Tag: writing

Snoring is just one sign of a seasoned journalist

Good morning and welcome to my first post-turning-47 Sunday Flashback! The fact that I’m even able to say “post-turning-47 Sunday Flashback” proves that 1) I am still quite dexterous, at least verbally, and 2) there wasn’t nearly enough tequila involved on my birthday. But one thing I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older is that you don’t need a lot of alcohol to have a good time. In fact, I can experience that same lack of inhibition and disorientation just by getting up from the couch too fast, or having a Red Bull with my Twinkie. Speaking of being disoriented, I believe it’s time we get to this week’s Flashback. As always it comes from long ago, back when I thought “Freshly Pressed” was a website for people with a fetish for naked dry cleaners; back when my only followers were WordPress sites I opened for my pets; back when the only comments I got were things like “Back to work, Hickson!” and “Honey, can you grab some milk on the way home?” Some of you may recognize the photo, which is from my “About” page. And yes, we do have flies that big in Oregon…

What may appear as sleeping to the untrained eye is actually the complex routine of a seasoned journalist focused on a Pulitzer … or possibly a Putziler.
Every journalist has a routine. For example, I always write my column early in the morning. The earlier the better. That’s because, generally speaking, I’m not awake yet. Sure, I may be drinking coffee and typing, but if you were to monitor my brain activity, it would register somewhere between an earthworm and the average American watching Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.

Admittedly, my brain doesn’t open for business until about 10 a.m. By then, I’ve been at the keyboard for three or four hours with no real memory of what I’ve been writing. I assure my editor this unique quirk is the sign of a seasoned professional.

And she assures me the reason we need to keep replacing my keyboard is because, at least once a month, she finds me face down drooling on the return key. That may be true, but I tend to do my best work under pressure. And there’s nothing like the pressure of trying to finish a column before saliva short-circuits your keyboard. Continue reading Snoring is just one sign of a seasoned journalist

It’s my 47th birthday and the excitement is tangible

As you can see, these kids who crashed my birthday party can barely contain their enthusiasm.
As you can see, these kids who crashed my birthday party can barely contain their enthusiasm.
This week’s edition of Ned’s Nickel’s Worth on Writing is brought to you by a 47-year-old man! [Please note the exclamation point! (Hey, there’s another one!)] Why am I excited about this? And why am I not calling in sick while lining up shot glasses on the kitchen table?!? Because, in addition to my birthday falling on an NWOW Friday, I feel GREAT!

I’m in my PRIME!

And I want the whole world to know how, through positive thinking and the repetitious use of exclamation points, you can believe it too!!

To celebrate, I dressed in my favorite AC/DC T-shirt, jeans and smokey grey Vans. Oh, and Dos Equis underwear. Um, to clarify, those are underneath my jeans, not on top (I haven’t had that much to drink). I also took a moment to record the occasion for posterity by taking a photo. Which isn’t to say I took a picture of my butt. But I did stand next to the only other thing in our newsroom older than me (until my editor gets here), which is The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance). Continue reading It’s my 47th birthday and the excitement is tangible

Barbara Walters, Anderson Cooper back away from… The Door

The Door, sentinel of journalistic history since the 1970s; preserver of privacy to the restroom.
The Door, sentinel of journalistic history since the 1970s; preserver of privacy to the restroom.
For the time being, it seems major news outlets like ABC, CBS, NBC and The 700 Club have backed off in their pursuit of an exclusive on The Door (of Shame Blame and Brilliance) here in our newsroom. It’s been more than a week since Barbara Walters has called and threatened to “DESTWOY your CAWEERS!” And thanks to a case of hemorrhoids, Morley Safer has stopped faxing us images of his rear, which were starting to resemble a topographical map of civil war battle sites.

We’ve also heard nothing from Anderson Cooper, who seemed to lose interest in what he called “Possibly the most important piece of journalistic history since Chris Cuomo” once he discovered the other side of The Door had a commode instead of a closet.

So let us continue on as we do each Tuesday, and highlight an example of journalistic shame, blame or brilliance from The Door, which reporters have been contributing to for nearly 40 years in an effort to preserve history and, thanks to four decades of glue and tape, keep The Door from collapsing in on itself. Continue reading Barbara Walters, Anderson Cooper back away from… The Door

… This Just In …

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…TAT-tat-tat-TAT-TAT-tat-tat-TAT…

[Breaking News: from another strangely irrelevant moment in our news room…]

It’s Friday. A deadline day. Tomorrow’s readers will benefit from today’s laser-like focus in our newsroom — plus whatever it is I do. Today, in addition to the normal pressures and distractions that accompany a deadline day, such as a phone call from the local bridge club or the unexpected arrival of free donuts, I have THIS to contend with… Continue reading … This Just In …

Admittedly, I’ve been resting on my Freshly Pressed laurels

imageImagine my surprise when, on Wednesday, I opened my email to find something other than a window full of male enhancement offers and senior dating website links? That’s right. Sandwiched between them was something totally unexpected; something that meant a window of possibilities was about to open. I’m sure you’ve probably guessed what I’m talking about:

An email from a dethroned prince in Mozambique looking for an American bank account to send his fortune to for safe keeping.

It was while contemplating the legitimacy of Prince Imgonna Takeyourmonee’s offer that I noticed another email, this time with a name that was much easier to pronounce: Cheri Lucas Rowlands. She informed me that my latest post (If you can’t fix it with gum and duct tape, it’s not a real VW bus), was going to be Freshly Pressed.

She also told me if the excitement lasted for more than four hours, I should see a doctor.

Wait… sorry, wrong email. Continue reading Admittedly, I’ve been resting on my Freshly Pressed laurels

… This Just In …

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…TAT-tat-tat-TAT-TAT-tat-tat-TAT…

[Breaking News: from another strangely irrelevant moment in our news room…]

As our editor passes through the newsroom, a reporter looks up from her computer screen.

Reporter: “Have you assigned anyone to cover the Psychic Fair this weekend?”

Editor: “I was thinking about doing it.”

Reporter: “Really?”

Editor: “No, not really. And you’re obviously not psychic, so it won’t be you.”

Me: [remaining quiet and still]

Editor: “This sounds like you’re beat.”

Me: [Dropping back in my chair] “Really? Why me?”

Editor: “How did you know I meant you? Obviously you must be psychic. Therefore it’s your assignment.”

Me: “I think my life line just shrank.”

Editor: “You should get that looked at while you’re there.”

(Ned is a syndicated columnist with News Media Corporation. You can write to him at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at Siuslaw News, P.O. Box 10, Florence, Ore. 97439)

One group’s quest brings them to… The Door

The Door: Cultural mecca; journalistic icon; restroom door.
The Door: Cultural mecca; journalistic icon; restroom door.
The media storm continues to swirl around us in the newsroom here at Siuslaw News, where we have denied access to all the major news outlets seeking an exclusive to The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance). Obviously, this has made us a lot of enemies at ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX and The 700 Club, all of which have sent their most prestigious correspondents to secure an exclusive to what Brian Williams has called, “Equal to the Rosetta Stone in terms of journalism — You know, if The Door wasn’t already in English.”

While Morley Safer is continuing to hound us for the exclusive by faxing images of his buttocks with the words “You will crack” written on them, Barbara Walters has been talking about us on The View, hoping to manipulate the public into thinking we have something to hide. As she said during this morning’s show, “What if we cwosed the Smithswonian to the pubwic? What are they twying to hide? It’s a weal twavesty.”

The fact is, we have nothing to hide. At least, not unless someone is on the other side of The Door using the commode. Just last week I spoke at the Boys and Girls Club about journalism, and how any one of them could become a successful journalist like me! Once the laughter faded, I ended my presentation by talking about The Door. Continue reading One group’s quest brings them to… The Door

Humor columnist and firefighter; sometimes my two worlds collide

imageAs some of you know, in addition to being a humor columnist, I’m also a volunteer firefighter. I don’t write much about that aspect of my life because I don’t encounter many humorous situations when we roll onto a scene. About half of what we do involves MVAs (motor vehicle accidents), from fender benders to multi-car fatals. Because we get a lot of tourists here, most of the situations we encounter don’t involve people we know. But living in a smaller town, you know the possibility exists every time your pager goes off. It just goes with the territory. Continue reading Humor columnist and firefighter; sometimes my two worlds collide

Investigative journalism in action…

Only the trained eye of a journalist, or average five-year-old, could recognize this is a freshly painted street. It's what we do.
Only the trained eye of a journalist, or average five-year-old, could recognize this is a freshly painted street. It’s what we do.
They say the news never sleeps. At least, not while an editor is watching. As a journalist, I have a trained eye for recognizing even the most subtle signs of a brewing news story. Even if it has nothing to do with coffee.

A reluctant glance.

A quickly hidden document.

A misspoken word.

This morning as I entered the office parking lot, my investigative journalism instincts led me to suspected the city had secretly re-striped the street behind our office. How do I know this? It’s just something you feel in your gut. I can’t explain how or why. I just know I trust it. Unless it’s lunch time…

Journalists can’t wait to be shown… The Door

The Door in our newsroom: a sentinel of newspaper clippings, held together by history and a lot of tape.
The Door in our newsroom: a sentinel of newspaper clippings, held together by history and a lot of tape.
For those who have been following The Door, particularly in the last few weeks, then you know that media powerhouses ABC, CBS, NBC and the 700 Club have been pressuring me for an interview and exclusive access to what Diane Sawyer called “A journalistic treasure equal to the late Barbara Walters, God rest her soul… hmm? Oh, sorry. I mean, if she were dead.”

Needless to say the pressure has been tremendous. Even Morley Safer was pulled out of retirement to hound me, which he has been doing by continuously faxing images of his rear with the words “I will make you crack.”

So, yes — things have been a little tense here in the Siuslaw News editorial room, where The Door remains safe from blatant commercialism and media hype, while continuing to serve its dual purpose as both a journalistic mecca and restroom door. For those who may be visiting for the first time, perhaps because you have just been rescued from a deserted island along with a volleyball named “Wilson,” I should explain that The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance), is home to a collection of the best and worst examples of newspaper journalism, taped there by reporters at the Siuslaw News since the 1970s, back when most interviews took place while sitting naked in a grassy field. Each week, we highlight one of those historic examples, after which we wash our hands repeatedly. Continue reading Journalists can’t wait to be shown… The Door