Taking Home the Gold

It wasn’t something I had planned to do. 

In fact, taking writing classes was something I had been actively trying to avoid for a long time. I had a preconception of myself that I was probably going to have a really hard time taking English classes; actually any class where I would be expected to write and read many pages at once. It’s not because I didn’t think I could do these things, the intentional slowing down it takes to sit down to be present and thoughtful while reading and writing was a skill that had not yet come easily to me.  

Truthfully, it is an intention that I still need to practice setting every time I sit down to write. 

I want to start a project and then snap my fingers and it’s done and award-winningly perfect. As anyone who has taken writing classes or enlisted the advice of a writing mentor knows is rarely, if ever, the case. 

I had never planned to be in this classroom. A computer lab with 36 government-issued Windows desktops. I was a design grad and a budding marketing professional. I should have been in my office upstairs doing something designy but instead, my palms were sweating as I sat at the computer closest to the door at the back of the room. My heart was racing, nervous was an understatement. It felt like a punishment to be in the room.  For months I’d been struggling with writing compelling copy for social media. I was no good at it, and the heat was on—broiler-level heat. 

I was firmly suggested to take a writing class and as I worked at a college it was easy enough for me to access one so when browsing the upcoming term’s selection of classes I stumbled upon the journalism section. A beginner-level news reporting class was being offered so I reluctantly signed up. 

That first day the walk across campus to class felt like a walk of shame. I felt like a failure for being inept in my ability to leverage the written words of my native language to communicate and weave together a cohesive and compelling story effectively. But the truth is, I was never truly taught how to be a writer. 

There were five of us in the class and at the helm, behind the podium was a tall lanky man in a sweater and glasses. His voice was warm and smile inviting as he greeted us all into the classroom. At the top of the hour, the wheels of this proverbial rollercoaster were set in motion.

Once the ride began, I was so glad I had gotten on. We started slow, writing bits about ourselves, interviewing instructors on campus, and doing movie reviews. Learning the rules of writing news reports, only the facts. The structured baby steps I needed to take; empowering an instinct to run. 

By the end of the term, I had written a handful of news stories and started consuming articles written by other journalists and thinkers at a breakneck rate. Listening to intellectual cultural podcasts, picking them apart to find the writing and journalism tricks they contained. Truly embracing the role of student. My confidence had grown and my spot was secured for the next level class the following term. 

My skills and confidence were continuing to grow when an opportunity came to me. The college had announced massive and devastating budget cuts that would gut the library through the removal of faculty librarian positions, eliminate the computer science program, and severely pair down the adult basic skills department. 

I had moved on from the news reporting class and was deep into learning to write feature pieces. So I jumped at the chance to flex the skills of my new-found passion even further. Apply it towards finding justice for the students and faculty affected. 

Budget Cuts Coverage:

Story 1 - Cuts in LBCC Adult Basic Skills, Library Generate Criticism, Concerns

Story 2 - Students Worry About Loss of LBCC Computer Science Program

Story 3 - LBCC Faculty Speak Out Against College Budget Cut Targets

Story 4 - Library Cuts: Making Students Go It Alone (page 4)

Story 5 - CS Program Cuts: The End of the Computer Science Program at LBCC (page 4)

The fruit of my efforts came to bear in the form of real-world journalism experience. Professional and ethical handling of my sources, researching and cross-checking information received, and asking smart follow-up questions. The networking within the community brought me closer to the fractured collection of staff and students that inhabited the college. 

Not long after wrapping up my investigation, the college’s newspaper that published my stories,  The Commuter, submitted a variety of content and stories to the collegiate newspaper competition organized by the Oregon Newspaper Publishers Association. My budget cuts series was included in the submission. Just being included in the newspaper’s submission felt like a win, it was an indication that my work was strong enough to be remembered when reflecting on an entire year’s body of work from a team of budding writers.  

But what happened next was something I never imagined happening. 

“Congrats!” popped up in my Instagram messages the night of the competition’s reception. I figured the paper won a few awards, there’s a whole team of great writers, the design is thoughtful, and the printed product is on a professional level. 

While engaging in a text conversation with my colleague from The Commuter, I came to discover that the “congrats” was because I took home first place, twice, for my budget cuts stories. 

I was elated and wept with pride. I felt a sense of accomplishment, that I had truly become a writer, a journalist. Something that terrified me before became an area of expertise through education and mentorship. Grown and validated as a writer in a way that I never saw coming.

Keep progressing,

KM