Real blogging requires writing. Is the written word left inside of me?

Once upon a time, a long time ago, I used to like to write. I’m an avid reader and my literature tastes have always run to fiction - from one end of the spectrum to the other. I remember in my youth, I used to enjoy writing short stories and poetry. Yes, even poetry. Today, I find myself reluctant to write. Why is that?

I started pondering that question after dropping off the kids in downtown for summer camp. I soaked in the details of the city - the architecture, the explosion of apartment/condo housing, and a giant flock of pigeons pecking away at the grasss within a highway clover. I drove by some of my old stomping grounds as a young professional. I started wondering if I missed working downtown. And then I started wondering when did my professional focus change and my love of writing die.

I was a journalism graduate with an emphasis in PR/Communications and a minor in Fine Art. I loved to write. Loved to read. Didn’t mind polishing up someone else work, putting together news releases and events, writing copy for brochures and even designing publications. Fresh out of college, they “tested” me on my writing skills and I passed, but what got me the jobs were the brand-spanking new desktop publishing skills I had acquired. My bosses were excited to use those so they focused on the writing, while I did layout. They focused on writing so much, that I even ventured an inquiry as to when I could write up some articles for the newsletters or maybe a press release or two. I was starting to get rusty. I was told that I hadn’t been hired to write. I lasted at that job about 13 months. It was my first experience with a micromanaging, hair pulling female of a boss. It had gotten to the point her supervisor would take me aside and ask me “favors” on jobs he needed done. Talk about an uncomfortable workplace.

I left that job and was offered a job with the Salvation Army as PR Director. Yeah, no clue how I jumped from a communications assistant to qualifying as a director, but I suppose I had a range of experience and hey, I was young with LOTS of energy and cheap to hire. I got to do EVERYTHING at that job - writing, design, advertising, events, photography and fund-raising campaigns. I LOVED it. I even experienced warm fuzzies doing my job. It had a higher purpose. And then I experienced the 1995 bombing, a crisis communications trial by fire, literally. Our offices were/are approximately 10 blocks away from the federal building. Our teeny canteen was the only one allowed in “the pit.” The next three weeks of juggling updates/press releases/social service PR was utter hell. I started to feel a little burnout. I worked that holidays season all the way through and took some time off at the beginning of 1996. Vacation must’ve done me good. I came back pregnant. It wasn’t bad timing really. It’s just really hard to work for an organization with a busy season during the holidays. I worked through term, came back and finished out the next holiday season. I then quit and stayed home until my daughter turned one. I was offered the job back at a raise, but I really didn’t want to have to work overtime on the holidays. I wanted holidays to be about family.

I went to work for higher education. My new boss was just a few years older and out to prove herself as “the best.” She had no children, was finishing her master’s, and had been trained by a relentless, childless career woman who’s position she filled right before I was hired. I spent my first six months writing press releases and copy for publications. At one point, I counted the number of revisions my press releases would go through — 17 different drafts. By draft 12, some revisions reverted back to my original writings. It was brutal. Turnover in the department was high. Morale sucked. I wasn’t even sure I’d make it the requisite year. I remember sitting in my car and bawling my misery. I told myself to stick it out a year.

And then, I found my niche. I proved again I was fairly decent at desktop publishing, especially compared to the contractors on our payroll. I’ve always had a knack for software so learning new skills was never an issue. By late ‘97, I was assigned to a state webmanagers group and then trained to update the agency website. I was learning skills that my boss couldn’t keep up with. Since I didn’t write much anymore, I was moved out of the office with a window into a large cubicle. It was worth the sacrifice. I started showing some of the spine I had before. Plus, truly, I was at a point where I was willing to quit. I had exceeded my one year minimum and any additional time I put in, I felt was bonus to them. Yes, young arrogance at its best. And then, I became pregnant again. Yeah yeah, guys probably don’t cover their careers in timelines of pregnancies, but for some women having babies can stunt the career timeline. Everyone was worried I was going to quit and stay home again. Boy, did I work that possibility to the max.

I came out of it with a telecommuting deal. Finished out some space at home for an office, installed a fax line and was ready to telecommute part-time from home with a new baby. I am obsessive so working all sorts of hours around a newborn wasn’t an issue. However, being forced to go back into the office with my son only 3-months-old to cover for the boss while she took off to Europe on vacation WAS torture. Why me? Why not someone else in the office? She’d made it a dysfunctional, micromanaged workplace, how on earth was I supposed to manage THAT! Maybe I was the one with the most attitude. I don’t know. Needless to say, my milk dried up due to stress and I couldn’t breast feed any more. I was a little resentful. She never could understand the issues of working moms.

A month after returning from vacation, my boss announced she was pregnant. I covered for her during her time off after giving birth. She insisted that she was coming back. She did — for about three weeks. Then her position was split between myself and the marketing director. Oh joy, learning to manage a group that was never allowed to think for itself is not something I’d ever recommend. Breaking them of that habit was an exercise in exasperation. I still did very little “real” writing. I found myself buried in writing reports, editing and proofing other people’s work, managing the website and all the while attending LOTS of meetings. Seriously, management is probably 50% meetings, if not more.

Now, I’m self-employed and focused mostly on web development. I could write more. But, it would be mostly writing for in-house materials, client pages or for personal reasons. Let’s take this little essay as my first attempt to write anything in length. I hope with some practice, I can add some levity and even some insight into day to day observations. For now, I’ve delved into my past and realized where my writing went astray. Cheers to figuring out if there’s anything left in me to get back on track.

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P.S. Holy crap, that was some long rambling.