Written on January 30, 2014
So I decided to pitch for a big ass serious news agency that deals with serious stories.
They liked it and now I am petrified.
Now, I really have to write this serious story about the one-punch issue in Australia. I grappled for names to interview, looked for ways to get in touch with these people. It was scary. It was a rush.
I felt insecure. I haven’t done real serious journalism in years. I didn’t think I knew what to do.
Hubby talked to me about it. He said I used to do this. He said I’ve always been good at this. He said I have to let myself admit that I am actually enjoying the nerves, the fear, and the drive.
And you know what? I do. The fear, the stress, the tingle, like spider senses. Then the euphoria of getting that interview, of getting the information I needed. Then back to the fear again of putting it all together into one coherent successful story before handing it to the editor for checking (insert more fear here).
Oh the rush. I have missed you. But I’m not sure my old heart can sustain you. Maybe every now and then I’ll look for you again. I’m not the adrenaline junkie I used to be.
P.S. They published my story.