One And Done

I never understood how college athletes could spend a year or two in college just to audition for the pros and then leave their university behind after the briefest of moments living the college life. Okay, I'll be the first to admit that the prospect of millions of dollars changes things quite a bit, but after completing my first year of college at Indiana Wesleyan University, I can't imagine leaving after four years, let alone one or two.

Forget writing. Now, I don't say that much, but I mean it here. Really, FORGET writing. Sure, that's part of what I've learned, but more than anything else, the most valuable thing that I've taken away from these past few months is how much I've grown as a person. It's not something that I can explain or show on a test, but it's changed me for the better, and I know I am more prepared for the real world (whatever that is).

But my favorite part has been the people. I have met so many friends that have changed my life, and made it so much more interesting. I've almost learned as much from the people I've met here at IWU as the classes I've taken.

So in three years, when I'm getting ready to walk down that aisle for the final time, a little part of me will wish my time wasn't over yet. But at least I'll have been able to enjoy more than just a year of this amazing experience.

The Best Laid Plans

Friday was supposed to be a great day. And in its own unique way, it was. But it was supposed to be a special day. Again, Friday found its own way to be special too, but it wasn’t anything like what I had in mind. I was supposed to wake up early, with no classes on the menu, and take care of the last of the homework I have for my final semester of freshman year. Then, I was supposed to take a car ride back to my home city of Cincinnati to rest for a couple days. My body had other ideas.

When I woke up, I could tell something wasn’t right, but I tried to go about my morning routine as routinely as I could. It took all of two minutes to figure out that wasn’t going to happen. A quick glance in the mirror showed that my uvula had swollen up at least three times its normal size and I was choking on it.

Awesome.

A 9-1-1 call, trip to the hospital, and shot of steroids later, and I began to feel better. But I had kissed my productivity goodbye. Homework wasn’t the only thing I wanted to do that day. No, I had planned on doing something much bigger. Something I had extremely high hopes for: my 100th blog post.

It was supposed to be one of the better things I had ever written. No one else would have cared (or even known) that it was my 100th post, but I would have, so I wanted it to be good. I wanted it to be special.

But when I sat down to write number 100 on a cold, rainy Sunday night in Cincinnati, four hours away from the college campus that I now call my home, I realized that this was more fitting. It was supposed to be a long, flashy piece of writing that I would pridefully look at and declare as my own. I had dreams of people reading, reposting, and sharing—just like I do with all of my posts. Only better.

But that wasn’t very realistic, now was it? That’s not how it ever happens to me. That’s not how it happens in the real world.

I think even with all my efforts to be as much of a realist as possible, I have some sort of journalistic fantasy concocted in my head. One that doesn’t take the hard work and the years of paying my dues that I know it will to get to the top. In my head I think I have this delusion that someday, the right person will stumble upon my blog and send me straight to Sports Illustrated.

Who am I kidding? Who was I to expect some sort of… fanfare with this? When I found out I was hired as the news and sports director of my college’s radio station, there was no applause, no press conference, my name didn’t trend on Twitter, I just accepted it and got ready to work. When I received the email that I was the new sports editor of the school newspaper, I high-fived my best friend and then went back to work. I don’t deserve any recognition yet, why should I even dream about it?

So you know what? I’m glad that things didn’t go the way they were supposed to. Because they rarely ever do. So for this run-of-the-mill 18 year-old college sports writer, quietly hitting the post button on my 100th blog entry and not worrying about what happens later is exactly what I needed.

Invisible

One of com professors (*ahem* one of my FAVORITE com professors) just said that good writing was invisible. He compared writing to the screws and joints that hold a building together. You don't notice them, and you certainly don't talk about them, but they're still there, and they're needed to hold everything together.

My first thought, as a writer, was where does that leave me?

Sure, maybe some of my motivations for asking this are a bit selfish. I mean, I'm the writer, I don't want my creations to go unnoticed. I want people to pour over every word I type, and drool over my adverb choices. I want the kids who tormented me in high school to show their remorse by praising my hard news inverted pyramid.

I just want people to know my name.

But is this the best way to go? Probably not. I should be writing to tell a story, not to get glory for myself. And hopefully, if I do things the right way, for the right reasons, that other stuff will come later.

Seriously

I've never called for violent rioting in the streets before, and I'm not doing so now, but this is as close as I hope to ever get.

I think that people just assume there will be an NFL season in 2011, and that might not be the case. Ever since the negotiations started, people thought things would magically get better. Even when the CBA expired, things had to work out, right? And now, when it doesn't look good at all, there still hasn't been a massive, national freak out.

Why the heck not?

When will it finally set in that in February, we might have seen the last of pro football for more than a year? When will people start writing letters and picketing stadiums and sending threatening emails to the commissioner? What will it take to show people that neither the NFL nor the Player's Union is messing around. This is a real lockout; one that doesn't appear to be ending anytime soon.

The fans have the real power here, it's time we stepped up and used it.


EDITOR'S NOTE: Be aware of three things as you finish reading this post and get ready to click off the page.
First, I was totally kidding about the rioting and the threatening letters. Violence is never the answer. Unless, of course, the question is "What is never the answer?" Then, and only then, is the answer violence.
Second, I am fully aware that as soon as I post this, the NFL and the Player's Union will come to an agreement. Just my luck.
Thirdly, I have a lot more good stuff on here. Go check it out now.

Remember This:

Just a few more days in the semester everybody. Come on, we got this.

We can do it.

YOU can do it.

The Edge of My Seat Isn't Very Comfortable

First, I was a kid with an idea.

Then, I was a kid with a dream.

Then, I was a kid with a pen.

Then I was a do-it-all reporter for a small-town newspaper with a staff that could all fit comfortably into a VW Bug. With the back seat taken out.

Then, I was (and still am) a staff writer for a weekly college newspaper that was named one of the best in the country.

I want to take the next step.

A couple weeks ago, I submitted my application to be the sports editor of The Sojourn for the 2011-2012 school year. 21 days, one interview, and countless hours of worrying and overthinking later, and today was the day that I was to find out if my superiors thought I could fill the shoes required to take that step.

Being the cool, level-headed person that I am, throughout the day I only checked my email for the notification when the hand on the clock hit 30 and 60. The second hand, that is.

A little after two o'clock this afternoon, I received an email from next year's editor-in-chief. But to my dismay, the headline of "hold your horses" informed me that the decision would not come today.

So I wait.

And I write.

And I hold my breath until I find out if I move one step closer to my idea, my dream; the thing I've wanted to do since I was just a kid with a pen.

Heading for Home

For decades, legendary radio baseball announcer Joe Nuxhall was welcomed into the homes of sports fans. He is remembered for his famous signoff phrase: “This is the old left-hander, rounding third and heading for home.” That's what myself and countless other college students are going through right now. Finals weeks everywhere are approaching like a freight train, and I have that freshman-in-the-headlights look in my eyes.

It's not that I haven't done this before. The same thing happened last semester. However, classes have stepped up their collective game this semester, so I must do the same. The last couple months have been the most challenging of my life. Both classes, work, and the combination of the two.

As hard as it's been, I'm glad for this tough semester. It's forced me to become better as a writer, student, worker, and person. Now, instead of just writing and turning it in, I question myself and try to make my writing better.

For Indiana Wesleyan University students, this is the last full week of classes before finals, Easter Break, more finals, and then finally the sweet release of death... I mean summer break.

But we all still have to make it through this week. One more week. A week to learn. A week to grow. A week to study. A week to work.

A week to round third...

and head for home.

Left Out

They say that if you try to please everyone, you will end up not pleasing anyone. Well I'm going to stretch this phrase to cover college. There are only 24 hours in the day, so between work, classes, and homework, something is bound to get left out, or at the very least, half-heartedly done.

And this is coming from a double major with three jobs.

Am I saying that I do this? I try my hardest not to, ever. When at work, I do everything on my schedule that day. When in class, I listen and participate and all that good stuff that gets you a gold star. When doing homework, I stay focused and put real effort into my projects and papers. But still, sometimes things slip through the cracks.

Maybe I'm tired and overlook something at work. Maybe I'm tired and I doze off a little in class. Or maybe I'm tired and I choose to go to bed at 2 in the morning instead of pulling an all-nighter to write a paper.

Notice a trend? Once again, there are only so many hours in a day. And there is a new law in Indiana that says for every hour students spend in class, professors should assign two hours of homework. Let's think about this. Really?

I'm not one of those people who hate school and homework and all the likes. Actually, I genuinely enjoy school, and I embrace the work head on because guess what? I'm here to learn. My only concern is that sometimes administration (not just at my school) forget that we're people too. We're workers, family members, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, and many other things. I understand that college is supposed to be tough and that time management, while not a class, is the thing we learn the most about. I just think that sometimes, it can be too much.

As I type this, I can think of four projects (oh wait- five) that I could do right now. Guess I should get to working on them so I can go to bed before 2am.

Freedom in the Press

I like to call myself a journalism purist. And what I mean by that is I like journalism. Not the bells and whistles or all the hoops through which writers have to jump. I just like writing. It's something that comes naturally to people. Sure, some people work on it and get good, but overall it's a gift that you either have or you don't.

This stance is something that I've had to forget about to a certain extent in my time at college. Taking many classes that force (allow?) you to write everyday tends to water down the creative aspect of writing and make you focus on the structured, formulaic side of it.

I'm not saying that people who have that gift of writing should just sit down at their typewriter and start blindly churning out words in whatever intoxicated state they're in (whether it be caffeinated or otherwise. we are, after all, journalists). But people who have that gift should be able to just sit down and write a good article.

Rules have their place. Structure has its place. Editors have their place. But sometimes, good writing can be good writing, for no other reason than it just is. Maybe it broke a rule or two, maybe the lead was too long, maybe a couple sentences were passive; maybe there were only two sources. But even though a piece broke a couple of those "rules" we must abide by in class, it made for a good read. Because the quality of writing cannot be judged by yes or no questions or hard-and-fast rules. Because, like art, the quality is determined by each individual who sees it.