Like many people, I have a number of posters, photographs, and other knick-knacks hanging on the walls of my bedroom. Many of these items remind me of special moments in my life, people I love, or things which inspire me. Sometimes, an object will accomplish all three.
In terms of my journalism experience, there is one item which stands well above the rest. Hanging above my desk, above my monitor and below my CPR certification, is a photocopy of the first pay-cheque I received for an article I had written.
It’s a modest sum, 50 dollars, but it stands as one of the first times I said to myself, “Maybe I can do this after all.” It was also the first time I was able to call myself a professional journalist, a thought which still brings a smile to my face and a chuckle to my chest.
Assigned to me by the Whig’s sports editor, Claude Scilly (who was acting city editor at the time), the story was to profile the county of Lennox & Addington’s new manager of economic development. I was excited, not because of the subject matter, but because of what the story represented.
I remember sitting in the office of one of my professors, flipping through the paper, looking for my article. Not expecting very much out of the story, I immediately opened to the back of the paper. “There’s no way they would have run it close to front,” I thought.
It wasn’t until my professor shoved the front section in my face, turned to page two, that I saw it.
The feeling of pride and accomplishment which swept over me at that moment was unmistakable. I showed the article to everyone I could find. I e-mailed the link to all of my friends back home and to all of my relatives. If I knew you, you saw that article.
I’ve since written for the Whig many times over and produced a college magazine. I’ve been paid for my writing and photography and have had the pleasure of seeing my work published time and time again. None of it, however, has ever managed to come close to the feeling of looking at that cheque, and looking at my article, and thinking that maybe — just maybe — I could make a go of this whole writing thing.