Ex-writer's lament

Was going through a box in my garage and stumbled across a mis-filed folder.

The folder was my clip file from 1987 and 1988, my first two full years in journalism. It was filled with stories about prep football and basketball, local recreation, softball and bowling.

Some of the stories were actually pretty good; a decent turn of phrase here, a nice lede there. There were also a few stories that would have been much better at 9 inches than the 21 at which they ran. I'm sure some of them were heavily edited. But I know others weren't, and I'm proud of that.

My 13-year-old daughter, who's a pretty decent writer herself, leafed through the yellowed clips. "Wow, Dad," she said. "You were pretty good."

I don't feel it betrays my masculinity at all to say a tear formed when she said that.

I'm a long way removed from my days as a sports writer. I'm in a non-journalism job making a lot more money. I travel a lot, I see the world, I have a pretty good time and am in a pretty good place in life.

But:

I'd love nothing more than to freeze my ass off in a Midwestern high school press box next Friday night. Watch a football game, talk to the guys after it's over, and write a little story about it. I didn't realize, until tonight, how much I miss that.

 

What Buck said. Thanks, FNF...

 

if it's who you are, see it through and do it well. i do appreciate the post from "file" and know first-hand the dilemma of money versus craft and all the complications that result. we're here once, it's a short ride and all that...make a difference where and when you can.

 

ditto. we're the poorest people we know, but i have been truly blessed. i can only wish my three sons find careers that they are as satisfied with as i have been, crappy pay and all. 8) 8) 8)

 

Yeah, pal, it's easy to be wistful when you're making "a lot more money."

If you miss it so much, turn your back on your huge salary and go cover high school football in a driving rainstorm for some 15,000 daily.

Otherwise, I don't want to hear your self-absorbed poetic ramblings.

 

Perhaps, just perhaps, it's you who should be finding something else to do.
Just a thought.

 

Fuck that shit. Give me a dollar, dammit!

 

Cocktease.

 

Come on, dude.

 

you are angry. try and figure out why, and then go from there.

 

Can we now call you FileFound?

 

Given the apparent disarray of my filing system, it's a wonder I can find anything.