September 13, 2007
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When you write for a newspaper, your stories cover the
whole spectrum of human experience and emotion. You're writing about
life, with all of its poignancy and fear and beauty and humor and
horror and joy.
During the almost 10 years I've spent as a reporter,
I've covered stories so heartbreaking they'll never leave me. Some of
them I wrote with tears running down my cheeks as I typed.
I'll
never, ever forget the pretty high-school homecoming queen who kept her
pregnancy secret from her parents, gave birth alone in the bathroom of
their home, then strangled her newborn daughter with a sock. I've
watched the girl's devastated father, the mayor of the town, standing
by as his hysterical daughter was being brought in in handcuffs. I've
sat through her trial. And I've gone back to the office and written my
story.
I've cried with a grieving woman as she told me about her
elderly father, a kind and respected man, who charged with manslaughter
after he went out at dusk one evening into the woods near his home and
shot at what he thought was a deer, and instead killed her husband. And
then I've gone back to my computer, and I've written my story.
I've
sat in the gentle springtime sunshine on the front porch of a modest
country house and interviewed a frozen mother whose little boy had
burned to death in their nearby house just the day before. And I've
gone back to the office and written my story.
I've talked with a
dignified, shell-shocked couple who had just been notified that their
Naval officer son, their baby, had been killed when the USS Cole was
torpedoed in Yemen. And I've gone back to town and written my story.
I've
stood on a Mississippi highway on Ash Wednesday with a freezing rain
falling on the broken bodies scattered all over the road, after a van
crammed with too many Mexican workers was broadsided by an 18-wheeler.
I've knelt and covered up one young man with a shirt from my car,
trying to keep him warm until the ambulance got there, before I
realized he was dead. And I've gone back to the office and written my
story.
I've sat on Wesley and Peggy Bushnell's deck at Mount Sherman
and talked with them and their three heart-torn daughters about their
Billy, their fallen soldier son and brother, and we all cried
together. And I've driven back to Harrison and written my story.
But
as you know, not all of my stories have been sad ones, and especially
since I've been here at the Daily Times, I've had the opportunity to
write about people who are making this world shine a little more
brightly, people who have inspired me more than they can imagine with
their big hearts and their unselfish giving.
I've talked to some of
the outstanding Mennonite young people who come here to Harrison from
all over the country to give months of their lives in volunteer service
to the elderly at Hillcrest Home. I've watched a handsome boy, at the
age many kids are only thinking about their own good times, helping a
frail old man to eat his lunch, as kindly and gently as a mother taking
care of her child. And I've gone back, and I've written my story.
I've
visited a group of women who gather to stitch quilts to comfort little
children who have been taken out of their homes because of bad, scary
things that were going on there. And I've gone back to the office, and
I've written my story.
I've walked through our Hospice House, for
which untold people have given freely of their time, their money and
their talents, so that our dying neighbors will have a place to go
where they will be cared for with dignity and kindness. And I've gone
back, and I've written my story.
I've gone to see a kind-hearted
lady and her disabled friend, to whom she gives almost every morning of
her life. And I've gone back, and I've written my story.
I've been
to Make-a-Wish Foundation parties, and have seen love in action as sick
children's dreams are brought to life by the kindness of their
neighbors. I've seen their parents' eyes fill with tears as they watch
the joy on their son's and daughter's faces. And I've gone back, and
I've written my story.
Writing for a newspaper is writing about life.
Sometimes
my heart breaks. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I’m terrified. Sometimes
I'm sickened by the horror of it. And many, many times, I'm touched and
strengthened by the kindness and unselfishness and loving hearts of
those I meet. And I go back, and I write my stories.
By Celia DeWoody
Published Sept. 12, 2007
Copyright Harrison Daily Times, Inc. 2007
Comments (8)
RYC: it's so funny to hear that you, the Rambling Gal, are envious of my time to be creative. Hello? Prolific picture taker? But I do know the treadmill of writing a column, and frankly, I'm glad I'm not doing it any more. Maybe again sometime, but not now. You're right; it drives one along at too great a speed through the week.
But look at what your job exposes you to! As you so beautifully listed above, you are canoeing smack-dab in the strong current of human experiences. The whole gamut. You are touching lives, not only with your empathy and attentive ear, but equally so when you put fingers to keyboard and re-tell the story to your readers. Your writing has such a strong sense of compassion, it has the sweet perfume of Jesus all over it.
And there's something your editor is never going to say to you.
I don't know how you do it. I couldn't take the bad things you describe. When the tsunami struck Indonesia, I read the stories on the internet (no way could I take it on TV), and just cried and cried and prayed. When the stories about Katrina came out, same thing, I just read and cried. I can't read the news anymore, so no way could I write it. God bless you and shield your heart as you do. Love, Gerrie
Perspective. It seems that no matter the picture, ramblings or paper articles that you share with us that your perspective is always LOVE; love for God, love for yourself but most of all love for God in how he is at work in the world around you. Your perspective is such a blessing to me!
Life is like that, isn't it? Seems like it's all on a teeter-totter, with the Really, Really Bad out on one end, the Really, Really Good on the opposite end, and scattered in between are the Pretty Good, the Pretty Bad... and the Ordinary, right there in the middle on the pivot point. Keeping it all balanced is the trick, just like riding on a teeter-totter, and that's the job of the Ordinary. Some days are filled with RRB and some with RRG, and those extremes take us up -up-up or down-down-down. But too much up, or too much down, won't balance. We need lots of the Ordinary in between there to keep it all level. Ordinary is fine with me, most of the time.
I like all your stories that I've read, but I haven't read the dramatic ones you mentioned. I do like the ones about Ordinary very much. The simple drive in the country, a walk with the dog, sharing your thoughts about friendship or faith, the love between mother and daughter....those are pretty Ordinary subjects but they are so very important in helping us keep a balance in our lives.
Celia, I like your column, but your xanga seems all Dr. Zuessy. Is it on purpose?
Oh, and I meant to tell you sooner. We have our first African-American high school student as CA. Isn't that something?
RYC (responding to your comment)~
You are most welcome. I used to write articles for church bulletins all the time. Something just hit me, and decided to go at it. By nature, I am a teacher and a theolog. By trade, I am a store manager in a paint store, heh. Good job for around here. And I finally got off the road traveling so much.
Friend, I think you are pretty neat too~
John
...and I love reading them!
Celia, you HAVE to go to youtube and click on here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xq-ZmAYLeB8
It's " The Story" by Brandi Carlile. It's a song and it will move your heart deeply... it could have been written just for you and the people whose stories you've told.