Life Without Newspapers

  

Every morning of my life arrived with a newspaper. My grand parents read the paper, my parents read the paper, my husband and I always read the daily paper. Then I started to notice that every once in a while, a journalist who was supposed to be presenting objective information, oh so subtly, with a little word choice here and there, slipped in what appeared to be a biased point of view. I noticed it, because these little slips of viewpoint steadily increased and made a big pile that left me feeling manipulated.

Of course, print media has been doing that for years, going back to the 18^th century with “broadsides” and pamphlets. And, to be fair, I can find print media that leans equally to the right or left. So I took my paper with a large dose of salt.

Everything came to a head when I, and other newspaper reporters, covered the same press conference. Now this was the 3^rd such press conference I had attended for this one agency, and it was usually pretty pleasant but bland. Not this time. I didn’t expect someone to actually pose a question, for Pete’s sake! Soon the speakers were off into a rather pointed dialogue about a political hot potato issue. WOW! Here’s news, I thought as I scribbled notes for all I was worth.

The next day, I voraciously read the local newspaper reporter’s article on the press conference and there was – nothing, except that the topic “was discussed.” Really, she could have phoned the thing in – it was that blah.

I was furious. How dare “they” withhold information from their readers? Who is it who decides what I will and will not know about my community? I couldn’t wait to write my article. It would swim in facts, nothing but the facts, so help me Hannah! And it did.

When we got the bill for the following month’s paper subscription (with a $4 increase) you bet we cancelled the thing.

“Why?” asked the nice lady in the paper’s subscription office.

“You’re biased,” I said “and report only what suits your agenda.  You weren’t worth the money even before you raised your rate. Nothing but ads, anyway.”

My husband said I was too nice.

We stuck to our guns even when they offered 3 months for less than half the rate, and later when they offered the paper for one dollar a month for 3 months.

By now, we were discovering of joys of life without the morning paper. Such as: I have time to read my magazines; the recycle bin is light as a feather without a weeks worth of old papers that blow around the neighborhood; I’m saving $360 a year to get the same  (subjective) information I can get on line.

Saa..weet!

Home Sweet Home

Well,maybe not THIS bad

I’ve decided writers’ homes reflect how well their writing projects are going at any one time. Except for cleaning the house because company is coming, my every day Martha Stewart barometer is more related to deadlines and writers’ block than to a mythical cleaning standard.

Our first home was a tidy little ranch on a street with identical ranches and split levels. It seemed my neighbors’ homes were always spotless. The ladies cleaned constantly, I noticed, to prevent dirt. I mean, if you vacuum and dust every day, how can you experience the “before” and “after” joy of homemaking? Since I never ascribed to prophylactic cleaning, my home is always a surprise – spotless one day, a disaster another. (Why is it no one drops by unexpectedly when the house is clean?)

After staring at the blank page on my monitor for five minutes, I decide I really should clean the fridge instead. One clean fridge later, the thought of drafting that article makes me decide to dust and remove my dog’s nose art from the lower part of the patio door. Perhaps I’ll figure out how to write that scene in my novel while I do the laundry. Anything but write. Result: spotless house but nothing written.

However, when the Muse parks herself in my brain, the house could fall apart and I wouldn’t notice. I’m in the zone. Words are flying. My character is off and doing stuff I never thought of. I’m going to make that deadline for sure.  

So what if I can write my first chapter in the dust on my dresser?  Why vacuum today and pick up a few specks here and there when I can vacuum up so much more tomorrow – after I’ve edited my article.

My advice to anyone considering marrying a writer: learn to ignore your environment or DIY.