Stories That Have Broken You

I've done similiar stories like the rest of you, but I guess it doesn't affect me in the same way as Jones. I let myself feel bad for that person only untill I've finished the story and then never think about it, at least not on a regular basis. Bad things happen to good and bad people every day. Can't let yourself get caught in that ungly web.

 

His heart just stopped. It was a genetic disorder of some sort, can't quite remember the name of it now.

 

I want to live where you live. We're up to our seventh homicide this year ... wait, I think I need to check the papers before I say that ...

 

Come on over. We have hockey.

I just don't ever want to have to cover another murder.

 

So far, 21 gets my vote for the story that's made me happiest. My friend, 30,000 words is a lot to hit delete on. That is some serious shit.

And don't get me wrong, guys -- I'm not feeling sorry for myself, I don't think. Kindred (channeling Hemingway) nailed it -- empty and fucked out, more like it. And the problem is, I've been working on this thing so long, I have no idea if it's any good. (That's not false modesty talking; I really am baffled.) I just read through it slowly and carefully, and managed to cut all of 31 words. I just can't see past it. I've never had that before, not with a book, not with a long story, not with a sad story. It's a weird feeling.

I guess I'll send it in to my boss tomorrow, and jump every time the phone rings. I hope he has a bunch of changes, just so I can start seeing the story differently. Hopefully he doesn't say, "Cut it to 5,000 words." Then I really will feel sorry for myself.

In the meantime, more blood please. Vampire's thirsty.

 

Seven homicides and you're COMPLAINING?

If my area had seven homicides since Jan. 1, we'd be pleasantly surprised at how few we've had. We sometimes get seven homicides in three days here.

 

I hope you decked the player and the agent.

 

If your editor said "cut it to 5,000 words," I'm not sure if I'd cry for you or laugh at you.

 

A story that broke me before I ever wrote it...

A high school football player in our county dies from an accidentally self-inflicted gunshot wound; a friend shows him the gun, he takes it, it goes off. He's shot in the stomach and never makes it through the night. This really affects the community for some reason, a place where murders aren't the norm but aren't quite uncommon, either. The kid was a decent prospect; he was a defensive player first, one that had played LB but was small enough to move to safety in college.

We plan to cover the memorial service and, a day later, the funeral, held at a chapel that seats 3,500 to accommodate the expected crowd. I'm assigned to cover the funeral - with four days to think about it.

I can't get anything out of my head, not for a minute. How am I going to do this? Am I going to get anyone to speak candidly about the kid? Will I remember the details? Where will I sit? Do I view the casket? Do I pray in front of it? Will it be somber or festive? What jacket and tie do I wear? How do I keep myself invisible?

Personally, I keep asking myself: How am I going to deal with this? How long will it affect me afterwards? How many sleepless nights will I endure thinking about the tragedy of it all?

Two nights before the funeral, I have one of them. I go to bed at 3. Can't sleep. Thinking about all of the above, the afterlife and how I'm going to mask my own insecurities while doing my job. Sun starts to creep under my door (I lived in an interior room on the lowest level of a three-level condo); it's 5 a.m. Six a.m., nowhere close to sleeping. My heart won't slow down. I can't catch my breath. I go out for some fresh air and a short walk, which does nothing.

I figure my only other option is to go to the ER. My heart rate's still through the roof and I still can't catch my breath. They found nothing wrong with me, so as best I can tell, I had a panic attack. At some point while getting bloodwork done, I finally calmed down - perhaps with the security of knowing that if shit's gonna happen, I can't be in a better place.

Two days later, I cover the funeral and write a pretty damn good story - details, a candid interview, everything pertinent that happened.

Maybe it wasn't so much the story, maybe it's my own shortcomings... since I wonder if this will haunt me when I go to bed in two hours.

 

My four months on the news beat back in 2003 forced me to see more things than I ever need to see in a single lifetime. It was the murder-suicide that wigged me out ... standing outside the house, waiting for the coroner, and watching the cops escort out the screaming four-year-old who got to watch daddy blow mommy's head off.

Yes, complaining. You can have your seven homicides in three days. I live in Canada. We don't do that shit up here. At least not in any of the cities I've ever lived.

 

Jones-

You need to fish out your copy of Richard Ford's The Sportswriter and cuddle up to it for a couple of days. Usually works for me.

 

I've got two that really stick with me, but I don't think they are exactly what Jones is talking about. The first one is nothing nearly as dramatic as somebody dying.

One was a long-term project I co-wrote about academic standards and the impact on high school athletes. We researched the hell out of it. Found some great stories. What we kept hearing over and over again is that you better be damn sure it's necessary to take the sport away from a borderline kid, because they are more likely to quit if you declare then ineligible than work their way back.

I'm not sure if I agree with that, but that's what we kept hearing from administrators, teachers, coaches, athletes and even a couple of sports psychologists. Sometimes, you just have to let the experts tell the story.

This thing was long, so it had to go through a lot of hoops. The SE made his run at it and signed off with minor changes. Unfortunately, this was right before he left for another job, so there went our advocate if anything went wrong.

The metro editor had to sign off on it because it was starting on A1. She sends us back to fix a few things and then SHE leaves. So when it was ready to go, the assistant metro editor gets a crack at it while the co-writer and I were both off.

He gutted it. Literally ripped it apart and re-wrote the entire thing himself. Basically, the story didn't fit his opinion, which was that academic standards for high school athletes should be higher. So despite what every single person we talked to told us, he bent things around to reflect his point of view. I'm not guessing. He told us this.

The managing editor refused to get involved. He said it was too late to go back to our version. The new SE did the same. With no advocate, we were screwed. To this day, I have never read the whole thing. I nearly got myself fired cursing the guy out and telling him this is exactly why he'd been passed over as metro editor twice...his inability to respect the writers he works with. It is the one and only time I have truly lost my temper at work.

A week after it ran, the ME apologized to us for what happened, as if he had no say in the matter. The whole thing still turns my stomach.

This is getting long, so on to the next post.