Media and me

After thinking of the above title I realized it was also a play on the title of a book I'm finishing called Acedia and me: A Marriage, Monks, and A Writer's Life by Kathleen Norris. (In the link, Norris defines acedia as "the spiritual aspect of sloth.") If anyone deserves the title of "a writer's writer," surely it is Norris. A poet as well as prose master, her books are packed with meaning. She writes about the day to day, but with references to literature, scripture, the words of ancient monks, and her past life. Rich stuff.

My reason for bringing her up is that Norris especially illustrates to me how (as per my last post) books connect us to an author. Over the years I feel I have "come to know" Norris--at least in ways she has chosen to reveal herself. (Analogies to God's self revelation in scripture, perhaps?)

But speaking of self-revelation (and getting to "Media and me") I wanted to say something about my own evolving interactions with media over the years.

When I was a child, there was TV (a few channels), radio, and printed matter. That was it. Before I could read or write I felt attracted to writing, perhaps because my father, a prof, read voraciously and had a "study" full of books. I occasionally went into the room, put paper in the Underwood and tapped the underline key. I wanted to create the look of lined paper. When asked what I was up to, I would say, "It's for when I learn to write." As far as I recall my father never reprimanded me about it.

In a few years I did learn to write and to love it. In junior high I wrote my brother, away at school, "monster letters" and faithfully kept a diary for the year 1963. I loved English, even grammar and diagramming, and especially loved Creative Writing in Grade 12. I majored in English, wrote a column for the college paper one year and edited it the next. After graduation I took a single course in "print journalism" (learning elements I had missed) and began writing features for a local daily newspaper. I then landed a job as a reporter for a small weekly and stayed there just under three years. I remember it as the happiest time of my working life. I could hardly believe they paid me to do what I loved.

There was a simplicity to pursuing a media career in those days. The path seemed clear. The teacher of that journalism class (himself a former newspaper editor) told me to put my published stuff in a binder. Drive around to small newspapers. Walk in. Ask to see the editor and show him your stuff. Leave your resume. Even if he has no job, he may remember you when he does. So I did as he suggested and it worked. After visiting a dozen or so papers, one day I walked out with a job. "We were just about to put an ad in the Globe and Mail," said the publisher, "but since you're here..." I walked out the door feeling three feet off the ground.

In those days, if you had elementary skills and were "willing to go anywhere," as my teacher put it, landing a job in the field seemed doable. People with skills had value. Newspapers made bucks from ads, but needed copy to sell ads. The formula was simple. Today, as we know, that formula has failed many renowned newspapers. The New York Times and Washington Post subsidize their print operations through other enterprises. Perhaps it still is possible to acquire a starting position on certain community newspapers (which have proven more resilient than urban dailies) using the show-and-tell method I was taught. But even those opportunities are fewer in number, as this premiere website for jobs in Canada reflects.

For most journalists and writers of my generation, the way forward now seems more complicated. Blog, we are told. Create a "web presence." Write in a "web friendly" manner. While you're at it, acquire technical skills to become a webmaster. Learn how to make sure your stuff appears on the first page of Google. And so on. And on.

Oldsters can learn new things, of course, but it takes us longer. Today it seems to take me two or three hours to learn what used to take an hour. And doing so can feel like pulling hen's teeth. Adding pressure is the fact that sand in the hour glass of life is running out. How best should I use what is left? What I really want to do with the remainder (keeping in mind "if God wills") is to write. Write! My desire is the same as when I tried to create my own writing paper with my father's typewriter.

Now perhaps you better understand the meaning behind this blog's title and description. My own answers to the "Why write?" question are a work in progress. Based on my genes and life experience, I face it anew every morning. Perhaps every writer does, whether or not they often think about it.

I hope some of you will feel free to join me in this quest and, whatever your age or background, tell us about your own.