It just recently hit me how long I've been writing. I began my journalistic quest in my junior year of high school as a student columnist in the paper's school section. I believe I was 17 at the time. Ironically, I have no idea what my first published column was about or whom it involved. -- I'm lucky if I can remember five minutes ago. It's Alzheimer's setting in at an early age. Or maybe I'm just spent.
I'm 28 now, so, as I figure it -- I was never good at math -- the end of this year will conclude my 10-year writing anniversary. Yes, I'll be hoping for a silver star. ... But, no, I won't bash my head into a stonewall waiting. I'll just sit back and be thankful for what I've received during my writing tenure.
I wasn't a journalism major in college. I opted to flow in the direction of business management. In fact, I can only remember taking one class that involved some form of creative writing. But I learned journalism the best way possible -- from those who were a hell of a lot better than me.
My writing development began in high school with journalism teacher Chuck McAnulla who helped to open my 'brows to an entire unexplored world and presented me with an opportunity to initially get published. And it's been the people I've worked with who have continuously helped me mold into a writer with impact. I've had publishers who've always had the belief that I could achieve, despite my sometimes-awkward approach to topics; and editors that always made attempts -- despite my arguments and stubborn nature -- to have me close the thesaurus and speak directly from the inside. But there are also those who still cringe each time they receive a column of mine to edit. -- Even though my sometimes-awkward sentence structure and weird vocabulary organization sends them into heart palpitations, their way of making me sound like a genius has ingrained an understanding that continuously helps me develop into the columnist I've always inspired to be. I'll probably never be a Rick Reilly, but I wouldn't mind coming damn close.
Journalism isn't always as pretty and glamorous as it may sometimes seem. A very small percentage of the population will respond when they read an article or column they like, but a very large number of people will throw rocks at what they consider undesirable topics. But, as journalists, we learn to develop leather skin, knowing we won't always be appreciated. And we teach ourselves to believe that an adequate job was done providing fair representation.
I am now living -- what I guess can be considered -- the good life of an independent contractor. I have ultimate writing flexibility -- a little game of pick-and-choose.
It's been real.