Writing The Column
It's that time again. I'm on a deadline for my quarterly column in Your Family magazine. I always panic and then miraculously come up with a topic at the last minute. I'm using this blog today as my warm-up. Between the total silence of my current study room at the library and my 24 ounces of Pumpkin Spice coffee I am hoping that I get something together soon. We can only hope.
This is nothing new. I can write a novel, four actually, but not under pressure. I wouldn't be a very good war reporter I guess, so you can strike that one from the list. By the time I started the story, overthought the topic and deleted it as many times as I do my column, the war would be over. So, there's that. My talent is limited.
I do not suffer from writer's block. Nope. I have a problem with performance anxiety. If I do it on my own time, I'm good to go. If I wait until the last minute I worry it's not good enough, the topic is stupid or my editor will fire me. I imagine him calling me into his office and shouting "THIS IS TOTAL CRAP. YOU ARE FIRED!" Then, they'll replace me with Gloria, The Greenhouse Goddess who will regale readers in the Verona area with tales about her Venus Flytrap.
So, there's that. I guess there are worse things in life but if I want to actually get to the point where I pitch my silly Roseville novels to some agent working on commission for a second-rate publisher, I'd better hang onto this gig. In addition, maybe I should learn to stop writing run-on sentences.
I usually get my best ideas in the middle of the night. I wake up and write the whole blasted column for the next edition in my head. This is usually about three days after I submitted the last one to my editor. You know what they say about the best laid plans...well, it also works for columns too. Not once have I published any of those Pulitzer Prize winners, just saying.
So, here are the ideas I'm noodling now...you know the story about the Frenchman who wore the SAVE FERRIS t-shirt to the lighthouse? Yeah, I think that could work until I remember that the last time I wrote about the lighthouse trip was way back in April. Hmm..nope.
Then, I started on a good thread and had a column about how people are crazy. Stay with me here. I'd kind of like to encourage people to laugh at everyday events. For instance, our library has an auto buzzer lock that unlocks ONLY on the strike of 9AM. No yanking, screaming, pounding on the glass doors works. So, every time I volunteer I watch people race into the parking lot like they are going for the pits in the Indy 500, park, jump from their cars and run to the front door of the library and yank on the front door only to find it LOCKED. Hello...did they not see the ten of us on the sidewalk also waiting for 9AM to roll around? Idiots. Hmm. guess not. Ok, if I worked that story up a bit it might fly. But, after I produce a witty punchline, then what? I also can't call people idiots. My editor wouldn't like it and say that everyone will know what library I'm talking about and he'll be mad when he starts to get phone calls or letters to the editor about my column. That could also lead to my demise.
The only time anyone has ever complained about my column was over a pumpkin pie recipe. I don't remember what the entire deal was, but some lady wrote in and said I didn't state where the recipe came from. Listen, every can of pureed pumpkin has the same recipe. WHO CARES? Whatever. I personally gave Libby's the credit and she was satisfied. My editor just laughed. Meanwhile, he was dealing with fires, murders and his own weekly deadline so hey, I guess he does have a sense of humor.
Then, I started on a good thread and had a column about how people are crazy. Stay with me here. I'd kind of like to encourage people to laugh at everyday events. For instance, our library has an auto buzzer lock that unlocks ONLY on the strike of 9AM. No yanking, screaming, pounding on the glass doors works. So, every time I volunteer I watch people race into the parking lot like they are going for the pits in the Indy 500, park, jump from their cars and run to the front door of the library and yank on the front door only to find it LOCKED. Hello...did they not see the ten of us on the sidewalk also waiting for 9AM to roll around? Idiots. Hmm. guess not. Ok, if I worked that story up a bit it might fly. But, after I produce a witty punchline, then what? I also can't call people idiots. My editor wouldn't like it and say that everyone will know what library I'm talking about and he'll be mad when he starts to get phone calls or letters to the editor about my column. That could also lead to my demise.
The only time anyone has ever complained about my column was over a pumpkin pie recipe. I don't remember what the entire deal was, but some lady wrote in and said I didn't state where the recipe came from. Listen, every can of pureed pumpkin has the same recipe. WHO CARES? Whatever. I personally gave Libby's the credit and she was satisfied. My editor just laughed. Meanwhile, he was dealing with fires, murders and his own weekly deadline so hey, I guess he does have a sense of humor.
Every three months I tell myself I'm done as a writer. My creativity has dried up. I mean what are the chances of continuing to come up with ideas here? Probably much higher if I started outlining my topic before D Day aka-Deadline Day. But that will never happen. I have quilts to make, cupcakes to bake, shopping to do and frankly I'm not that detailed as a writer. Which, probably explains a few things right there. My husband has a blog. He has his pieces all scheduled out ready to auto-post until March of 2020! He's an overachiever.
I've often thought about becoming a comedian. This would be in addition to my profitable writing career. I could stand on stage and tell people all kinds of funny stories. Yep, for about three nights. Then, I'd be out of ideas. So much for that.
Although, with the right audience I could spin that SAVE FERRIS t-shirt story many different directions.
It's just a thought...
Time to get back to staring at my empty Word Document...wish me luck.
Rhonda
