Words

I came to the other side of the world with the intention of documenting my every move as I navigated the concrete jungle of Beijing and beyond. What followed was a blog post twice monthly until recently when it has almost entirely evaporated.

I told a friend with whom I work that I hate forcing it. While I may be having a great time, and building stories to share, I don't have the drive and I don't see the interest in my daily routine. For the most part, my weeks are fairly commonplace. From Monday to Friday I tend to wake up a little after 7am and get ready for work. Some mornings I have cereal, other times I don't. Some mornings I shower, others I did so the night before; this is usually so I can negotiate a few extra minutes of sleep.

Work goes from 7:50am until 4:00pm (occasionally extended due to meetings). I teach classes to four grade 8 groups and one from grade 6. We talk, we learn, and it's both good and bad; it's like any job in that way. I come home, get supper and may go to the gym...the order is sometimes switched around. Some days I watch a movie or an episode of a television show and other times I go out and see a part of the city, though that doesn't happen as often as maybe it should.

My eyes are drooping.

The truth of the matter is that other than the obvious differences like the language barrier and mega-pollution, life in Beijing is not much different than life at home. It's an adventure and I've had better opportunities for travel -- both to Spain and Vietnam -- but the everyday existence is enjoyable, mundane, sometimes boring, sometimes insane; just like life in Canada. One welcome difference, though, is the weather is getting warmer much sooner.

The problem is that I feel like my writing chops are dulling. It's like any skill, and it requires repetition and practice. It's not quite writer's block. It's more like writer's apathy.

I think I'm trapped looking toward the future. A few weeks ago during a sleepless night (30 consecutive waking hours!) I wrote a monologue about fear. This summer, in Woodstock, New Brunswick, I will be hosting a storytelling event at the fifth annual Dooryard Arts Festival.

This is largely inspired by my love of people's stories and the words chosen to share them. Programs like The Moth, This American Life and WTF With Marc Maron have helped give me a template. The Moth, especially, has given me an example to follow. I have come up with a list of themes for people to share their stories; lost, discovery, and fear.

The monologue I wrote a couple weeks back will be my contribution to the fear theme, and so I don't exactly want to share it here. I'd rather save it for that day. My hope is people will feel comfortable, or at least willing, to open their lives up to the public -- friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers. Sharing your own personal experiences with others can be cathartic. I realize that every day or every week is not going to be possible for me on a blog because I'm more interested in turning it into a conversation; true sharing. I want my stories to be complemented by those of others in a community of storytellers. The truth is we all have stories worth telling and sometimes we just need a little nudge.

I'm hoping it will be a success, perhaps one I will be able to take around to other establishments and events. Is it a pipe dream? Maybe, but anything worth doing usually is predicated by being unsure of whether or not it will fly.


*If you are interested in participating in my storytelling event, or you would like more information, please give me an email at ratedargh@gmail.com. Thank you.

Nostalgia

As I teach a unit on media and the messages presented by media to a grade 8 class in Beijing, I can't help but be reminded of my first real gig as a journalist.

I was partway through my third year at St. Thomas University when I got my first crack at an assignment at an actual newspaper. It led to my first full time job the following summer and to what I thought, at the time, would be a long and fruitful career.

This was incorrect.

About a year after the paper opened, it shut its doors.

I'm thinking about it a lot because I've been using stories from my portfolio as exemplars for my students. They are writing interviews and I am giving them my professional writing as examples of format and style.

I have come a long way. My writing and editing has improved ten-fold and I am picking out errors in stories from 2008 that make me groan in 2012.

I am certainly still proud with this work, especially stories like this one where I spoke with Curt Wetmore about his three-week trip to Thailand among others (links will be at the end...in case you would like to peruse my old words -- I have touched them up a tad).

It's interesting to look back and be reminded of something I once felt very strongly about -- and discovering that it may mean just as much now.

Re-reading my long form final piece from journalism school The Death of the Carleton FreePress I recognize some things that I could have done better with it. I should have spoken to Rob Perkins (the former editor from before I arrived) and I should have fought to speak with someone from Brunswick News, and especially Ken Langdon.

Langdon was too busy at the time I was trying to put the story together. He never answered his phone. Perkins probably could have been reached and maybe if I pressed harder I could have gotten someone at BNI to give me his or her perspective on the happenings.

I made a judgment call to write a profile on the staff and how our relationships formed and how it appeared to us as the paper reached its nadir. I am incredibly proud with how it turned out but it could have been more; it could have been something special.

The Carleton FreePress is mostly forgotten now; a distant memory. It's a casual conversation piece that starts with "remember when." I'm not entirely bitter, I swear I'm not...I'm just disappointed in myself that I didn't fight harder for that career.

I've dabbled in it since, and even had a full time gig at the Bugle-Observer in Woodstock and a freelance one at the Daily Gleaner in Fredericton. Something didn't click. It wasn't the staff, they were incredible. Jim Dumville is the best boss I've ever had in my life. Bryan Tait, Jeffrey Bento-Carrier, Peter MacIntosh, Devon Judge, and fellow FreePress alumnus Allison Adair were joys to work with in the editorial side of things. In fact, everyone at the paper with whom I had regular contact helped make it a great working environment.

Before being offered the full time job, and while I was freelancing for the Gleaner, I applied to education school at St. Thomas University...my alma mater. Ultimately, a few months into my job at the Bugle, I got accepted to school and worked my way through the summer looking ahead to change. It was difficult to keep my head in the journalism game as I thought about the impending finish. I still worked hard but had grown to dislike court reporting (which I did every week) and I'll admit my attitude suffered down the stretch.

I hope it doesn't seem like sour grapes, it's just that I am recognizing my own shortcomings at a job where I still have so much to give. Before moving to Beijing, I had started freelancing again at the Bugle-Observer and I wrote one of my favourite articles yet (hopefully I can grab a copy and post it).

Then I was whisked away to a new, mysterious place half a world away. How could I pass up this opportunity? Easy answer: I couldn't...so I didn't.

As I teach this course, my heart swells with nostalgia. I think of the Carleton FreePress and the incredible feeling it gave me at the time. I think of journalism school, which nearly broke my love of the job but prepared me for it in ways I was possibly unaware of until now. I think of my colleagues who have moved on to God knows where (I can't track down Bob Rupert, my FreePress editor). I think of how I was the first (other than Gleaner reporter Adam Bowie) to get a full time job while in j-school and how many never continued in the business.

I'll return to journalism, I know this. The best part is that pursuing my bachelor of education and teaching english and journalism has helped make me a better writer and editor.

For now I'll bask in the glow of nostalgic feelings as I read old work and shudder at rookie mistakes. It was the time of my life.

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The Death of the Carleton FreePress

It's been a while since I've posted. I have finished university and have been relaxing, reading and writing other things. I would like to share with you my final piece for my degree in journalism.

Check it out here.