Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Focused on the Prose
Not to get too existential, but the above photo really illustrates where my head is at these days. Quite simply, I'm fried. Sixteen years into this goofy career, I find myself highly skilled, gainfully employed and woefully underwhelmed. How did this happen? I used to be the guy who'd tackle any gig with unbridled enthusiasm, but lately ... it's all I can do to pretend to give a flip. Is it due to the fact that I'm a scant few months from the big 4-0? Is it because the industry I toil in has devolved into nothing more than pixelated gimmickry? Could it be that my tiny taste of writing renown has whet my appetite for more, more, more? My guess is YES. But whatever the reason, I find myself in the same state of mind that's driven generations of gifted broadcasters out of the biz.
So, am I quitting? Nope. My offsprings' insistence on eating every four hours precludes such a rash tactic, though I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about it pretty damn often. It's not my station's fault. The people I work for and with produce a fine product and I'll happily crank out my share for as long as they'll have me. That said, I think I need a lobotomy, a sabbatical or a swift kick in the tripod to re-ignite my passion. Maybe then, I'll once again be as enthused and effective as this guy. Until then, allow me the occasional foray into self-absorption, would ya? See, this blog is my therapy - an outlet to express myself, to spotlight a few unsung heroes and to inch toward a lifelong dream.
But therein lies the rub. I spent the first thirty five years of my life thinking about writing. When I finally got around to developing the required discipline, I chose the one subject I have a love/hate relationship with: TV news. What was I thinking? Why didn't I choose something lofty and less tangible to hold forth on? How come I picked the one thing that infuriates me like no other as my topic of choice? Couldn't I have honed my skills with shrill political screeds and pet photo commentary like every other blogger? Why did I scribble myself into such an unsavory corner?
More importantly, why am I pelting you with rhetorical claptrap? You've been nothing but kind to me, checking in regularly to sample my tripe and lauding me with more praise than I ever deserved. I really should thank you - once I finish feeling sorry for myself, that is. I'm reminded of what best-seller Jerry Bledsoe told me last week. Actually, I don't remember his exact quote, but the delightfully cantankerous author took me into his lair and basically said, "Keep up the writing, Stewart - it's sure to bring you years of frustration." With that in mind I'll wrap up this little whining session - knowing that, by Jerry's logic, I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Join me next time for less navel-gazing and alot more snark. Until then, thanks for reading...