Has it really been nearly a month since my last post?
The past few weeks have been eventful, to say the least, but perhaps when I tell you why, you’ll forgive me for being lackadaisical with Ink for Blood.
(And hopefully you’ll forgive me for tooting my own horn for just a mo.)
In early March, I was promoted to editor of the Weekender – or, as I like to say editrix because it has such a fantastic little ring to it, don’t you think?
I knew when I started at the paper more than five years ago, the editor’s position was something to strive for – and something many, many writers throughout their career might strive for as well. Afterall, it’s pretty much the brass ring position for those of us on this side of the newspaper … or is it?
Today, I had lunch with one of our correspondents, who, ironically, was the very first person I interviewed for my very first assignment as a journalism student back in 2003.
Naturally we talked a lot about writing, but one of the main things that stuck out to me from our conversation was when he asked if I missed writing, something I’m, sadly, doing much less of for the time being.
I replied that I did, but it was worth it because this is what we work so hard for, to which he replied, “Really? I thought it was just to write.”
He had a point, and a zinging one at that.
While my schedule has been completely maniacal the past few weeks, leaving little time for me to blog, journal or write as many articles for the paper as I had in the past, it took that one little comment to remind me of one of the most important aspects of who I am.
At the end of the day, I am a writer.
I will always be a writer, no matter what title follows my name on my business card because this editrix has ink for blood.