Write your own story

One of my most memorable mentors in life is Jim McKenzie. Jim was one of my professors at the University of Regina's School of Journalism. Jim taught me three things - 1: to be true to personal values, and 2: to be balanced and compassionate in the writing process, and 3: to be thorough.

Since graduating from the School of Journalism, I never stopped writing.  Writing is what keeps me grounded. Writing keeps my head in my own game. It is the means through which I document the story of my experience.

Writing challenges me to think through all the corners of my mind and to look at the world from an objective perspective.  I have rules for writing.

1.  Be factual and balanced.
2.  Be compassionate, but not passionate.
3.  Be compelling.

I also follow one of the other rules that I learned as a child:  "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."  (Those were the wise words of Thumper's mother in the Disney movie, Bambi.)

Jim could deliver a lesson like none other.   A hard core journalist, Jim was everything you might imagine. He was kind of rough around the edges, a little gruff, and had mastered the fine art of challenging others without saying a word. He was a master instigator of learning.

One lesson Jim taught me was how to set my own boundaries. Our class was writing an on-line magazine that semester, and the focus was the sex trade.  I was assigned the topic of child prostitution along with another student.

The plan was simple, or so we thought.  We would locate a person and interview them.  That's what journalists do, right?

We began the way an inexperienced person might begin. We went out to find out what was going on.  So we drove to the neighborhoods that were infamous for such things, and observed.

I saw children.  Period. I did not see the "sex trade".  And I saw the stereotypes that we were propagating by just being there.

We were unwittingly participating in the problem. It struck me that if that were my child on the streets of my own neighborhood, and someone made that assumption about my child, I would have to retaliate.  Secondly, it made me realize - who was I to label these children?

I went back to Jim to deliver the news that I could not do the story as assigned.  He asked me why and I told him that I did not believe there was child prostitution.  I believe there is child abuse. And to participate in that story is to further the lie and protect the abusers.

Jim bought my reasons and let me off the hook.  Instead, I focused on the abusers - the people who were taking advantage of children.  I attempted to interview some people who were already serving time for such things, but not surprisingly, they declined the invitation to be interviewed.

I spoke to parents of children who had been abused on the streets and their story was sad.  One woman told me she would block the door, but her daughter would find another way out.  The mother told me she could not compete because she did not have the money to give her daughter the things she wanted.

I spoke to adults about their childhood experiences on the streets, which only furthered my view that this was abuse and that children need to be protected.

In the end, I retold the public record, including a listing of who had been before the courts on such charges and what the outcomes were over a period of time.  I let the facts speak for themselves.  And I wrote the story that needed to be written.

Jim passed away some years ago, but I often think of him still when I am challenged to tell "the" story. Not just "a" story.  The principles that Jim instilled - to be factual, compassionate and compelling - continue to guide my writing process.

Learning to land

Recently I experienced what you might call a collision with circumstance.  Two unrelated events coincided, and it got ugly for a short time.  It was not disasterous by any stretch of the imagination, but it was one of those life events where I was devastated for a short time. In the scheme of things, this is not a big deal. Nobody was hurt, and nobody was embarrassed except for me. No risks were taken.  Nobody's reputation was destroyed, and no animals were harmed in the making of the mistake.  Nevertheless it haunted me for 5 solid days and was "news worthy" in my life, at least.

When I was in journalism school, I remember having a discussion about what constitutes news.  We said that news is the exception to the rule. It's the good and the bad and it's things that at the very minimum make you say, "hmmmmm".  In journalism school integrity, honesty and respect were drummed into our heads.

We knew that we would be beaten within an inch of our professional credentials if we were to "recreate" a story, or misrespresent the facts in some way.  If you have ever been subjected to Jim McKenzie's scrutiny, you will understand what I mean.  Palms moisten. Sweat begins to form on the brow.  It didn't take much.  We learned to do our homework to pass the Jim test.

So in my professional life, I do not cross the boundaries that were set for me way back then. I dot my I's and cross my T's.  I stick to what is true and accurate, and I do my best to uphold this standard for my department. But I am human, nonetheless, and I do err.

J-school taught me to have a high bounce factor. I pride myself on being resilient which helps me to survive the times that I do occasionally disappoint myself or others.  When I fall, it hurts. But usually I spend very little time on the fact that I fell, and more on the "how I am going to pick myself up and keep going" question.

There is only way that I know how to do that.  I make a plan - a path if you will - of how I am going to get up and keep going. The plan helps me to know what's ahead, before it comes, and in the process of developing the plan, I am already off the ground and walking toward my goal again.

A plan is a safety net, especially in an unstable environment. Think about it - you are walking through the forest in the night - the only thing that keeps you from being lost is the fact that you know where you are and where you are going. That's what a plan does. It is the voice of reason in your head, when your heart is pounding and your palms are sweating.

The other thing that gets me off the floor is remembering that people do count on me. That this is not about me. It's about them.  Every day, I pick myself up, no matter how I feel about the world, I smile, and I go to work. Why? Because that's my job. I exist for others. And others exist to help me. That's the way it is. We are all connected and part of something else.