Pardon the delay.
I was salmon fishing (and thus got up at 2:50 a.m.).
(I caught one fish, but it was a doozy. It went four feet long and more than 40 pounds.)
The discussion began Saturday night - late - about me, my writing and talent.
"I'm telling you, we all decided that you were really good. And I hope you don't mind, but I told them about your blog.
"But, what are you going to do with it?"
And you feel like a superhero that has this really great skill - but refuses to use it.
I like my job. I'm good at it. The pay? Well, it leaves something to be desired.
But they leave me alone to fish and hike and hunt. I mean, I basically get paid to fuck around - and write about it.
And now, in the past three days, I've been asked "What's next?" "What are you going to do with it?" and "So, when are you leaving?"
Interestingly enough, I do have a decision to make. There's a larger newspaper in Washington that's looking for a features reporter:
"Ideal candidate will be naturally curious about the human condition, will be undaunted by tackling difficult and varied subjects, will be devoted to continually exploring the community with an eye to uncovering the extraordinary in the ordinary.
"Position is responsible for contributing both project-level feature stories and quick hits developed under deadline pressure. The writer needs to be comfortable writing in the narrative style and tackling projects that involve investigative reporting."
Sounds like fun.
And the other plus is, their Outdoors writer is in his 60s, and is talking about retirement.
And the paper is across the river from Portland, my favorite city on the West Coast.
So, do I put in a packet?
Or do I stay in Redding, do my thing, and continue to (maybe) squander my potential as a writer?
I've got some things to think over.