For at least 15 years, I wrote a weekly column in the Lake County News-Chronicle in Two Harbors, Minn. I started out writing about issues, but when I realized that people enjoyed the silly, off-the-cuff sort of things I did once or twice, I started writing more of those.
Nothing was safe. My observations about usually unnoticed things in the world around me, or the foibles, antics or even the dilemmas of my neighbors or my own family were likely to find their way into that column. I even made a t-shirt that said, “Be careful, or you’ll end up in my column.” One of my favorite ways to tease someone who had just said something outlandish was to announce, “I think I feel a column coming on!”
It’s not easy writing a new column every week. I did the math. In 15 years, that would be 780 columns, each about a different subject. Even when I went on vacation, I brought a laptop with me and got a column sent back to the paper. People liked reading it. I can’t count the number of times people said to me, “Your column is the first thing I read when the paper arrives.”
I realize, of course, that being a popular writer for a weekly paper in a small community might have made me a “big fish,” but it was in a very small pond.
So, when my life changed, when I retired and moved two times in two years, I discovered that finding another pond wasn’t quite so easy. At the newspaper, the sky was the limit for what I wrote because publication was guaranteed, and my readers could all identify with the places I referred to–and with me, personally.
Now, I became the stranger in town. Newspapers here were dealing with the same downturn issues as newspapers everywhere, and weren’t inclined to add an unknown to their staff. They certainly weren’t going to pay me.
So, for nearly two years, I didn’t write. But, to someone who has written one thing or another her whole life, this was not a comfortable position to be in. I was constantly saying to friends, “If I were still at the paper, I’d be writing about this,” referring to whatever subject happened to catch my notice.
Finally, someone said to me, “Well, why don’t you write anyway? Even if you can’t be published, write your columns anyway.”
That person was correct. Writers need to write. But writers need to be read, too. Otherwise, what’s the point?
And so, after finally figuring out what this new phenomenon called a blog is, I decided to start one. I still won’t get paid, but neither will some newspaper get my work for free. There’s no guarantee that anyone will see it, or read it–but the possibility is always there, and I guess that’s good enough. When someone tells me or my mother, as they often do, “I miss Monica’s columns,” they can be directed to this site.
I think it’s time to dig out that t-shirt. Once again, what others say and do is fair game for my column.
(Addendum: To my surprise, many of my blogs are now about food. I never wrote about cooking and recipes when I was at the newspaper, but I stumbled onto it here and find that hose are usually the most-read blogs. So I guess I now must warn you that not only could what you say or what you do end up in my blog, so could what you cook. Hmmm. I wonder if that will limit my dinner invitations.)