I miss it...

I had a good chat with Curtis this morning about my writing and my work experience with newspapers. He asked if I missed it... and of course I do. I loved my job, I didn't like the position I was in, I didn't like how my hours were cut, and I didn't like my editor or the other reporter. I know I could have stuck it out and kept working there, and one day be the editor of all four papers... but I don't want to feel stuck. I wanted to be able to make enough money to live off of. Editors make enough money, but reporters don't.

Do I miss reporting?! HELLS YES!! I miss interviewing people... winter has been tough. I was the sports reporter, hockey was my baby... I went to more minor hockey games last year than most hockey parents. I saw my little neighbours win and lose many a game. I watched league championships, I watched them improve by leaps and bounds. I watched as visiting parents got escorted out of the arena and ours kept their cool even if we were down by 10+ goals.

I made it to every home game of our Junior B team, I was there even on my days off with my camera. While the other two staff would get a photo and leave, I would stay the whole game so I could write a decent story on the game. I called the head coach every Monday to get his comments, it became a ritual, I even did it the Monday after my grandma's death - even though I didn't go to work.

Sportswriting along with business writing were the two parts of writing I did horrible on in school - and I grew to love sports writing.

I got to interview members of the only girls basketball team from Wm. E. Hay to win provincials (50 years ago! I got to interview one of the Olympic medalists (from Stettler) who has the honour of carrying the Olympic Torch in the relay somewhere on Vancouver Island. I interviewed countless talented atheletes from the Bashaw and Stettler areas that are making great progress in their athletic careers.

My favourite stories were the feature stories the ones about local people who have gone on to do great things, the guy I went to junior high with that's playing professional hockey in the states, the guy I went to high school with that went to the winter universiad in Japan to play hockey for Canada. The list goes on and on.

I liked my job, I liked that I had local connections so that if I needed a story I could make a couple of calls and have my story. I liked that if I didn't have contact information about someone all I needed to do was call some friends or family and have my information.

I miss being stopped in the street and chatting about news and story ideas or getting feedback on that week's issue. I liked the fact that after a couple of months I had people calling and requesting that I cover their story or their event.

I had grown close to the rest of the ladies in the office, I had made relationships in the community that weren't there before... and everytime I go home, I am guaranteed to run into at least one person who comments on the difference in the paper since I have left. How does that make me feel? Happy, sad, confused, respected and it's a bit of an ego boost.

It makes me happy, respected and gives me an ego boost - because I know I didn't waste my time there. It means that people were reading my stories and enjoyed them. The little old ladies at church, who admit to hating sports - told me they read my section just because I wrote it.

It makes me sad, because I'm not there anymore and I don't like the direction the paper is going. I don't like reading the paper. I don't like the look of the sports pages. I don't like the layout. It just makes me sad to see all of the hard work I had put into improving those pages go down the drain.

It makes me confused because it makes me wonder if I made the right decision by leaving.

I know I made the right decision by leaving. Stettler is not home for me. Although I loved the job, I didn't love my immediate coworkers or the situation. I miss it yes, but I miss a lot of things. I knew it was time to move on, a time to start a new chapter and a time for me to grow as an individual.