Things Change

What a fucking assignment that bastard! That will prove to be difficult. But I will give it a try, just need to find some type of conflicting, non-violent peg.Damn. That sounds difficult. I got one more assignment today. Then I am sitting my ass down in front of my computer and will give it a try.The only mother fuckers that are giving me direction in my writing is my former sports editor and some book store owner who said details are the most important part to writing.That is messed up. At least I can write he-said, she-said stories. Like I said, just need to train myself again to see the details... or impressions... which are what I called them. But whoever said it, I am sick of writing about who said what.And for some reason when I write, I lock up and lose myself staring into the facts stories bring. These facts mean a great deal to communities and governments – allegedly. But yet my personality does not stroke sentences in stories I write. But that is journalism, right? Objective. Fair. Away from thyself. Do not cast judgment. And tell all sides to the story.I studied little in college. But a few professors intrigued me to read Hemingway, Red House Burning, The Professor and The Madman. Others had me interested in geckos in the science lab. But I got sick. Went to the hospital and missed an interview with all these people waiting on me. I might have been nervous.In A Movable Feast, Hemingway talked about Cézanne and how hungry he was when he painted. We all could learn something from Cézanne, Hemingway said.I tried to compare writing to how Cézanne painted, by painting impressions. Of course this was not my idea – my professors showed me the way.I became obsessed with seeing details and how light hit objects, because after all, that is what Cézanne painted by. And I started writing impressions, which were short anecdotes about something that happened in the day.When I worked for the student newspaper, I was trying to stay away from myself. But I think I had it all wrong. Essentially I learned to let the facts take over when I write. And the he-said, she said syndrome moved in. But I worked on impression extensively. My work was not finished by the time I graduated college and I got a job and forgot about it.When Nick Livingston came to work for the Cushing Daily Citizen as sports editor, I didn’t realize I had lost part of my style. I was the managing editor and didn’t know a thing about grammar or spelling. And I didn’t know how to find news. And I really didn’t want to be the one held responsible for the news I printed. It took some getting used to. I was immune after several screaming phone calls from advertisers and subscribers. Once the student newspaper office manager said I didn’t have thick skin because I was not in the business long enough. Once in the business though, your skin clumps up.Recently I quit my job with a weekly and a daily and went to a smaller paper for more pay. It happens to be the paper the mayor owns. You could almost technically say I entered the realm of the dark side as far as news judgment goes. But I figured I would be able to afford decent meals, buy some nice clothes and maybe get a haircut.I get to report on other cities extensively and great freedom to publish what I want and cover what I want to. The other job limited me in a lot of ways.One of my first interviews for the new paper was a story on Charlie Wood, the owner of Marathon Discount Books. We talked a lot about authors. I am very ignorant of most things, being a reporter, so I listened intently to some highlights to the Keys literary world.And I asked Wood what makes good writing. He said details.Today my sports editor told me I need to find a conflict without violence for a story. So that is where I am. That is the difficult topic.I do not know how to move forward at this point. This is where I lock up and try to bring something magical out of the air and give the nut peg to the story. But the nut peg never comes and I never know what to write about.Oh the agony! Oh the story!Nothing. Nothing comes to mind. Nothing tells me I should lean one-way or the other.So, today at work an old lady boobs kissed me. She was drunk and trying to layout the paper. But the boss told her to go home. She wouldn’t leave. So I said, “Let’s go.” And she leaves right away with me.I was going to take her to Julie’s house. But I didn’t know if they liked each other so I took her to the Brass Monkey. On our way there she kissed me right on the cheek. It was sloppy and wet. I just looked at the headlights from the oncoming cars. I dropped her off without saying anything and she asked if she could kiss me. I said no. She said my loss. It sure is, I said sarcastically.Then driving off I yelled, “Run Jim run.”Sexual harassment is not cool, especially from old creepy ladies.The problem is there are no people my age down here. Long ago my friend said Florida is an elephant graveyard, only old people go there instead of elephants.But again these are small anecdotes. I do not know how to combine them into a story. There is the story of my life. Yes I have conflicts. I just got over one, the conflicts with my boss.But I do not need to write about it here. Not interesting. No one wants to know how you were tied down and had no freedom to exercise your creativeness.One problem I always have is burning out. I do not pace myself. It was a bit difficult not to burn out in my last job. At Cushing I could have done a few things different not to leave so quickly.So that is what I want to do with this job. I want to keep it for a while and do my best to write quality copy with my voice in it. And this is where the struggle comes in. Finding a writer’s voice is the most difficult thing to do, for me anyway. Other people seem to have a natural knack at it.