Random Thoughts On The Writerly Life

This month marks the 45th anniversary of my debut as a writer — that is someone who got paid for writing — and I recall that my first byline was a story on a local Marine drowning while on combat maneuvers on Okinawa.

I was paid 15 bucks for that article; that is 15 bucks for each Saturday that I toiled in the newsroom of my local rag writing mostly obituaries. As compared to the sweet 100 grand and six weeks of paid vacation that I negotiated my way to while covering the O.J. Simpson murders and criminal trial five days a week for 16 straight months in 1995-96, as well as writing a syndicated column on the Trial of the Century. Early on, I found it relatively easy to write for others as a rewrite man who would take notes from reporters in the field and then craft deadline stories under their bylines in their voices. But I have no idea when I found my voice as a writer. I just woke up one day and realized that I had one.

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