KristenBegins...

When I was little all I wanted to be when I grew up was a journalist… that is, once my desire to be a teacher faded. During the summers, my friend Jennifer and I would entertain ourselves by role playing different jobs. There was airplane, restaurant, school office, and skating rink referee. I would even have my Mom buy me things at the Office supply store, like a receipt book, to be used at our “jobs.” I was obsessed with having one.

My personal favorite, and the one that was so obviously a tell-tale sign, was when we played journalist. Jennifer and I began producing our own newspaper, 33615. We’d make up stories about our neighborhood and even include advertisements and cartoons. I had Jennifer do the sports writing. She was the cheerleader, after all. We’d spend hours working on it so when my parents came home they would have a newspaper to read with their coffee. My parents humored me a lot.

When the newspaper stint got old, we switched to TV news anchor. We designed a news desk set, got dressed up, and let my parents be our TV audience. That job didn’t last as long. I never did want to be a news anchor. I give Jen credit for going along with the journalist games because she much preferred office worker.

I always wanted to have a job where I could write. It was the only thing I knew. In high school and college, I was so set on writing for a newspaper or a magazine. I wanted to be like Cameron Crowe. But the thing about writing is it intimidates me. I don’t necessarily think I am great at it despite it being the only profession I’ve known. I can throw some sentences together and make things sound okay, but when tasked with putting anything creative together, I go blank. I can write what I know, what is void of emotion, what is factual based. Tell me someone got arrested for computer pornography and I’ll whip you out a press release in a minute. Or how about someone wants to construct a new building in a historic district and citizens are outraged? 700 words coming up. But, it is when I am tasked with writing a nice fluff piece filled with beautiful adjectives and illustrative sentences that I stare at my computer screen in comatose for hours until something comes to me.

I recently started chatting with my former assistant managing editor at the paper I worked at in Maryland. It is kind of a weird feeling to talk to someone who knows my work and knows my ability, or even lack thereof. Writing is so personal. No matter what you write about, when someone else reads it, you leave yourself open to allowing someone else to be the critic. It is like being naked with someone.

For some reason, when it is on my own blog, I don’t feel that. Maybe because it is not done for a job or for any reason other then to get my thoughts out.

This former editor encouraged me to start freelancing. He recently began doing it and suggested it would be a way for me to write more about things I am interested in. There are so many freelancers out there, so many people wanting to write, so many people who think they are writers. I am just not sure I am ready to be in that pool of exposure. But with that said, I know I need to write more… even if it is crappy rants about celebrities and TV shows. It makes me feel relaxed and frees up some of the space for things floating around in my head. And maybe that is reason enough.