About writing, and not writing

It’s strange, really. When you promise yourself that you will write, and you are determined to write, you still end up with nothing. It can be days, months, years... and you want to write so badly, but you can't.

But if you ever get started, really get going, you can't stop.

Why then, you wonder, won’t you do it more often? If it is so pleasant, if it is so easy, how come it is so difficult to get started?

It can take weeks, and sometimes there’s no inspiration at all. Then, when inspiration hits, there’s no time to sit down and write down all the ideas, not even a second. Because you know that a few words will lead to a few sentences, which will lead to a few pages, which will get you sitting there for ages, and there’s no way to stop. So instead, it never happens.

Instead, the paper remains empty, the pens uncapped. A few Post-It notes have ink stains, but that’s it.

My friend Nina has no problems with this - she writes about anything at any time, and she does it so well. I recently came across a book from when she and I had a writing marathon in 2002 - we were supposed to exchange books at the end, but I never finished mine. Reading through it now, I realize most it is garbage, and I start ripping out the pages.

My problem is that I like to organize too much. My half-finished projects get organized into binders and computer folders. There are poems, short stories, travel pieces, blog topics and, of course, the "other" folder for things that don't belong anywhere. I even have categories for my ideas so I can sort them and put them into the computer before I have a chance to ponder over them in chronological order. This, of course, is so I won't forget that one brilliant idea I may one day have.

Then, of course, if I ever do end up writing anything, I have to re-write it again and again until I am satisfied, which means nothing ever gets finished. Sometimes I work on the things I least care about just so I can get them done and out of the way. But this means there's no time left for "the real stuff."

Sometimes I just sit and wonder what it would be like to be able to write. Write more often. Write something good. Or just write something.

Writing again

For the past couple of weeks, I've been working on a research piece for The Register Citizen about past superintendents in Torrington. I didn't have as much time as I wanted to get in touch with people, so I mostly just quoted one person and then used past articles that I summarized. What's cool is that I found stuff out about every superintendent the city has ever had since 1896, when the salary was $1,800 a year. (It's now like $150,000 or something).

Here's Part I in the series, which was published today. Part II will be published Monday, and Part III will be published Tuesday.

(After I started writing, I realized that there was no way I could contain all that information in just one story.)

Typewriters vs. computers

I miss my typewriter.

I got it as a present when I was 11 or 12, and it was just such a neat little machine. All it did was produce letters on paper when I hit the keys in the right places, and I then had to push a thin stainless steel bar to make a new line on the page.

Today I have enter and delete and undo. I also have Spider Solitaire, Free Cell, Facebook, YouTube, CBS.com, The Onion and several e-mail addresses. Oh, and there’s several blogs and then Bejeweled. Or I could watch a movie, or better yet, burn one.

It is almost too much to have a computer that can do everything. “Perhaps I should listen to some music?” I say to myself. Half an hour later, I’ve made a playlist that suited my mood 45 minutes ago but is no longer relevant, and all inspiration have flown out the window.

Wait! I was going to look up the ingredients for Uncle Ben’s Sweet and Sour Sauce! Oh, and I still haven’t caught up on last week’s episode of “CSI.” Then, of course, I need to make sure our competitor didn’t publish any good stories in today’s paper…

When I sit on my futon and read my book, I can hear the humming coming from the hard drive just a few feet away. “Wasn’t there something I was supposed to do?” I ask myself. I pick up the book again and continue reading. “Wow, I wish I could write like this,” I say a few minutes later. “I really should do more writing. Who knows, I might be good at it?”

But, of course, by then it’s almost 4 a.m. and time to go to bed. Another day, maybe. Too bad I got rid of that black little typewriter last time I was in Sweden. Perhaps tomorrow, I would be able to use it.

Preview of article

It seems my reader AnneSofie was right - the Web site of Nerikes Allehanda is nowhere as inclusive as it should be. You will therefore not be able to read any of my articles unless you live in the local distribution area, or unless you have a friend who does...

The best I can do is offer you a preview of the second column, published last Wednesday.

Exciting times

Last night, after I got home from work around 2 a.m., I finished my fifth column for Nerikes Allehanda about Americans and the election.

I got to write about my favorite candidate, Ralph Nader, since several people I spoke to have said they consider voting for him.

This morning I got up and found another e-mail from the Swedish newspaper asking me questions for a "hello there" feature they plan to run before they start my columns on Tuesday. I got to tell them - in less than 200 words - who I am, where I am, what I do and what I like about my hometown.

Writing about yourself is difficult enough - when you put a word limit on it, it gets even harder. But I'm excited to see the results. And I'm excited to see what they do with my portrait photos I had to send... that was a debacle in itself.

Most columnists in Swedish newspapers look serious and stand with their arms at their sides or crossed over their chest. The background must be neutral so the person in the photo can be cut out and put against any background. Since we don't have a photo studio at work anymore, my photographer friend and I rolled out some big paper in the lunch room and improvised. It came out better than we expected... From what I hear, my figure will be cut out and pasted on top of an American flag. How fun!

Of course, I will have to wait for my most reliable friends to send me the clippings... Unfortunately I cannot buy the paper where I am.

Recovery

I guess ya'll think I haven't recovered from that long bike ride yet, but that's not really true. I've been busy pondering redesign plans and future projects we are taking on at the paper. I'm also trying to catch up on house work, since Albie mentioned the other day he has no clean underwear left. My response was, "didn't you just buy new ones?"

That's what I do when I run out. I figure I just don't have enough, so I buy more. My goal is to always make it through at least 2 weeks without having to do any laundry. It's more difficult with two people, but hopefully it will all work out.

For those of you in Sweden, those who read Nerikes Allehanda in particular, I should spill the beans on another plan: I will be writing columns about the presidential election starting at the end of October. Actually, I am writing some of them ahead of time, because election week will be crazy at work, but they will appear around Nov. 4. I think we've settled on 9 columns in total, so watch for that! (If someone could save me a copy as well that would be really nice - not sure my grandmother will read them all).

The beauty of chick flicks

I wonder why chick flicks always make me cry. They suceed every time, and I know they will - that's why I watch them.

On some level I can identify with every single miserable girl, and I combine my own hopes and expectations with their greatest wish.

There something so passionate about that longing - the one you felt when you were in your early teenage years - like nothing else matters in the world. All that matters is here and now, and the longing MUST be dealt with immediately. The chick flicks I watch remind me of those days.

Not that I would ever want to be a teenager again. It was too emotional.

I recently came across some short stories I wrote when I was growing up. Very early on, I knew I wanted to be a writer. I had this small, black travel typewriter and I used to sit at the kitchen table, spread out my notes and write for hours.

It was all about love - unanswered feelings and longing. It was about loneliness and emptiness.

Now, it's embarassing to read. It's even more embarassing when I think of how I used to make copies and hand them out to all my friends. Perhaps the better pieces will one day be featured on this blog.

Hiking with Bill Bryson

Stretching from Maine to northern Georgia, the Appalachian Trail runs about 2,100 miles along the East Coast of the United States. It takes you through 350 mountain tops and beautiful valleys; it features deep woods and glittering streams.

Hiking the entire trail takes about five months.

No, I am not planning on going for a hike - Bill Bryson is. Or rather, he was. He already took the hike, back in 1996, and then he wrote a book about it. I am reading it right now.

In his usual fashion, Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods" intrigues me immediately. I can totally picture this slightly goofy, middle-aged man sitting on his New Hampshire couch thinking one day, "I'm gonna hike 2,000 miles!" His wife, of course, thought it a bad idea from the start.

From the adventure of buying expensive equipment that may or may not be neccessary to finding a friend and partner in crime to share the experience with, Bryson's story brings me along for the ride (For me, it actually is a ride. I don't have to lift more than my arms to hold the book up, and most of the time it is resting against the bed anyway).

The story feels like it could be my own. Not that I would ever go for such a long walk. But if I did, similar things would happen. I just wish I could write about them like Bryson does.

I've often pondered dropping by Hanover, New Hampshire, to see Bill Bryson. It's a small college town - less than an hour from where my host-father's Vermont cabin is. If I ask people around town where Bill Bryson lives, they might know and they might tell me. Perhaps I could drop by for a chat.

I'm not quite sure how well that would go over, though. Although I feel like I know him from reading (most of) his books, I am quite certain he would stare blankly at me and say "who did you say you are again?" And "you are writing an article about me for what paper again?"

Hope is still alive and well that I will get to meet him one day. For now, though, I still have his books. And we've got lots of miles left to hike on the Appalachian Trail.

When people you know get into trouble

Every reporter – at some point or other – ends up writing about someone they know.

It doesn’t matter if you cover a small town or a big city, if you work in the town where you grew up or in a town thousands of miles away from home... Sooner or later, someone you know will be the subject of a story, and you will be the only one around to write it.

E.J. was an eager man in his early 30s who came to the paper a few months after I had started working there. He used to be involved with the weekend section many years ago, he said, when it was big and colorful and when reporters and photographers actually covered rock concerts and area shows on a regular basis.

Our editor let E.J. come back to help out once a week with club listings and a column about local bands and upcoming entertainment-related events.

It was great help for me, and E.J. was fun to be around. He came in for a few hours, did his thing and then left.

A few months later, E.J. fell off the face of the earth. He had an accident at a construction site where he was working, and he never came back to us after that. Rumors said E.J. was using drugs to relieve his pain. I called his cell phone; his number had been disconnected.

Every so often, we would hear brief updates from our court reporter, T.
“E.J. was in court today,” she would say, or “E.J. is in trouble again.”
E.J.’s mom supposedly filed complaints against him after he allegedly stole thousands of dollars from her to support his habit.

Last night, I called reporter D. while he was at the local police station to ask him to look something up.

“Eh… Viktoria?” he said, cautiously. “There was a big drug bust Friday night.”

“Great!” I said. “Give me some information so I can throw it up on our web site.”

He gave me the name, age and charges. It was E.J.

The world of Winsted

Today I decided I didn't want to be locked up in the office all night - I wanted to go out and see the world. Well, Winsted, at least.

Winsted is a small town a little north of The Register Citizen's home in Torrington.

Most people in Winsted are insane. Public meetings often turn into heated debates that lead to emotional discussions. Angry comments lead to good quotes. Sources pop up out of nowhere because everyone wants to get a point across.

I read about it all the time in our paper. Today, I wanted to see for myself.

Albie thought I was crazy this morning. While dressing for work, I announced I would go to a meeting if I got done with all my pages early.
"You don't need to dress up for that," he said. "It's Winsted."

When I got to the office and told Walt, the Winsted beat reporter, that I wanted to go with him, he said, "Why?" - with a big question mark on his face.
"It'll be fun!" I exclaimed. "I hear there's going to be some interesting stuff going on tonight."

It was true. I had heard something.

A source in Winsted called me up Friday night, telling me about a Board of Education member who allegedly got kicked out of a subcommittee meeting. I spent all Friday night investigating the issue - including 30 minutes on the phone with the board member. An attorney, who interrupted his evening activities to call me, and a Freedom of Information Commission spokesman, on a flight somewhere to see his daughter, both told me this: The board member had no right to attend the meeting's executive session.

But a lot of other issues came out of my probe. The conclusion: You should be at Tuesday's Board of Education meeting. "Well, I'm not really a reporter..." I said. "We'll see what happens."

Bickering started early at the meeting. "Why do you vote on this when you sit on that board as well?" "Why can't we talk about this now?"

All of a sudden, I felt like a reporter again. I could predict what people would do, who would vote for or against what. I knew the motives behind the questions. And during a break, one of the board members and a man from the public both sought me out to hand me piles of documents for further review - even though there were two other reporters there.

When the Competition's reporter asked me about it, I just tilted my head and smiled. Then I started blabbing about all the interesting duties of being a features editor and how much I miss writing. He walked away knowing nothing.
"Wow, that guy never even talked to me once," the Winsted reporter said. "I bet he is really scared that you got something he didn't."

Unfortunately, the stuff I got couldn't be used tonight. It is way more complicated than that. But the Winsted reporter and I got some stories out of the meeting anyway:

Ex-selectman: Molinelli should resign

Winsted woman claims discrimination

Town manager drops in at school board meeting

And hopefully we can stumble upon something good real soon.

I've been busy again...

I happened to do some more writing at work, and some photography. (Also did voice over for a couple of slideshows that will be up on our web site next week - if we can figure out how to get them up there).

City man charged in rape

Two hurt in crash (I also took the photo)

Wild turkey crashes downtown meeting

Truck crashes, hangs on pole support wires (photos too)

It may seem like I enjoy other people's misery... what can I say? There's something really cool about being one of the first people at the scene of an accident, freezing your butt off while trying to figure out what's going on...

Today is the day for Ralph Nader

I can't remember the last time I walked out to the press to grab a fresh copy of our newspaper before heading home. Today I did. My Ralph Nader story was in it.

Of course, I had already spent three days nagging my boss to read it. I also spent the evening tonight laying out the page (with some long-distance help from Albie at home), so I knew what everything would look like. But there's just something cool about having "tomorrow's" paper with you when you walk out the door in the early morning hours.

Ralph Nader story.

Matt Gonzalez story.

When an editor can't stay away from writing...

My job does not usually include writing. Sometimes, however, I cannot help myself.

We are, as usual, short staffed. When interesting stuff happens, I feel that I just have to lend a hand to the reporters...

Nader mulls bid for White House - Friday for Saturday's paper

Winsted to get new town manager - Saturday for Sunday's paper

This is a brief editorial I wrote on the subject, too, for Sunday's paper. Writing editorials is actually part of my job, but the most boring part...

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Some older stories I've written for The Register Citizen, if anyone is interested...

Kidney for Brian

Avoiding Pitfalls of Consumer Fraud

Two arrested for bloody mess

Unfortunately, we switched to a different web host in the late fall, and all stories prior to that are unavailable unless picked up by other sources (like some of the ones above) :-(

Maybe later I will post links to stories I've had published in previous newspapers, in case anyone is intersted in finding out what I do...