week of 1/23/02
 
 
 


stream of consciousness runs out of dry well
By Scott McLeod
Deadline, deadline, weighing down, deadline, deadline, coming round.

5:45 a.m. wake up call. grating, obnoxious hotel room phone ring. knoxville. swim meet at UT. move slowly, deliberately down to lobby with laptop, quiet so as not to wake wife, kids.

sunday morning, column writing time. coffee at the deluxe continental breakfast with stale bagels, no milk, strong coffee. security guard drinks McDonalds coke at couch next to me. someone’s old bifocals under cushion. i try them out. they help. my time is coming.

what the hell can I write about? what happened this week?

more coffee.

thoughts jumble along. from editor and editorial writer to writer.reporter.editor. columnist.publisher.janitor.secretary. junior bookkeeper.etc.etc. now,134 weeks later, 129 columns later, the well’s dry. nothing.

how do people do this their entire lives? i’ve read the columns before by so-called writers who can’t think of anything to write about. old letters turn into a story. cleaning out files becomes fascinating fodder. ode to a paper clip. yawn.

6:30 a.m., three cups of joe later. my brain is working in that stream of consciousness speed of a million thoughts a minute when it is impossible to write coherently. i give up — for now.

zip up gore-tex and briefcase. on my way out pass by front desk person who now wonders if i even have a room, stash laptop in van, and head out across campus.

sun rise. clear, cold, wet. know nothing about campus but set river as my goal. want to see old arched bridges in early morning. UT campus before 7 a.m. on sunday, Jan. 20, is eerie, personless place. one man pulling weeds from in front of a building (in january?). one car passes me. where are the 20,000-some odd students?

female student walks up dorm steps. out all night? where? another woman, professor or grad student maybe, jogging. it’s below freezing and she’s wearing shorts, no gloves. tough woman.

i walk a campus loop, and it seems half of campus is sports-related facilities. Tennis, swimming, diving, basketball, football, etc. etc.

back at the hotel, lobby crowded with free-breakfast freeloaders. nothing comes to mind, still.

knoxville news-sentinel lead sunday morning story — KKK rally in newport. 800 people. shouting, yelling, no real problems with violence. scum celebrating robert e. lee’s birthday a day before MLK day celebration, but lee would have been first to bust them up.

day passes with family. take mind off work. no subjects come up.

sunday night. back home. upstairs. at desk. shaking the tree, but nothing drops.

think back over work week.

monday — terrific writer will harlan’s last story edited and ready for newspaper. bye bye. he moves on, and the SMN loses a good one.

email: last week’s column had mistake. skipper bowles, father of senate candidate erskine bowles, was never governor. was democratic nominee in 1972. my mistake. no name on email, but i write back. memory failed me.

email: mother who had children abused by husband (not children’s father) read cover story two weeks ago. wants to tell her story, perhaps it will help prevent other children from being abused, she suggests. i encourage her to do it. feel guilty. wrestle with feeling that I’m taking advantage of her situation to get good story. explain my feelings in an email and let her make call.

tuesday — houck medford, blue ridge parkway foundation executive director who lives in winston salem, drops by office. he’s from waynesville. i know his sister and mother, have heard lots about him, finally we meet. does good work for one of my favorite places in the world.

tuesday — short work day. piano lessons with girls, nap while sitting on couch listening to budding pianists.

wednesday — bad printer day, bad fax machine day, copy machine vendor guy scores big with great timing. we will have church street’s baddest copier/printer/fax machine sometime this week.

thursday — macon county meeting by opponents of vision 2025 plan. bowled over by turnout. commissioners supporting plan have work cut out for them.

friday — i miss my old friend the poet, but he leaves latest work. i have so far refused to publish him. he keeps coming. calls later in the day.

friday — trip to asheville to meet with ad agencies, potential accounts. 45 minutes in malaprops cafe with my eyes open. artists, psuedo philosophers, readers, young couples, gay women, dread hair everywhere.

walk out feeling like staid, culturally bereft, poorly dressed, establishment business man.

loosen up bro, loosen up.

it’s over. a column about nothing. first and last time for everything.

loosen up man, loosen up.

(Scott McLeod can be reached at info@smokymountainnews.com)