In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In Due Time.”
Every day, there is another new deadline. Writing for a community newspaper in a rural area often means seeking out the news, because unlike a large metropolitan area, there isn’t always something right in front of your face happening. Sometime today, I need to find a story, and it feels like I’m spinning my wheels. It’s cold and snow is on the ground, melting away. People in the community are busy with holiday preparations, including all of our news makers, which means they are clearing off their desks, and setting aside important business until after the new year. Am I excited about today’s deadline? No. I don’t dread it either. Instead, I feel like I better get away from my desk or I will die of boredom and miss the deadline and need to make excuses, and that’s not going to help anyone. There is a sense of duty. Duty to the profession, to the community, to my boss and to myself. That’s how it is sometimes. I used to think every day would be wonderful as a reporter, but like most professions, when you get into it, you realize that even though you love it, there are those times when you really would rather just go home, curl up on the sofa and watch old movies and take a nap with the dog. Deadlines, in effect, keep you from doing that. You know you have to get something on the page before you leave, so you go find something. And that’s how it works.