EVEN THOUGHIOFTEN wrote for fun, my first serious thoughts of becoming a writer came as a sophomore in high school, when I decided to try out for a staff position on the high school newspaper, the Colt Roundup. I was turned down.
Not willing to give up, I came up with another plan. I had seen the Roundup ’s editorial cartoons and even though I was not an artist, I believed I could do better. I went to the newspaper adviser and asked if they needed a cartoonist.
“Show me something,” he said. That night I went home and drew a cartoon. It was a fairly recognizable likeness of President Jimmy Carter, with pins stuck in him, each labeled with one of the myriad crises that plagued his administration. Beneath it was the tag line GOP Voodoo Doll.
It wasn’t Doonesbury, but the journalism teacher, Pete Sorenson, liked the cartoon enough that he introduced me to the staff as the new cartoonist. It was a great in, even if it was through the back door.
Although I had no aspirations to be a cartoonist, I planned to just bide my time until opportunity reared its head. My break came sooner than I expected. By the third staff meeting one of the reporters failed to turn in his story. I offered to write it for him. I turned it in the next day, and to the editor’s surprise, it was good enough to print. From then on I was given writing assignments in addition to my cartoons, which were gradually improving.
This was just the beginning. As the novelty of being on the newspaper staff wore thin, so did the staff. One by one the reporters dropped off, missing assignments or refusing them, sometimes both. Once our frustrated editor in chief ran a blank page with a note that read, “This space was supposed to be filled with a story by so-and-so, who did not think it important to meet his deadline.”
By the end of the year I was the acting feature editor of the Roundup. I’ve heard it said that half the secret to success is just showing up. It may be true.
