestern Connecticut. Occasionally I attempt to make real-life connections with the people of this town, but I generally live in this one corner of the house (where I've found a one-to-two-bar wireless connection!)

Day after day I plan my reading, researching, pitching, etc., unable to live without a deadline (see previous post). Yesterday I decided to take a different approach and embrace this temporary state. I would read (picked up back issues of New York Mag,Psychology Today, Atlantic Monthly and Self -- Thomaston does have a library, thanks goodness).

Sure enough, as soon as I cast off the boxes of which magazine, which issue, which editor, which angle, which department -- in general, as soon as I stopped compartmentalising my whole approach to reading and researching, the ideas came. (When will the incandescent light bulb be replaced by the compact fluorescent as the symbol of a good idea? And is this delay a symbol in itself?)

OK, OK, I'm rambling ... but such is the way my playful mind works when my drill sergeant mind lets loose it's grip. I pause and look around and make connections -- sometimes days after reading the piece.

Feeling frugal (who isn't?) and limited by back issues, I've been trying to read online. Almost made it through this Walrus article on beards. (Maybe it's in their blog section, but it's long and 'full' enough to be an article). I did get through a short story by Claire Gibson on Joyland.

But after a few hours of scrolling, interrupted by the occasional tweet/email/chat I decided to head to the couch. And that's where I met Sullivan.

I had tried to read this a month ago, when the listservs were all abuzz with it. I made it to page three -- and I was proud of myself for that.

So how justified was I feeling when, having made it through the whole piece, Sullivan closes by comparing the act of reading online (using a "querulous, impatient,a distracted attitude") to the experience of "opening a novel or a favourite magazine on the couch. Reading on paper evokes a more relaxed and meditative medium."

Of course, Sullivan wasn't arguing one is better than the other. But for me, for this month sans deadlines, I think I'll risk narcolepsy and stay on the couch.

(Until I get an idea I want to bounce off the blogosphere, or find a person I want to track, or a new publication I want to write for, or ...)

Worn

worn |wôrn|

damaged and shabby as a result of much use : a worn, frayed denim jacket

Thanks to my friendly neighbour who came by Saturday to remind about Ladyfest on Saturday, I made it out to 'Not your grandma's craft sale' at the Jack Purcell centre in Ottawa. A first time for me, and despite the fact that I was feeling a little grubby, cheap, and irritable, I had a great time! I can only imagine my impression should I have woken on the right side of the bed.

My 'nose for news' has recently taken on new meanings, as I inhale with glee favourite glossies and train passengers -- somehow guessing my interest -- offer me magazines they've found. Likewise at LadyFest, I immediately found myself at the magazine stand. Or, at least, Serah-marie with her publication, Worn Fashion Journal.

Worn really struck me. It is indie yet polished, smooth and well-designed, with lots of content and visuals. The publication aims to bring 'a political, environmental, historical and cultural context to fashion,' and in my browsing I found articles on galleries, textiles, and the influence of music on fashion. Basically, it seemed, if it's high-end now, it could have started in the pages of Worn. Not to say it's a place for newbies aiming to hit the big-time (their writer's guidelines demand opinions and list the following words as 'Banned, unless there is a very good reason: Discourse
Uber
For example
this article
fav
fashionista
No, Worn seemed to me like the beginnings of culture. Though it looked much better, it reminded me of mold. Looks like a dot on the cultural radar, but can be brewed into a fine cheese we're all vying for -- once the marketers have stepped in to direct.

Of course I asked about contributing, and Serah-marie seemed interested, though we soon nodded appreciatively at each other about the business end of it all. No, she can't pay contributors. Hopefully soon, they all say. In any case, I enjoyed flipping and chatting, and told her that I liked the look of it, and would keep my eyes peeled for Worn around town.

But I'd barely passed a rack of shapeless T-shirt dresses (who looks good in those?) when my mind snapped to something I'd read in Worn. It was about Astria Suparak, a curator in Syracuse, NY. As part of her profile, she'd noted clothing exchanges as a source of inspiration. It was, in fact, the #1 item on her list.

I've been trying to pitch this story for a couple years now. Clothing exchanges as fashion inspiration, yes, but these events also serve as excellent 'social lubricants' (more on that later), and fit into the green movement better than recycled fleece. And yet, as of yet, no bites. The green movement is gaining ground, reaching a new 'tipping point,' they say, though there's hope yet for that angle. But still...

In my research for pitches to these stories, I often do some mad Googling, offering the search engine any combination of the words/ ideas Clothing + Exchange. The movement is growing, and I find myself excited about more hits, which is why I returned to Serah-marie's booth and took down Astria Suparak's name. More fuel for future pitches! This way I can 'prove' clothing exchanges not only happen, but have a special place in the world of fashion.

Alas, my discovery was bittersweet. As I walked away (Serah-Marie kindly let me take down the name without buying a copy) I realized something about freelancing and this whole 'trend identification' thing. Freelancing for magazines requires long lead times; you have to think months ahead and hope/ plan for an issue or idea to remain relevant. But it's not so much the logistics as it is the mindset of editors that was bothering me last Saturday.

Why is it that something must be written elsewhere, have a Google presence, or an NGO-affiliation in order to be valid?
and how long can something original and sincere, like a clothing exchange, maintain a Google presence without becoming tired, old news? After I write the article of my dreams, will the clothing exchange be 'damaged and shabby as a result of much use'?

On Turning 30

Yes, that's right, I turned 30.
The event was hailed with much merriment, a cake, and some self-reflection.
But I don't really do self-reflection. Instead I like to look around me for warning signs, red flags or, even, maybe, better things to come.
And, indeed, it's blue skies all the way.

Though my birthday was accompanied by those trademark 'April Showers,' I found out that in Namibia rain is considered good luck. If you are starting a job -- or a decade of livin' -- my Namibian Thinker tells me that consecutive days of rain is a good thing. For rain to follow you, she says, is a sign of flourishing luck and success. Yes!

But the self-reflection kicked in when, for the first time, I entered 3-0 as my age into the stationary bike at the gym. Thirty! Out of habit, or at least years of society telling us to hide our age, I quickly looked over my shoulder to make sure no one saw the digits. This from a person who writes her PIN numbers on her hand and keeps passwords on a desktop file named 'passwords'!

I digress...

As my legs began to burn and I realized that my peak heart rate had actually been lowered to adjust to my thirty-something heart, I thought of Laurel Archer.
I profiled Archer last month for a B.C. community magazine. This tough-as-nails woman is sharp, motivated, talented, sincere, and fun-loving. She routinely competes in multi-day canoe and kayak races (and often wins), she has recently been inducted into the 'Explorers Club' (kind of weird but very cool), and she is a published author.

O, and she is forty-something.

Then, last night I had this great dream about Judith Burch. I call her my American Inuit Lady from the East Coast. She's charming, astute, warm ... and she travels the world sharing Inuit art with children from Mongolia, Siberia, Japan, India, to name a few. I couldn't believe when she told me her age...you won't either so I won't bother ;)

In journalism there is an interesting practice of including the age of subjects. I often forget, and have to call back. The conundrum is similar to including the sex of a crazed gun[person].
Yes, it is a fact.
Yes, it helps paint a picture.
No, it is not the most important part of a story.
But when a young woman pulls a Columbine, it's the first or second word in a headline.
So when I found out the age of my American Inuit Lady, I pushed that factoid up in the story proposal. In this case, it adds to my fascination with her.
(my dream had her singing lounge style ... it was great)

Is it natural to be fascinated with older women doing great things? Now that I am officially an 'older woman,' I think I can chalk it up to admiration of peers. But sometimes it sounds condescending.

"O that's so great! You're out on a Friday night! And you're thirty!!"

It never rains...

...but it pours. That's what they say about freelance journalism and I'm currently experiencing a dry spell.
From actually considering turning down work just a week ago (of course I didn't), to firing off pitches like a Ritallin-induced paint-baller, I have officially experienced the fearful, changing seasons of freelance life.
For now, it seems like a right of passage. I'm living the life I've heard so much about, and that includes spending time in the trenches. My rent is cheap, my needs simple. The library, I'm finding, is a great place to escape the walls of a home office...though now that the main branch has wireless I'm sure it will become a second place of work.
But I am wondering how long I should roam this assignment-less desert, waiting for an oasis of satisfying, well-paying features to show up. Is a mirage (read: blog) enough to sustain me another few weeks?
Could it be that the entire magazine world is on hiatus? Perhaps adjusting to the onset of spring and simply going through their spring wardrobe?

I can help! I know the colour wheel off by heart! And I know both American and Canadian spellings of words like colour (color)!

Sigh. Patience, D, patience.

From my beloved library I found 'Steering the Craft,' by Ursula K. Le Guin. In it she emphasizes the need to work the words -- that writing may be a gift, but we need to work the craft of it, so that we can deserve it.
"There's luck in art. There's the gift. You can't earn that. You can't deserve it. But you can learn skill, you can earn it. You can learn to deserve your gift."
--Ursula K. Le Guin, Steering the Craft.

With that, I take a new outlook on my days devoid of deadlines. Rather than a desert, I'll see it as a chance to explore new waters, to play in the boat that carries me though life.
And as I look back to my last entry, where I questioned the place of writing in my life -- and wondered if I was giving it adequate room to roam -- I feel blind to what the world is trying to tell me.
Just write.

Fitting things in

What can I fit in between now and 22 minutes from now? In 22 minutes--21 now--the parking man will swoop down from his smart-car roost and drop a ticket on my boyfriends' car like a terd on a Sunday dress.
When can I fit in a run? a Blog? a coffee with an influential and admired colleague?
How many things can I fit into one day??
Only so many, I'm learning.
There's always room for more, of course. I can compile research files and make a loaf of bread; I can return emails, connect with editors, follow up on pitches and make a trip to Canadian Tire.
Or, I can let the day, with all it's weather and visits (sister and boyfriend!), nutritional needs and energy surges, flow as it will.
I can enjoy and blog peacefully, loosening my grip and slowly, carefully, micro-manage less.

IWD: A Journalists' Conundrum

And so it is, on Wednesday morning, I still haven't made a decision about the weekend.
Most of the time I couldn't care less about my nightlife, being pleased as punch to curl up around a laptop and watch whatever random pick I've ordered from Zip.
But this weekend is different—it's International Women's Day (IWD).
It also happens to fall on the Vermont Weekend, the weekend my friends and I were planning on visiting the Green Mountain State for a little White Mountain Fun (hosted, no less, at a hot tub- and horse ranch-equipped cabin in the woods).
For me, IWD usually comes and goes without so much as a high-five or a you-go-girl, but this year I'm writing about a unique event that's bringing female urban artists together at Babylon nightclub in Ottawa.
(Check out http://ladiesinthehouse.wordpress.com/ and come out!)
I've already interviewed the organizers——two DJs and b-girl——for the piece that will run in Saturday's Ottawa Citizen. I've already transcribed my notes, written the piece, and I'm about to send it...once it's out I can wash my hands of it, right?
Wrong——apparently.
The thing is, I can't stop hearing the voices of my sources.
It happens sometimes, with stories or people that really hit home. I used to think this was a sign that I was less of a journalist--a softie wanting to please everyone.
But earlier this week I read 'Reinvent Journalism in 10 easy steps' at
http://www.concernedjournalists.org/reinvent-journalism-10-easy-steps
Last on the list is 'Cover your community like it's your hometown...be invested in your community and care about its people.'
And I have to say, since arriving in Ottawa in 2003, I've felt nothing but welcome; I've seen artists rise up through the ranks and impromtu house parties foster new talent. Ottawa, specifically it's arts community, feels like a hometown.
And it's people like my 'Ladies in the House'that set the tone in this community.
It's easy to say I've done my part; I pitched the story to the Ottawa Citizen and kept at them to make it happen. I've done more than a $6 cover charge will in terms of awareness of IWD and urban arts in Ottawa.
I care about the people involved in this story and I've invested much mental energy in crafting this story. I guess I just want to 'show' it, by attending the event on Saturday (it's also gonna be plenty fun!)
But, as one of my sources said, "364 days of the year we're DJs, b-girls [and journalists]; but on one day of the year we’re really focusing on the fact that we’re women.”
As a writer, I was lucky enough to sit down and talk frankly with these people that hold down the arts fort in Ottawa.
As a woman, I'm proud of them...and leaning toward a weekend sans snow fun.
As a skier, it's tough. My mom visited Killington when I was a wee tot——missing my sisters' birthday. I've heard it's Amazing. Huge. Snow is coming on Saturday. In fact, were it Mother's Day, I'd feel obliged to hit the slopes instead of the clubs...

First Post: from the Tunxis Community College Library

Here we go...
For years, people have been asking me if I have a blog. Yes years! In Internet time that's a decade, at least. I've always been writing, hiding away my journal underneath my pillow, so I suppose it's a natural assumption I'd jump on the Blog Bandwagon.
And when my mother and my boyfriend both asked me, within the span of a week, "what's a blog?" I realized this media form had hit a pivotal saturation level. (My boyfriend is currently struggling through his computer graphics class, feeling the snickering of classmates as he learns the difference between a desktop icon and a screensaver; my mom is, well, a mom).
Then I tried to create my own website, using dotster and NVU and countless other how-to sites and downloadable applications.
Maybe it was because I was on the "Master Cleanse" (hot water + lemon juice + cayenne pepper + maple syrup, and nothing else) when I first attempted to get a site going, but in the end I gave up and asked for my domain hosting fee back. (So far, dotster seems okay with it, but I have to jump through some hoops and haven't received the credit back on my card.)
So there's the backdrop.
The stage is set.
I spend plenty hours on my macbook every day, I write in my journal just about every day, and I talk to myself constantly...this shouldn't be hard.
What strikes me now is the question: What do people want to hear?
Followed by: And should I give it to them?
Given that this is, so far, a completely random and wide-open forum, I feel tempted to throw caution to the wind and take advantage of the freedom.
And yet...I want a readership.
Which is why I took the journalism route—over the writer's path—in the first place.
Hmmm. My head is starting to tilt in that curious dog way. I like it.
And I have to admit that my slim macbook (no, not an Air) is becoming more comfy than a dog-eared diary.
I'm curling up in new ways, finding this community college library a nurturing home for thoughtful brewing.
I can dig it.
And I can hear those people, those that asked me about my blog, saying: I knew that you could.