Grrrrrrr, I say.
Posted: Wed Oct 08, 2008 3:31 pm
Yes, I'm saying it, not Annie. It has taken me all day to unmiff sufficiently to avoid swear words..
As many of you know, I write a column about once a month for an Oklahoma City tabloid. Until this month, I could pick my own topics. Last month, I received an e-mail about a new policy. Because too many of the other columnists kept writing about the presidential candidates with much of the sort of subtlety and charm that we have observed over here, the editor (probably at the direction of the publisher, who probably was persuaded by advertisers) decreed new rules. As he or she came up in the rotation, each columnist was to submit a choice of topics to the editor in advance. Naturally, I promptly forgot about this, until this week, when it was my turn, with a deadline of noon today. Yesterday morning, the editor asked me about my choices. Within a half hour or so, I had responded with three topics and expressed my preference. I did not hear back from him -- not promptly, nor all afternoon. I considered the possibility that he was fine with my prefered topic, and I considered that probable. Last night, I decided I'd better get started, completed some research, and wrote about half of it. I set my alarm so I would have plenty of time to finish this morning.
At nine-effing-thirty today, I received another e-mail from the editor. He wanted a column of a specific length on the topic I would have thought most unlikely, and he still wanted it at noon. (This is where I began a string of swear words in real life.) I had to start from scratch, which began with trying to round up some actual facts on which to base my opinion and words. I wrote as fast as I could. I "finished" at least three times, then discovered that the piece was still too short and went back to Google to find more information that I could expand into yet another paragraph. Finally, I hit "send" at 12:05.
I'm putting the topic about which I wrote the half-done column on next month's list of choices, along with my suggestions for an academic treatise on the economic implications of shoe soles and a scientific analysis of parasites found on Maylasian lemurs. What I'd done so far was not all that fascinating, but I hate that my time was wasted.
Vent over. I'm having seconds in the Moritorium Lounge. I love fair food!
As many of you know, I write a column about once a month for an Oklahoma City tabloid. Until this month, I could pick my own topics. Last month, I received an e-mail about a new policy. Because too many of the other columnists kept writing about the presidential candidates with much of the sort of subtlety and charm that we have observed over here, the editor (probably at the direction of the publisher, who probably was persuaded by advertisers) decreed new rules. As he or she came up in the rotation, each columnist was to submit a choice of topics to the editor in advance. Naturally, I promptly forgot about this, until this week, when it was my turn, with a deadline of noon today. Yesterday morning, the editor asked me about my choices. Within a half hour or so, I had responded with three topics and expressed my preference. I did not hear back from him -- not promptly, nor all afternoon. I considered the possibility that he was fine with my prefered topic, and I considered that probable. Last night, I decided I'd better get started, completed some research, and wrote about half of it. I set my alarm so I would have plenty of time to finish this morning.
At nine-effing-thirty today, I received another e-mail from the editor. He wanted a column of a specific length on the topic I would have thought most unlikely, and he still wanted it at noon. (This is where I began a string of swear words in real life.) I had to start from scratch, which began with trying to round up some actual facts on which to base my opinion and words. I wrote as fast as I could. I "finished" at least three times, then discovered that the piece was still too short and went back to Google to find more information that I could expand into yet another paragraph. Finally, I hit "send" at 12:05.
I'm putting the topic about which I wrote the half-done column on next month's list of choices, along with my suggestions for an academic treatise on the economic implications of shoe soles and a scientific analysis of parasites found on Maylasian lemurs. What I'd done so far was not all that fascinating, but I hate that my time was wasted.
Vent over. I'm having seconds in the Moritorium Lounge. I love fair food!
