Never going back again

I spent close to 40 years writing for a living.

I never got rich from my writing, but that was not the point of pursing a journalism career. When I went away to school back oh so many, many years ago it was more for the thrill of discovering something different. It was for the challenge of becoming the next Woodward or Bernstein.  No one I knew, or my parents knew, or my friends knew were reporters. I had more than one person tell me I'd never make it. My father hated the media. According to him they were all biased. But I stubbornly resisted. And pursued my idealistic goal of changing the world through writing and revealing the truth.

It was a bumpy road to graduation. But I did it. A marriage, several stops and starts, and four children later (well, almost four children... I graduated three months before our fourth child was born) I donned a cap and gown and received my diploma.

I remember my first newspaper job. I was the Lifestyle reporter for the Lifestyle section of a daily paper in Zanesville, Ohio. My editor, Virginia,  was a crotchety woman who was nearing retirement. It is hard to believe that back then she was the same age I am today. We butted heads on more than one occasion but remained friends long after I moved away. I recall asking her one day if she planned on freelance writing once she retired. She looked aghast. "Why on earth would I want to keep writing?"  I was dumbfounded. Who wouldn't want to continue to write? Writing was fun. Writing was cool. You could get paid (albeit not much) for writing.

That was 39 years ago. And in that 39 years, I wrote and wrote and wrote. I covered county board meetings. I wrote about city council budgets. I covered EPA superfund sites. I interviewed veterans. I attended school board meetings. I watched and reported about personality fights between citizens and board/council members. I worked nights, weekends and holidays. Sometimes I dragged my children along. I cringed when editors changed my stories and then had to face the backlash from sources I worked long and hard to develop. Then I became and editor and dealt with people who took exception to news articles I ran. (I also had an unfortunate five-year foray into public relations which I would just as soon forget).

And Virginia, today I get it. I never want another writing assignment again. Ever. I don't want to be on deadline. I don't want to worry about pissing someone off and getting angry phone calls. I don't want to read and re-read what I write, checking for commas and dangling participles (and I don't even know what those are, but they are deadly).  I'm done. It is not a "done" that comes with being fed up ... it is a "done" that comes with "I've done enough. Let someone else with more energy and fortitude go forth and conquer."

I write this blog when the spirit moves. I used to get messages from the blogger Gods and Goddesses telling me my fan base missed me and I needed to write another blog post. Fan base? Really? All five of them? The blogging Gods and Goddesses  don't send me messages any longer. I am not worth the effort for even an automated message.  Facebook still reminds me that I haven't posted to my travel page in a while and I am losing customers. Hmmmm. Customers would indicate I have something to sell. I don't. Apparently the Blogging Gods and Goddesses along with Facebook have never heard of doing something simply for the joy of doing it... as in when the spirit moves.

Once in a while I look at ads for turning my blog into a cash cow. I can't get past the fourth sentence in the "how to make a million dollars from your blog" how-to article and my eyes glaze over and I think to myself, "Even if I knew what they were talking about ... it sounds like WORK." And, in case anyone is wondering... work no longer sounds appealing to me. I rather enjoy retirement -- early retirement. I am a little shy of 62.

I am infinitely glad some people still want to work. There are things we need -- like electricity. And I like playing on the internet. I like going out for dinner and a movie occasionally. I am glad, despite dwindling newsroom staffs,  I can still read newspapers and watch CNN. And having food is really, really nice. I am simply ready to be on the receiving end of services.

I never got rich being a writer. I never became a Woodward or a Bernstein. I doubt I made much of a difference. I know I made more than a few people angry. But I have no regrets. Sometimes it was fun. Most times it was work. And I am ready to pursue other interests. They just have to be cheap interests.

And to that end, I am surprised that my list of "must haves" is actually quite small.

So here is to hoping Social Security makes it a few more years, our insurance continues to cover necessities, Medicare is still available when I hit 65 and food is still affordable. Because if I can help it, I'm never going back to writing for a living again.