Well, I got a job.
Tuesday I was in town to see an old friend, Beth. We met up at the Grind (a popular, or, I should perhaps say, populist coffee shop down by Jess Ranch in Apple Valley), and spent two hours happily catching up and discussing our literary pursuits. She has about twenty or so science fiction stories which she's trying to spin into full-length novels. I, of course, am working on my overweening epic of an allegorical, science-fiction-cum-historical-fiction series. We both expressed genuine interest in each other's ideas and encouraged one another to continue writing. It was a lovely way to spend a morning. I sipped green tea while she told me about her successful ascent of Mount Whitney; I briefed her on my time in Korea. We also discussed dreams at length. She, fortunately, has a memory which allows her to remember the somnolent vagaries of her subconscious. I, cursed with a stringently photographic memory, can remember perhaps five or so dreams I've had in my entire life, and even then only flashes and images.
Following this, however, I did errands, one of which entailed an exhaustive battle through traffic into Victorville to stop by the office of the newspaper which services the tri-city area, and even distant subscribers in Barstow and Phelan. I wanted to say hello to Ron, the editor. You know, clue him in that I was back in town, see how things were going around the vicinity, et cetera. Earlier in the month I'd submitted an application for an open reporter's position. My errand that Tuesday morning turned out to be fortuitous, as Ron had not received my application. (It must've gotten lost in cyberspace.) He encouraged me to send it with all dispatch, so I sent it in later that day.
Wednesday at eleven I got a call on my cell phone. Ron said that he might "have something for me." That didn't sound much like my old reporter internship, but I decided to go with the flow; no other opportunities were forthcoming. Ron said he'd place a call to staffing service to sign some forms. A little while later I received a call from them and was asked to come in later that afternoon. I did, signed all the forms (which took an hour; everything from a skills list to a W-4), and went to work that very same day.
I said earlier that I got "a job" instead of "the job" because I didn't get my old job back, as it turns out. It's something a little different this time around. It's a sort of clerical-cum-journalistic position. You see, one of the paper's copywriters is on leave. So, the editorial assistant, Mark, is filling in for him on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So, therefore, I am filling in for Mark on those days. Wednesdays I am a sort of general assignment reporter. And that's my job: 8:30 to 5:30 on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.
Oh well, it's worked out pretty well so far. On that first day (when I was in for just three hours, from two to five-thirty) I just got some basic training in how to do obituaries and letters to the editor, typing up a few of each and submitting them. Yesterday I did some bigger stuff. I created a feature story on a member of the Order of St. John of God who won the St. Mary Foundation's 2009 Samaritan of the Year Award, including an interview. He was a willing interviewee, but I was a bit nervous. I haven't done this in years, you know. Jim, the head photographer, was cool as heck, calmly snapping pictures while I fumbled with my notebook and staggered my way through my questions.
Today was a bit rougher. I didn't know this, but apparently I'm expected to be churning out short stories for the newspaper on a daily basis. Makes sense, I suppose; but I thought I was just filling in. I got a rude awakening today, somewhere between working on three different stories at once (a piece on the volunteer network that the mayor of Hesperia is trying to get started, a follow-up on an aerial geological survey that was conducted a month or so back, and something about a fake-check scam that happened in Apple Valley in May to a frame-store owner) and being reminded by a serious yet kindly Ron that I was taking far too long to collect information. All my phone calls to sources ought to be finished up by two, or even before, you see. Otherwise people go to lunch. It's Friday to boot, what Ron calls "Bureaucrat Friday" when government personnel can't honestly be expected to be available or even cogent.
(If you're wondering why I was in on a Friday, Ron called me in to churn out those stories for the weekend edition.)
Anyway, all day it was rush rush rush, go go go. Not that I'm complaining, mind. It's a daily newspaper. That's how things are sometimes. But it's been a while since I was in that kind of environment, and it was a tad stressful, especially since I'm trying to conjure up all this old knowledge that I'd half forgotten: AP style, confidence in telephoning a complete stranger for information, and the like. I was working on multiple projects, and never seemed to get a minute to breath, constantly worried about letting Ron down or blowing this one chance I'd been given. Foolish woes of a first- (or second-) timer, eh? But they were no less real for that. By the end of the day (which came at four; I wouldn't be in on Saturday, so after deadline there wasn't much left for me to do) I was drained. I was only too glad to loll lazily back home, change clothes, and loll into my armchair in front of my laptop for a long evening's vegetation, succored by the thought of Saturday on the morrow.
And that's the job I've got, and shall have for the next three months. Whaddya think?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
working for the newspaper
Well, I got a job.
Tuesday I was in town to see an old friend, Beth. We met up at the Grind (a popular, or, I should perhaps say, populist coffee shop down by Jess Ranch in Apple Valley), and spent two hours happily catching up and discussing our literary pursuits. She has about twenty or so science fiction stories which she's trying to spin into full-length novels. I, of course, am working on my overweening epic of an allegorical, science-fiction-cum-historical-fiction series. We both expressed genuine interest in each other's ideas and encouraged one another to continue writing. It was a lovely way to spend a morning. I sipped green tea while she told me about her successful ascent of Mount Whitney; I briefed her on my time in Korea. We also discussed dreams at length. She, fortunately, has a memory which allows her to remember the somnolent vagaries of her subconscious. I, cursed with a stringently photographic memory, can remember perhaps five or so dreams I've had in my entire life, and even then only flashes and images.
Following this, however, I did errands, one of which entailed an exhaustive battle through traffic into Victorville to stop by the office of the newspaper which services the tri-city area, and even distant subscribers in Barstow and Phelan. I wanted to say hello to Ron, the editor. You know, clue him in that I was back in town, see how things were going around the vicinity, et cetera. Earlier in the month I'd submitted an application for an open reporter's position. My errand that Tuesday morning turned out to be fortuitous, as Ron had not received my application. (It must've gotten lost in cyberspace.) He encouraged me to send it with all dispatch, so I sent it in later that day.
Wednesday at eleven I got a call on my cell phone. Ron said that he might "have something for me." That didn't sound much like my old reporter internship, but I decided to go with the flow; no other opportunities were forthcoming. Ron said he'd place a call to staffing service to sign some forms. A little while later I received a call from them and was asked to come in later that afternoon. I did, signed all the forms (which took an hour; everything from a skills list to a W-4), and went to work that very same day.
I said earlier that I got "a job" instead of "the job" because I didn't get my old job back, as it turns out. It's something a little different this time around. It's a sort of clerical-cum-journalistic position. You see, one of the paper's copywriters is on leave. So, the editorial assistant, Mark, is filling in for him on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So, therefore, I am filling in for Mark on those days. Wednesdays I am a sort of general assignment reporter. And that's my job: 8:30 to 5:30 on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.
Oh well, it's worked out pretty well so far. On that first day (when I was in for just three hours, from two to five-thirty) I just got some basic training in how to do obituaries and letters to the editor, typing up a few of each and submitting them. Yesterday I did some bigger stuff. I created a feature story on a member of the Order of St. John of God who won the St. Mary Foundation's 2009 Samaritan of the Year Award, including an interview. He was a willing interviewee, but I was a bit nervous. I haven't done this in years, you know. Jim, the head photographer, was cool as heck, calmly snapping pictures while I fumbled with my notebook and staggered my way through my questions.
Today was a bit rougher. I didn't know this, but apparently I'm expected to be churning out short stories for the newspaper on a daily basis. Makes sense, I suppose; but I thought I was just filling in. I got a rude awakening today, somewhere between working on three different stories at once (a piece on the volunteer network that the mayor of Hesperia is trying to get started, a follow-up on an aerial geological survey that was conducted a month or so back, and something about a fake-check scam that happened in Apple Valley in May to a frame-store owner) and being reminded by a serious yet kindly Ron that I was taking far too long to collect information. All my phone calls to sources ought to be finished up by two, or even before, you see. Otherwise people go to lunch. It's Friday to boot, what Ron calls "Bureaucrat Friday" when government personnel can't honestly be expected to be available or even cogent.
(If you're wondering why I was in on a Friday, Ron called me in to churn out those stories for the weekend edition.)
Anyway, all day it was rush rush rush, go go go. Not that I'm complaining, mind. It's a daily newspaper. That's how things are sometimes. But it's been a while since I was in that kind of environment, and it was a tad stressful, especially since I'm trying to conjure up all this old knowledge that I'd half forgotten: AP style, confidence in telephoning a complete stranger for information, and the like. I was working on multiple projects, and never seemed to get a minute to breath, constantly worried about letting Ron down or blowing this one chance I'd been given. Foolish woes of a first- (or second-) timer, eh? But they were no less real for that. By the end of the day (which came at four; I wouldn't be in on Saturday, so after deadline there wasn't much left for me to do) I was drained. I was only too glad to loll lazily back home, change clothes, and loll into my armchair in front of my laptop for a long evening's vegetation, succored by the thought of Saturday on the morrow.
And that's the job I've got, and shall have for the next three months. Whaddya think?
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