I was a hit; I was a hoot. The publisher liked me. Otherwise he’d never have had the managing editor contact me to set up a follow-up interview the same day.
The job is familiar, I feel I’ve done this before; even the interview coincides with the one I had this time last year when it was either editor or cook in Alaska. The pay’s the same. I made more in four months working a sauté pan in Alaska than I would in a year as a newsman. Yet, there’s something appealing in finding something no one else knows about and transforming it into something everyone in town’s buzzing about, the same way on that island last summer I could always find a spot to be alone.
There’s a privacy about writing news. You’re an unobserved observer, a painter who seldom signs his work. It’s a quiet living, social and political storms swell and subside; it’s impossible to please everyone, but the stories are always positive. In local news your beat becomes a foster home, the pleasant people are a foster family and while you can’t call it fame, the subtle recognition is nice.
But since I have experience shouldn’t I hold out for better pay? Should I say I need more time to decide? I always jump at the first offer, even if it’s a consolation prize. I’m never the guy with three offers on the table, tasting them to see which is the sweetest. But maybe I can string the paper along just long enough to gain some leverage. I was offered an almost identical job last year; it’s time to see what I’ve learned.
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