Doubt

Sometimes, I hate everything I write. Sometimes, I will stare at my computer screen and choke.

I’ll look at my words and I will hate them.

And I will feel that hate burning and bubbling at the bottom of my throat.

I am a writer. I know this because I write. I know this because I’ve written. I know this because I plan to keep writing.

Still, sometimes, I will read a blog post or a headline or a story or a text message or a tweet and I will think:

This is bad.

I’ll look at my stupid words and I’ll tell myself that it’s not enough just to write.

I’ll tell myself that I have to be a good writer. I’ll tell myself that I am not a good writer. I’ll wonder if I’ll ever be a good writer.

I read this article on What Nobody Tells Young Creatives. For a moment, it made me feel better. For a moment, I convinced myself that recognizing my own bad writing was the first step in becoming a good writer.

Doubt has a way of dodging reason.

It can root deep in your thoughts despite Agency Post articles and despite improvement and despite advice and despite mentors and despite peers and despite support and despite success.

Maybe doubt lives here, in this creative world, and is a neighbour I’ll learn to deal with.

Maybe I’ll find motivation in doubt.

Or, maybe it will consume me and my fingers will paralyze, for the last time, just above the keyboard.

For now, I’ll keep writing.

I’m new, right? I’m young. I’m just starting out. That’s reason enough, right? That means I can stumble, right? That means I can write something bad and learn from it and not have it drag me down like I’m carrying every black and white page of terrible writing I’ve ever squeezed out of my hands, right?

The Pint opened a new Winnipeg location. It’s new. It has some wrinkles to iron, but I hope people will forgive it. I hope people will give it a chance to learn and improve.

After all, it’s only there to serve people.

Here’s what I had at The Pint:

Rocky Mountain Club: Grilled chicken, bacon, tomatoes, cheddar cheese, lettuce and maple mayo on fresh pretzel bread. 13.00

Impression: Classic clubhouse. The pretzel bread was soft and dense, a nice change from slices of toast. The sandwich, which includes a side, was enough to feed two people.

What made it? Maple mayo. One of my dinner buddies said she was expecting “more of a funky mayo.” I liked the subtlety of the maple. It wasn’t strong, but it gave the sandwich an earthy, rustic personality.

Special mention: Fries. Holy bajeezus those are some tasty fries.

DIY

DIY.

Do it yourself.

Way to go. Power to the people. Rock on. Stick it to the man. Do it yourself.

I was feeling strapped for cash so I made my own sandwich for this week’s blog. I thought I’d look in the old refrigerator, take whatever it could give me, and throw together a delicious sammy.

I did. I made a tuna sandwich, with some chopped celery and red pepper. I put it on some toasted rye with melted white cheddar cheese then smothered it all in Sriracha.

I did it myself.

It was okay. It wasn’t fantastic. I haven’t decided to pursue a prestigious career as a sandwich artist. I didn’t do any cartwheels after the first spicy bite. It was just ok. Not bad, though.

So, do it yourself, except not all the time.

You have to understand your weaknesses. I know that I’m not the best sandwich maker. I know that it’s okay to ask for help some times.

But, you also have to know your strengths.

I am one of the best sandwich eaters I have ever met.

Do it myself?

I will eat any sandwich. All by myself.

 

Was this a murky metaphor for coming to terms with my abilities and lack thereof? Does this post signify a new-found appreciation for who I am as a person?

Not sure. Metaphors aren’t really one of my strengths.

 

 

 

Almost

For five months my instructors have been telling me how competitive the communications industry is.

“Sure, I get that,” I thought.

I didn’t get that.

On January 25th, I received an email from the Winnipeg Free Press.

The email popped into my inbox at exactly 6:00 p.m. The paper had heard of a murder near the Osborne Street Bridge and needed someone to file a story that night.

I’ve been writing a To Do column for the paper’s Sunday Xtra edition, but this was different. This was bigger. This was way outside my comfort zone.

I had to do it.

Nervous and excited, I was careful to write a confident-sounding email and replied at exactly 6:15 p.m. I said that I was working nearby in the Exchange at the moment, but would be able to get down to the bridge at 8:00 p.m.

Immediately, he responded.

Someone else had already claimed the job. I wrote back only 15 minutes after receiving the email and someone else had beaten me to it.

That someone is a second year CreComm student so that’s awesome and I’m happy for her, but her speed made me think about what our instructors have been saying.

This is a competitive industry.

And that’s a little scary.

You can read the story that was published here. It really is quite good.