Commentary by Chris Smith, editor-in-chief of Clarksville Now.
Someone asked me recently how I ended up in journalism, which I’ve been doing now as a career since 1992, so that’s, what, 31 years? Yeah, 31 years. And before that, I worked at my high school and college newspapers, starting in 1986. (Hold on, let me get my calculator … 37 years.)
My answer on how I ended up in journalism? I can’t do math. And I’m bad with science, too, mainly because it frequently involves math. My initial plan was to become an architect, but I’m told that that also takes some math, and there’d be a lot of collapsed buildings in my wake if that nightmare had come true.
Writing is about the only thing I can do without falling on my fingers, and journalism is about the only career where you can turn writing into a paycheck.
I started as an English major. I even got a master’s degree. Along the way, I taught Freshman Composition for two years, and I discovered that I didn’t enjoy constantly trying to motivate 13th-graders. What did I enjoy? That ongoing side hobby of journalism. So, I turned that hobby into a job, and well, here we are.
It’s turned into a real passion, too. While I came here for the money (though it’s never been much money), I soon fell in love with the mission: Building a better community by providing information, connecting people and exposing problems that need to be solved. It’s also a heck of a lot of fun.
Scratching the creative itch
But there’s this … itch. Editing and writing articles about government meetings, trials, business openings, fires – I could do that all day. (And sometimes I do.) Those things are real.
Sometimes too real. Sometimes, I want the defendant to admit on the stand that not only is she guilty, she is also a fifth magistrate reincarnation of the divine Apsu, goddess of the watery depths, who would then liquify and spill out across the feet of the judge and bailiffs. Leather shoes ruined. Case closed.
Or the new business is a front for a black-market operation in which desperate people can sell persistent negative thoughts, a vial at a time. Savvy innocents yearning to understand the nature of evil could purchase these thoughts, at $54.86 after taxes, and for the first time feel the sweet ecstasy of being tempted to steal your neighbor’s Amazon packages.
When I don’t do that sort of creative writing, I kind of turn into the worst version of myself. I get sullen. Depressed. Irritable. I start killing people without hiding the bodies. I don’t return shopping carts.
I was able to scratch this itch by writing Daddy on Board, and now Daddy Overboard – humor columns where I could write in a fun way about real situations. But it’s still too real, and that’s not enough.
Making it (un)real
One of the side advantages of ending Daddy on Board when I did was that it freed up my time and energy to write a novel, Salamanders of the Silk Road, which was published in 2016 by Lanternfish Press. It’s about a guy named Prester John who’s lived 1,700 years longer than he wanted and is having a frustrating vacation in Florida while being annoyed by his telepathic pet salamander.
I’ve had a couple of short stories published, too: “Love at First Sound: What Happened Between Me and Delores Hightower” in 2020 by The Gateway Review (about conversations in which words are visible and tangible), and “Exile from Sodom” in 2021 by Waxing & Waning (about a post-apocalyptic domestic squabble).
All of that takes time and creative energy, both of which I thought I’d have more of once The Wife and I were empty-nesters. But you know what? I’ve now proven that I have both, and I’ve done that by writing this column every week for the last six weeks, minus the week when God decided Clarksville needed a good lashing with 80-mph winds and power outages.
I have truly enjoyed revisiting the column, and I’ve especially appreciated hearing from readers who’ve enjoyed catching up with us.
Now it’s time to direct my free-time energy back into things that are less real. Of course, you’ll still find me 24/7 on Clarksville Now, and with the occasional commentary or editorial piece. And who knows – I might be back with another version of this column one day. (I kind of like the sound of Grandaddy on Board, but no pressure!)
Daddy Overboard is a limited series on life as empty-nesters.
PREVIOUSLY:
- Starting over without bedtime stories, ‘serd’ fights, Disney movies
- COVID dog finds way into family, even after kids have gone
- Burning off steam in the kitchen, and learning to cook for 2
- Downsizing starts with goodbyes for minivan-size pile of books
- ‘Reverse-nesting’ includes bathroom repairs, tool giveaway, empty room debate