Yup, it's gone. The "it," that which gave me a flair for writing, is gone. I'm not sure where it went, but it disappeared somewhere after my first disastrous Geology midterm and a bout of insomnia.
It's not like I don't have ideas. I have so very, very many. I even wrote one short entry entitled, "To the girl with "crack" in my Geology class," but it just didn't seem to have the humor I was looking for. I just didn't "feel" it.
I had personal dilenmas I could discuss, politics, family, my life has actually been very interesting the last couple of months. Definetly not fun or exciting (unless you like disaster and retribution stories).
I have, in my defense, written stories and produced photos for The Commuter. Here is my article about the college's decision to close the photography lab
And I even offered up my opinion on illegal immigration, which actually made me think hard about it for the first time.
So, I am not entirely brain-dead, I've just lost my spark and I am fishing around in the dark trying to find it.
As my fingertips hit each key, I can feel them inching closer to finding "it".
Monday, March 23, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The Commuter Does San Diego
Last weekend I traveled with the rest of the Commuter staff to San Diego, California, to attend a college journalism conference. Despite my anxiousness at leaving my family and other responsibilities behind, it turned out to be a trip I will never forget, and for all the right reasons.
I always wanted to drive through the Siskiyou Mountains and see Mt. Shasta.
The brilliant red soil, green ferns, and towering trees that lined I-5 were much different than the clay-packed flat landscape that surrounds the Willamette Valley. We stopped for a break in the amusingly and ambiguously named Weed, California (a logging town named for it’s founder, Abner Weed). The view of Mt. Shasta covered in snow and surrounded by brilliant blue sky was unforgettable.
Sixteen and a half hours after leaving Albany, we arrived in San Diego at 3:30 a.m. Too exhausted for sleep, the occupants of our van crawled out into the 70-degree air to look at the landscape of palm trees and skyscrapers silhouetted by the city lights and nighttime sky.
The next morning it was difficult for those of us who made it to the keynote speech to stay awake. After lunch my friend and co-worker MaryAnne played guitar by the pool. The weather was better than I remembered it could ever be in my birthplace, warming my skin as I closed my eyes and listened to MaryAnne’s beautiful voice carry across the breeze.
After attending a series of classes about the future of journalism and the importance of developing new ways of communicating in our Internet-charged society, I learned a few important things:
There is little to no money in journalism, i.e. get a side job.
There is no set future for journalism, and few ways to pay for it.
The Commuter has the least-paid staff with the best newspaper in the country. Hands down.
I have more confidence than ever in our newspaper. We were original, the others were cookie-cutter. We had magazine-style covers, the others were generic black and white. We also generated all of our own content, and never rely on other news outlets for material. For our under-funded newspaper and barely compensated staff, we have a lot to be proud of. This trip proved that to all of us.
After four days of learning about our future careers, unpaid or not, it was time to come home. Some of us were ready for our own beds, or missing our families. I was ready to stay forever. Having grown up in southern California, I realized how much I missed the palm trees and sun. I missed the fancy cars and well-manicured landscape. I missed the authentic Mexican food. I missed everything about California. Ok, not the traffic, it’s true. I also wish my fellow Californians would learn how to use their blinkers when driving, because I never saw one used once the entire drive each way.
After arriving home at 4 a.m., I was too tired to sleep. I looked at my photos and regaled my husband with stories. When I finally woke up the next day, I missed my friends who had been on the trip. I wondered where they were and if they wanted to go to the pool or the Mexican restaurant across the street. I wondered where my assistant was and why she hadn’t made me coffee yet. Then I remembered that I was back home and this was my real life. I put on my make-up in the mirror and smiled at all the memories I had from this trip. The Commuter staff grew closer as friends and co-workers, and we became better journalists. Although the return to reality was tough, the thought of applying everything we learned to our paper, and our newfound confidence in what we do, is exciting and fulfilling.
I always wanted to drive through the Siskiyou Mountains and see Mt. Shasta.
The brilliant red soil, green ferns, and towering trees that lined I-5 were much different than the clay-packed flat landscape that surrounds the Willamette Valley. We stopped for a break in the amusingly and ambiguously named Weed, California (a logging town named for it’s founder, Abner Weed). The view of Mt. Shasta covered in snow and surrounded by brilliant blue sky was unforgettable.Sixteen and a half hours after leaving Albany, we arrived in San Diego at 3:30 a.m. Too exhausted for sleep, the occupants of our van crawled out into the 70-degree air to look at the landscape of palm trees and skyscrapers silhouetted by the city lights and nighttime sky.
The next morning it was difficult for those of us who made it to the keynote speech to stay awake. After lunch my friend and co-worker MaryAnne played guitar by the pool. The weather was better than I remembered it could ever be in my birthplace, warming my skin as I closed my eyes and listened to MaryAnne’s beautiful voice carry across the breeze.
After attending a series of classes about the future of journalism and the importance of developing new ways of communicating in our Internet-charged society, I learned a few important things:
There is little to no money in journalism, i.e. get a side job.
There is no set future for journalism, and few ways to pay for it.
The Commuter has the least-paid staff with the best newspaper in the country. Hands down.
I have more confidence than ever in our newspaper. We were original, the others were cookie-cutter. We had magazine-style covers, the others were generic black and white. We also generated all of our own content, and never rely on other news outlets for material. For our under-funded newspaper and barely compensated staff, we have a lot to be proud of. This trip proved that to all of us.
After four days of learning about our future careers, unpaid or not, it was time to come home. Some of us were ready for our own beds, or missing our families. I was ready to stay forever. Having grown up in southern California, I realized how much I missed the palm trees and sun. I missed the fancy cars and well-manicured landscape. I missed the authentic Mexican food. I missed everything about California. Ok, not the traffic, it’s true. I also wish my fellow Californians would learn how to use their blinkers when driving, because I never saw one used once the entire drive each way.
After arriving home at 4 a.m., I was too tired to sleep. I looked at my photos and regaled my husband with stories. When I finally woke up the next day, I missed my friends who had been on the trip. I wondered where they were and if they wanted to go to the pool or the Mexican restaurant across the street. I wondered where my assistant was and why she hadn’t made me coffee yet. Then I remembered that I was back home and this was my real life. I put on my make-up in the mirror and smiled at all the memories I had from this trip. The Commuter staff grew closer as friends and co-workers, and we became better journalists. Although the return to reality was tough, the thought of applying everything we learned to our paper, and our newfound confidence in what we do, is exciting and fulfilling.
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