Thanks for the Memories

There is good reason January is named after the Roman deity Janus, who has two faces--one looking ahead, one looking back. This is the time of year when many, if not most, people look back at the year about to end and forward to the year about to begin, desiring to hold on to the good and let go of the bad while hoping for even better.

I am no different. But instead of looking back only at the year just ending, I tend to revisit different times from the past, usually prompted by something I see or hear. Today's memory is courtesy of the multiple bowl game being played today. About this time in 1983, two friends of mine and I--we were all involved with the Michigan State Radio Network--got press passes to the Cotton State Insurance Classic in Atlanta, and we snagged the radio network's university vehicle to drive to the games, where MSU, lead by some guard named Scott Skiles, would be playing Alabama.

As with all such trips, there are several stories that could be told and a few that cannot, but one of our side-trips was a stopover at Atlanta Fulton County Stadium, where Florida State was playing North Carolina in the Peach Bowl (this was well before FSU joined the ACC). All I remember about the game itself was it was about 35 degrees and we froze our asses off. I think FSU won, but we didn't care--it was cool to be at a bowl game (if you had seen MSU's teams in the early 1980s, you would understand). Anyhow, the bowl games on TV got me searching for something in one of my bags--and here it is, a little worse for the wear:

May you have a great new year.

Out of The Zone: A Tuner's Perspective

Note: This is not a sports-related post. What I am referring to is the Comfort Zone--my comfort zone particularly. Today I did something my lovely bride has been chiding me about for months--I submitted a piece of writing to a local online magazine.

"But wait!" you might be asking (OK, you aren't asking it, but it's a nice construct), "You've been in the communications profession for years. Why should submitting a piece of writing be out of your comfort zone. Surely (not gonna do it!) you've done this many times before."

Well, yes and no. I have issued press releases and other materials under the guise of my employers in the past with a fair amount of coverage as a result. However, this is the first time I have submitted something on a get-paid-for-publication basis. Why have I not done it before? Well, frankly, it's because I don't consider myself all that good of a writer.

I liken the writing world to the piano world. You have those who build marvelous instruments; you have those who are virtuosi at playing that instrument, and then you have people like me--piano tuners. We tuners are those who can tinker with the language and make it sound right, and yes, we can even noodle with it a bit to play a song or two. But we are not builders and artistes--we are caretakers, and we serve a role in the preservation of the language, much as the tuner does in the preservation of the instrument. 

Give me sheets of information, a target audience, and a deadline, and I can tune the words to say whatever you like. Or give me your slightly flat instrument, and I can get it back into key. But I am not a constructor of baby grands, nor am I a Van Cliburn of the computer keyboard. I am much more comfortable as an editor, and reviser, and a proofreader. Sadly, there isn't much call for those tasks in my neck of the woods, so it looks like I'll be feeling a bit uncomfortable for awhile.

A Little Background...

I have been, for the better part of my professional career, a business communicator. What, exactly, does that mean? It means businesses--well, in my case, nonprofit organizations and governmental entities--have employed me to promote them, generally in a favorable way. This has encompassed everything from press releases to media interviews; from simple newsletters to annual reports; from websites to social media outlets. Most of this writing has been of the "serious" business nature--you know, journalism from a decidedly non-objective point of view.

Along the way, I have managed to pick up a knack for using the English language the way it is meant to be used; that is, I know, and know how to apply, the rules of grammar and punctuation, and I have been known, in my past jobs, to wield this knowledge ruthlessly. It's not rocket science--it never has been--but it is something that takes a little bit of discipline and practice...much like bicycle riding and sex.

That being said, I have, for the past three-plus months, found myself in a situation unfamiliar to me. Along with about 8 to 10 percent of the population, depending on whose numbers you believe, I am currently unemployed and searching for work. Unlike many of my fellow unemployed, I was not downsized, rightsized, or capsized; rather, I left my last position voluntarily and relocated from South Bend to Greenwood to be with my bride of five months (at the time) so that she could continue in her job--a job that she likes more than (I must confess) I liked mine.

Yes, I know what you--the one person reading this--are thinking: "You idiot! How could you give up a good-paying job in this economy?" Honestly, giving up the job was far easier than giving up the money. It's not that it was a bad job, per se--it's just that I had exhausted all I could do in that position, and the challenges just weren't there anymore. And, if I may borrow from that renowned 1970s pop/rock group 10cc, it was also one of "the things we do for love."

So here I am, trying to find meaningful full-time employment in an economy that is seriously lacking both meaningfulness and full-time opportunities. Meanwhile, my ever-cheerful wife, tired of me morosely lying about the house, has insisted I do some kind of writing, believing that it will revive in me something that has been dormant for a long time--creativity. After a false start or two, mainly because I couldn't think of anything poignant about which to write, I decided to write about myself. If nothing else, this will prove somewhat therapeutic, and it is a hell of a lot cheaper than a mental health professional.

So, as I fill my time by completing and submitting job applications, trying to keep the house from falling into a state of disorder, and picking up some substitute teaching jobs here and there, I am going to write about what I know best (and least). Whatever that may be.