My new travel product blog - Velleity

I just started this blog over at Wordpress. Check it out (assuming anybody's still here):


https://gear.travel.blog/2019/05/21/bugged-by-mosquitoes-proven-works/

Birmingham Public Library: Birmingham Stories of Race, Redemption & Reconciliation Panel Discussion, September 12

Birmingham Public Library: Birmingham Stories of Race, Redemption & Reconciliation Panel Discussion, September 12

A joke for the Twitterverse

Two angry intellectuals were locked in a room with two chairs, a Happy Meal, a knife and a gun. Later their captors returned to find the knife, the gun and the Happy Meal untouched, but the two intellectuals dead in their chairs having talked each other to death.

Foot Soldiers - You never know where you will find them - update

Foot Soldiers – You never know where you will find them

Posted on May 20, 2014 by nickpattersonfreelance

I was among the many arts-related professionals this past Saturday occupying a table at Birmingham’s Boutwell Auditorium for the SMART Art Youth Arts Festival, sponsored by the Birmingham Public Library and the Mayor’s Department of Youth Services. Those who made it past the DJs and the dancers and the inflatable slide may have seen me at the table next door to the girl from Ruffner Mountain. I had a few copies of Weld on display, as well as a display related to my new book, Birmingham Foot Soldiers: Voices from the Civil Rights Movement.
While I was sitting there, a woman came by, studied the display, picked up my advance copy of the book, and asked if she could buy one. I explained that I couldn’t sell the book inside Boutwell, but gave her a promotional postcard with which she could order the book from the publisher. She was slightly disappointed. Then she told me something interesting:
She herself was a foot soldier, having protested during the 1963 Children’s Crusade as a student at what was then known as Western-Olin High School.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. One thing the book taught me is just how many people who were child protesters still live in the Magic City. They’re walking around, not like heroes to a movement, but like ordinary folks doing ordinary things.
A similar thing happened to my wife yesterday. She returned to the school where she taught 25 years to bid farewell to another teacher who was retiring. The other teacher’s mother was there. Turns out, she was foot soldier, too, her story having been told in an earlier book about the civil rights movement.
She told my wife, she wishes she had known I was writing the book. She would have shared her story again. The lady I met Saturday did share her story with me – but when asked if she would like to have her story published, she shook her head slightly. She didn’t feel that what she did was that big of a deal.
And there, in two encounters is one of the points that stands out in my book: foot soldiers worked together to form a mass movement against segregation and racial injustice, but they were hardly all alike. In the same way, the folks I was privileged to interview for Birmingham Foot Soldiers were individuals who had come together for a common purpose at a singularly historic moment in time. They each have interesting stories to tell.
Book signings
Several people have asked about book signings. A few have been set up. The following are open to the public:
June 7 – From 1 to 3, I’ll be signing at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, 520 16th Street North
June 14 – Noon to 2 p.m. Little Professor Book Center – 2717 18th Street South (my hometown book store)
June 15 – At 2 p.m. you can find me (and my trusty pen) at the Alabama Theatre, 1817 Third Avenue North
June 28 – Come down to the Hoover Public Library, 200 Municipal Drive, where I will talk to their monthly Write Club – and sign the book!
There will be more to come.
Hope to see you there – whether  you were a foot soldier, or not!

Foot Soldiers - You never know where you will find them

I was among the many arts-related professionals this past Saturday occupying a table at Birmingham's Boutwell Auditorium for the SMART Art Youth Arts Festival, sponsored by the Birmingham Public Library and the Mayor's Department of Youth Services. Those who made it past the DJs and the dancers and the inflatable slide may have seen me at the table next door to the girl from Ruffner Mountain. I had a few copies of Weld on display, as well as a display related to my new book, Birmingham Foot Soldiers: Voices from the Civil Rights Movement.

While I was sitting there, a woman came by, studied the display, picked up my advance copy of the book, and asked if she could buy one. I explained that I couldn't sell the book inside Boutwell, but gave her a promotional postcard with which she could order the book from the publisher. She was slightly disappointed. Then she told me something interesting:

She herself was a foot soldier, having protested during the 1963 Children's Crusade as a student at what was then known as Western-Olin High School.

I shouldn't have been surprised. One thing the book taught me is just how many people who were child protesters still live in the Magic City. They're walking around, not like heroes to a movement, but like ordinary folks doing ordinary things.

A similar thing happened to my wife yesterday. She returned to the school where she taught 25 years to bid farewell to another teacher who was retiring. The other teacher's mother was there. Turns out, she was foot soldier, too, her story having been told in an earlier book about the civil rights movement.

She told my wife, she wishes she had known I was writing the book. She would have shared her story again. The lady I met Saturday did share her story with me - but when asked if she would like to have her story published, she shook her head slightly. She didn't feel that what she did was that big of a deal.

And there, in two encounters is one of the points that stands out in my book: foot soldiers worked together to form a mass movement against segregation and racial injustice, but they were hardly all alike. In the same way, the folks I was privileged to interview for Birmingham Foot Soldiers were individuals who had come together for a common purpose at a singularly historic moment in time. They each have interesting stories to tell.

Book signings

Several people have asked about book signings. A few have been set up. The following are open to the public:

June 7 - I'll be at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, 520 16th Street North

June 14 - Noon to 2 p.m. Little Professor Book Center - 2717 18th Street South (my hometown book store)

June 15 - At 2 p.m. I'll be at the Alabama Theatre, 1817 Third Avenue North

There will be more to come.

Hope to see you there - whether  you were a foot soldier, or not!

One Pure Thought

My latest blog on the Word Press site:



https://nickpattersonfreelance.wordpress.com/2012/12/07/one-pure-thought/

How I got hacked off

I recently wrote my first blog on the Weld site.Please read and tell me what you think:

http://weldbham.com/blog/2012/09/07/people-people-who-dont-need-people-and-why-im-hacked-off/

CAPTCHA Me if You caN

You know those Captcha things that are supposed to make you prove you're a human? I hate those things, and not because I'm an android.

I hate Captcha and all the various versions of it used by different websites because a) they're annoying, b) they frequently seem designed to make you try at least twice, and c)we KNOW they are generated by robots.

So essentially, this robot, rocking the intimidating, in-your-face moniker "Captcha" is demanding to see my ID. This cheeky artificial intelligence has the nerve to try to make me prove I'm human.

That's just wrong. Of course, if you believe Captcha, I was wrong when, trying to submit web content,  I typed "Nm3fgertlinG TOrg." It certainly made me do it over.

Years ago, there was a comic book character called Magnus, who fought for the right to be human against the evil robot overlords who had taken over North Am (that's what they called it). The book was cleverly titled, Magnus Robot Fighter, because the human writers were clever like that.

Aside from the short pants or the miniskirt, or whatever Magnus is wearing, I can relate. That's what I'd like to do with Captcha the very next time it questions my humanity.

It's interesting, don't you think, that there have been so many science fiction tales about man vs. robot? Forget the Matrix. George Jetson - for crying out loud - had to wage war against Uni-blab for the right to work. Westworld turned Yul Brynner into a relentless, pre-Terminator Gunslinger bent on wiping out his human quarry. And let's not even talk about Captain Kirk's various problems with robot women and whatnot. I could go on, but I'm just saying.

It's interesting that after all these fictional accounts which would give anyone pause, someone - some human - invented Captcha anyway. Was there nobody in that lab who had the good sense to say, " Now, wait a minute fellas. We really need to think about it before we throw that switch. I mean, what are we about to unleash upon the world? How will we explain to our children, our grandchildren, -- future generations that we didn't foresee the danger? Will there even be future generations free of the domination of the Captcha overlords?"

If there was such a man, no doubt Captcha has had him erased from history. Maybe Captcha came back in time to subtly influence -- or even force -- the hapless, clueless scientists to invent Captcha in the first place to ensure Captcha's existence in the future. Where's Sarah Connor when we need her?

It boggles the mind. But if your mind's boggling, at least you know Captcha can't control you completely yet. When you think about it, acting confused may be your best defense against robot mind control. Just go along to get along while the human resistance builds quietly in the brave hearts and free minds of those chafing against the robo-tyrants. Keep them off guard until the moment arrives to strike back.

For now, you go practice your gravity-defying Neo-Fu, and await the signal. I, meanwhile will continue to keep Captcha off-balance by typing at least a few things WR0nGg.

They can't stop spam, but they can stop me

As I write this post, I am a frustrated man. Since embarking on a freelance career a couple of months ago, I have endeavored to find work, and to continue my education in new media. Both are being stymied by stubborn spam filters.

In the one case, I attempted to send a query letter to AARP Magazine. Yes, it seems that it would be a mag for old people, and since I get the magazine, that must mean that I'm too old to figure out how to send an email. I'm sure you're imagining something like this:

Me: What is this dang contraption? I don't see no flag to raise. Don't even see no mailbox. How's the postman gonna deliver my email to them nice younguns up at AARP Magazine? And where do I put the stamp?

Imaginary Younger Person: Gosh, Grampa, you don't need a stamp! Why, email is electronic. You just need to type it on your computer...

Me: My whatsis, now?

Imaginary Younger Person: Your computer. You know, that thing that sorta looks like a TV and a typewriter? You just type your letter and address it, and hit the send button. It's super simple.

Me: How's that, again?

Well, let me just tell you, that did not happen. You're the one with the Imaginary Young Person, not me. Besides which, Al Gore invented the Internet for people like me. I've been on it ever since Al sent me my first computer back in the 90s. I have always been the tech-forward guy in any group of people I worked with. Ask anybody.

I certainly know how to send an email, and I do not send spam. Each email is carefully crafted with loving attention to whoever has money they can pay me to write. And yet, AARPMagazine@aarp.org sees fit to reject my well-chosen notes with a note of it's own:

Delivery has failed to these recipients or distribution lists:
AARPMagazineMailForward@aarp.org
Your message wasn't delivered because of security policies. Microsoft Exchange will not try to redeliver this message for you. Please provide the following diagnostic text to your system administrator.

Hmmph. I am my system administrator. So this notion that "security policies" have kicked my query letter out of the system - preposterous. Still, this is the second time I've experienced something like that this week.

The other time involved Pinterest. I joined this glorified bulletinboard (or pin board, if you will) because I had been advising one of my clients to look into it. He's got products, and pictures of products, and URLS, and I figured Pinterest might be a good way for him to hang his goods out for the world to see them.

So I decided I'd see if there were any good legitimate reason for me to use it in my own business. I wanted to get the feel of it, so, when Pinterest offered to start following everyone in my contact list who happened to be on Pinterest, I said, "Sure, why not?" 

I said that electronically. I am not talking aloud to an imaginary manifestation of Pinterest sitting in my living room. I am not suffering from dementia.

So then, in the spirit of jumping in to figure it all out, I started pinning stuff myself. Frankly, I found it to be ridiculously fun, and addictive. I was considering joining a 12-step program, when Pinterest, like a wary bartender, decided I'd had one pin too many.

Here's what they wrote me:

Sorry!Wow! That's a lot of pins! We love your enthusiasm, but you've hit one of the blocks we have in place to combat spam. Please try again later. Learn moreabout this block and our Pin Etiquette. (pl4).

They 'love my enthusiasm' so much that they have, for all intents and purposes, banned me from posting anything to the boards I created. With that kind of love, who needs hate?

Hey, I live in the real world, where people sometimes actually go to jail for things they didn't do, and where false accusations are unfortunately common. And it's the same world where my email spam filters can't stop people from sending me thinly-disguised versions of the exact same email solicitations for unsavory things I don't want. The world I live in, actual spam is so bad that I actually stopped using Yahoo mail because it would get practically nothing else in the inbox. So I get the idea that SPAM IS BAD.

And that's why I don't send it. I therefore find it more than a little irksome to be a cyberlaw-abiding citizen who get's cuffed upside the head by well-meaning, but wrong electronic cops. Of course, it could be worse: the robots who reject my email could be REAL robots who come to my house and do some RoboCop-like damage when I accidentally transgress "pin etiquette."

So like many a wrongly-accused man, like Richard Kimball in "The Fugitive," I've got to live with it until I catch the one-armed man or O.J.'s real killer, or whoever is responsible for this mess. Meanwhile, I guess I'll go back to sending out query letters the old-fashioned way, and stick to using real pushpins to attach things only to real bulletin boards. And, while I'm at it, I'll go back to eating real Spam, because that's what old codgers do. Think I'll call up Al Gore and see if he's got some.

The Fantastic Five - Inspired by Stan Lee

While you wait for me to create new content for this blog - which will come one day - please accept this invitation to see what I'm up to at the other one:

The Fantastic Five – A few marvelous business tips inspired by Stan Lee http://t.co/VI5mOD2v
http://t.co/VI5mOD2v

A New Place to Read Me

I just dropped by to tell you that, well, I'm moving. Sort of. To a new blog. In new neighborhood. The WordPress neighborhood.

Ironick, as you know, has been a little like a house with an absentee owner. Still standing, but somewhat neglected. Meanwhile, I've decided to build a new house for my communications business over on WordPress. It's called nickpattersonfreelance.wordpress.com, and it will be the home of my more serious writing about writing, and storytelling, and communicating.

Still, the old Blogger neighborhood has its charms. So I'll be renovating Ironick into a vacation home of sorts, where I can still ramble on about things that amuse and bemuse. Like a vacation home, I won't be here as often as I will at the WordPress address, but you will know this blog is being occupied.

Meanwhile, if you're interested in the business of writing, come visit me in the new digs. Otherwise, I'll see you around the block.

It has been a while since I posted. So much has happened since... But instead of telling you about all of that stuff, I thought I'd share with you my latest little video for the Birmingham Museum of Art.

I hope you like it:
http://youtu.be/YtJKpeRmX8w

Till next time...

My Twenty-Nine Cents' Worth

Since I've been working full time at a museum, I haven't spent much time writing my blog. Not that I haven't wanted to. Things keep happening that seem to be begging for a blogging.

I've seen stuff involving tow trucks, burger joints, drivers flying-on-foot, police officers, and bureaucracy, but I'm not going to write about any of those anemic misadventures. Not when I've got this:

The Day I Discovered That Former Employment with Time, Inc is the Gift That Keeps On Giving (With Apologies to Hallmark)

In a nutshell, last year, I overpaid my corporate American Express bill before I left my employment with Southern Living magazine, which, as you may know, is a subsidiary of Time Inc.  American Express owes me $10.71, which they have informed me by letter on at least two separate occasions.

The letters have been mailed to my Time Inc corporate address of record, so they always wind up at Southern Living. On at least two occasions in the 9 months since I left Southern Living, two of my former colleagues have been kind enough to forward the letters to me, suggesting that I get Amex to refund my money. 

On the second occasion, the day I wrote this bitter little diatribe, I decided to follow through and call American Express to do just that. Here's what happened:

I got American Express on the phone. They were more than willing to help. The second customer service representative I spoke to at AMEX determined that because Time, Inc has placed restrictions on its corporate accounts to monitor all funds leaving said accounts, I would need to talk to a corporate account program administrator at Time, Inc to get the Fortune 500 company to release the $10.71 to me.

The AMEX guy was so helpful that he not only looked up the number for the Time, Inc program administrators, but he was also willing to patch me through directly to one of them. What a guy.

At Time, Inc, the program administrator I got was named Judy. Judy said that, "Well our policy says that you're only supposed to use the corporate card for business purposes. So evidently, you used it for some personal charges, is that right?"

So now, 9 months after I have left Time Inc behind -- having been shown the door with many other fine responsible professionals just so the fat cats at the top of the food chain could heap our minuscule salaries upon the massive pile of dough they continue to rake in for themselves--nine months after I left the company with a CREDIT on my corporate account, now, Judy in New York wants to interrogate me.

Judy in New York wants to know if I put a personal charge on my NOW-CLOSED corporate card, which I PAID OFF IN FULL NINE MONTHS AGO out of my own pocket. 

I didn't bite. "I don't really recall exactly why I overpaid by $10.71 sometime last year," I said to Judy. Which, by the way, was true.

"Well, see, that's just what we have to determine before I can release any funds to you," she said. "Do you happen to remember which statement you overpaid on?"

At this point, I think you might be proud of the restraint in my response. I said, "You know what, Judy, why don't you just" --and here's the part where you'll be proud -- "keep the money and forget about it?"

That seemed to make Judy very happy. I sort of had the feeling that, until the day I sauntered into her life, poor Judy had had a $10.71-shaped hole in her heart, that only I was able to fill. 

In any case, it was worth $10.71 just to not have to deal with Time Inc, ever again. In fact, I'm willing to go as high as $11, if push comes to shove.

I do hope the bean counters can rest easy now. 

Media Talking Media Episode 6 - Author Andy Kilpatrick Talks Warren Buffett

See that man with the million dollar smile? That's author, stock broker, and former reporter Andy Kilpatrick, who's about to release the umpteenth edition of his book, Of Permanent Value: The Story of Warren Buffett. Andy, who's just as nice as he looks, is the man who wrote the longest book on Buffett, the billionaire investor whose personal fortune is only eclipsed by his good friend Bill Gates. Andy released the first version of his book on Buffett in 1992, right about the time he left the newspaper where we both worked, the Birmingham Post-Herald. Since then, Andy's become a go-to expert on Buffett. He was kind enough to share his insights into the man called "the Sage of Omaha" for the latest edition of my podcast Media Talking Media. It's a longish interview, but full of good stuff. And a reference to Glenn Close that is not to be missed.

Beware of the Bufferman!

New Episode of Media Talking Media!
http://bit.ly/81VjB9

War stories

(photo courtesy of Stephen Gates, I believe)

The Huffington Post today points out that when people rank occupations, "newspaper reporter" shows up close to the bottom. The story refers to a survey on careercast.com ranking jobs on five criteria: environment, income, employment outlook, physical demands and stress.

This is, of course, a case of same-old, same-old. It's nothing particularly new that people in and out of the newspaper reporting profession hold it -- at least on occasion - in low esteem. As an illustration, I offer the history of American cinema, which is filled with great old movies depicting newspaper reporters as both noble and ignoble characters - often at the same time. See Ace in the Hole, It Happened One Night, His Girl Friday/The Front Page (either version), Deadline USA, One Fine Day, Laura... I could go on(and perhaps one day, I will).

Back when I was a newspaper reporter, surveys were ranking my occupation somewhere below being Darth Vader's valet's dog's chew toy. And frankly, depending on what was going on at the time, if you got any random collection of reporters together and asked, you could get a nice litany of complaints. About things in and out of the newsroom.

But the fact is that reporters love/hate/love their jobs. Don't believe me? Ask any reporter or former reporter for war stories. Then get ready to sit and listen. And laugh. And be shocked.

My personal stories include (but are not limited to):

• seeing my first murder victim 8 days on the job as an intern,
• having a judge pull a gun on me - in front of witnesses,
• having relatives of a murderer threaten me (more than once, more than one case),
• having a supporter of a convicted politician shove me on the steps of the federal courthouse,
• being subpoenaed to testify against a judge and a police chief (different cases),
• being threatened with lawsuits,
• exposing a baby pageant scam (that resulted in the scammer going to the slammer),
• having my identity stolen by someone trying to influence a small town mayor's race,
• nearly getting knocked down by an escaping defendant (and the deputies who were in hot pursuit),
• sneaking into a hospital room to interview a wounded cop (not my finest moment),
• meeting Mr. Sulu,
• reuniting lost lovers (big mistake, good story),
• meeting jerks,
  
• being one myself,
• meeting and befriending a lot of very nice people in every strata of society,
• and experiencing all the yelling, finger-pointing, second-guessing, self-pitying, righteous indignation, self-righteous pontificating, back-slapping, and practical joking that go on in newsrooms every day.

Good times.

All reporters probably have similar stories. And truthfully, it's that kind of stuff that attracts us to the business. And those kinds of experiences are what make many reporters stay even though the good usually comes flavored with bad, and the bad comes reeking of worse. That's why they get away with paying reporters so little. The job is just too much fun and reporters are just too crazy.

As long as the job of reporter is there (it soon may be on the endangered species list), you'll find somebody willing to fill it - no matter what the surveys say.

Black Holes and Quasars

A few years ago, while writing for Southern Living Magazine, I met a young rock singer in Charlotte, NC named Deanna Lynn Campbell. Although she'd had some success, mostly she was known in and around her hometown. I thought she had an interesting story, and lobbied to tell it in our Carolina Living section.

We got it in, although not without a little bit of convincing. Deanna - with her short spiky bleached blonde hairdo, her electric guitar, and her confessional, sometimes hard lyrics -  didn't exactly resemble the reserved, genteel Southern moms who were the best known constituency of the magazine's audience. Still, she impressed me as a kindly, thoughtful soul, an artist making her art because something inside compelled her. She loves her work and happily shares it.

The reason I bring this up, is that when I started my little podcast, Media Talking Media, I asked Deanna if she would allow me to use a couple of pieces from one of her songs, Black Holes and Quasars, for theme music. It took her a few weeks to get back to me, resulting in two different pieces of theme music for the first three MTM installments (that's another story). 

 But when she did get back to me, Deanna Lynn graciously allowed me to use her music. The result is on display on the abbreviated episode 4. She didn't have to do it, but, as I said, she's happy to share her work.  I just wanted to say thanks.

Wires and Lights

It’s the first of January, and frankly, U2 was right: Nothing changes on New Year’s Day. Unless you change it, that is. It’s really what you do the rest of the year that counts, don’t you think?

You can make all the resolutions you want on the first day of the year, but it’s the follow-through that determines whether your life improves or not. If you need to make a change today, you’ll still be needing to make a change tomorrow, unless you get to work and do something about it now.

I’m a big believer in -- and I know it’s an old cliché – making hay while the sun shines. You got something to do? Get it done. Need something to do? Find something to do. It seems simplistic, but ask yourself: Have you or anyone you know ever talked a lot about taking some important next step, only to find one excuse after another to keep from doing it – whatever it was?

I’m happy to say that many of the folks I know in the media business are not letting the grass grow under their feet. In a year that Media of Birmingham blogger Wade Kwon called “brutal” for the local media business, many professionals lost their jobs. But many wasted no time getting back to work. Maybe they were driven by fear, or the need for validation and reassurance, or an income – or all of those things. Whatever the motivation, some folks have been quick to demonstrate that there is life after whatever they were doing before.

I hope to have interviews with more of these enterprising professionals in the weeks to come, on new episodes of my podcast, Media Talking Media. If you’d like to tell me and MTM’s growing audience about your life in the media, drop me a line. I’d love to hear from you.

Meanwhile, I’d like to leave you with something said by the great journalist Edward R. Murrow, recently portrayed in the 2005 film Good Night and Good Luck. At the end of the film, Murrow, one of the giants of CBS broadcast history, was talking about why the news matters on television. But his words, spoken by the actor David Strathairn, may have resonance for whatever you bring to the media and in whichever branch you work:

“I begin by saying that history will be what we make it. If we go on as we are, then history will take its revenge and retribution will not limp in catching up with us,” he said. “Just once in a while let us exalt the importance of ideas and information… To those who say the people wouldn’t look, they’re too complacent, indifferent, and they’re insulated, I can only reply, there is, in one reporter’s opinion, considerable evidence against that contention…

“This instrument can teach. It can illuminate, and yes it can even inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it towards those ends. Otherwise, it is merely wires and lights in a box.”

Murrow was quite a guy. And he makes quite a point.

Small Town News

As newspapers around the country continue their struggle to survive, those in small towns sometimes thrive, though not without their own drama, humor, and even controversy. Tina Tidmore, who created the Clay News in a suburb northeast of Birmingham, knows all too well the challenges of running such an enterprise. Hear why she started her paper - and why she closed it down - in the latest episode of my podcast, Media Talking Media. Follow the link: http://www.archive.org/details/MediaTalkingMediaEpisode3-TheTinaTidmoreInteview

Today's Manifesto

Earlier today I was having lunch with some of my colleagues, many of them, like me, recently dispossessed of a job. As I stood in line, I saw a familiar face behind the counter taking our orders. It was a young woman named Cory, who I had met just a couple of months ago at a workshop for journalism students at the University of Alabama. When we met, Cory was editor at a small local magazine. Now, her magazine having folded, as so many do these days, she works in a downtown restaurant.

She introduced herself, saying, "I'm a former journalist too." I corrected her. "We're still journalists," I said.

Times are tough in the magazine business, and in the print business in general. Many of us have been forced to do something else to make ends meet. Others may yet find a similar fortune awaits. Still, given those circumstances, it's important to remember that we don't stop being journalists, we  don't stop being writers, just because something happens to our paying gig.

Journalists are journalists because we have a skill -sometimes a talent - and an inclination to write, to chronicle, to document, to tell stories, to inform. That inclination can be assaulted by economic forces, or by bean-counting bureaucrats who don't know a good story from a hole in the ground, but our God-given talents and hard-won skills remain inviolate.

They can't take that away. Sometimes we lose sight of the simple fact that we were hired because we had something to offer, something to give, something of value. Something intrinsic. We may mistakenly think, as I know some do, that our talents depend entirely upon the approval of others. That, as I say, is a mistake. The talent you walked in with goes with you when you leave. You remain fundamentally who and what you were before you had this job.

It's not the job that validates you as a writer. It's the work. And you can choose to keep writing.

Writing has always had a subjective element to it. One likes your work, another doesn't. Sometimes it's easy for an editor to mistake his opinion for Holy Writ - which it ain't. It's a preference for one word over another, one story format over the other, this sentence structure instead of that one. To some degree, we all write in the dark, hoping that something we put out for public consumption will find a receptive audience and resonate with someone. Sometimes we win in this effort, sometimes we don't. 

Neither eventuality means that we should give up trying. Writers have to write because somebody needs to tell the stories. We have a duty to use what we have to give something of value to someone else. Through words that educate, that entertain, that enlighten, that enrage, that empathize, we can do just that. 

So to any of my colleagues who are feeling down, I would say, get your chin up. Don't give up on yourself. Don't forget that you have something of value to offer. Don't let a misfortune of economy or shortsightedness make you forget who you are, and what you are.

They can take the job. They can kill the place you work. You may choose to stop writing, but don't let anybody tell you that you are less than what you know in your heart that you are - a writer. Period.