Discouragement has many disguises

I've been thinking a lot lately about direction. Where have I been, where am I going, all that shiraz. Seven months of freelancing has won me what? A much-improved clips packet and a deep sense of being beholden to my parents? So much less and so much more. It's supplied me with time, too much time, to ponder my degree. The rejection letters and long silences from countless editors at countless newspapers or magazines only reaffirm the points made by friends: perhaps journalism is best abandoned in pursuit of something more concrete, more stable, more promising.

The number of friends who have left journalism after graduation is about even with those that have stayed the course. Nursing, non-profit work, PR, humanitarian efforts. Some have tried, thrown up hands and moved on to other horizons within one year. And can I blame them? Last week, McClatchy froze pension plans for employees across the U.S. One of their shining publications, the Sacramento Bee, announced a round of layoffs the same day. I received the following e-mail on the Society of Environmental Journalists' newsserve, just a two or three hours after an SEJ-wide message drumming up financial support for the org.:

Today would be an especially awkward time for my fellow McClatchy SEJers
to seek their employer's financial support for SEJ or for attending SEJ
events. This morning McClatchy Chairman and CEO Gary Pruitt anounced
that the corporation is freezing its pension plans and "temporarily"
suspending the company match to its 401k plans. Minutes later, The
Sacramento Bee publisher Cheryl Dell announced that The Bee will be
making another round of layoffs between now and March 31. No mention of
buy-outs. No details on how many or the kind of Bee employees are
affected. "As we have just begun work on these plans now, you may not
hear more from us for at least a few weeks," she said.

I've spent a lot of time bitching about Lee and Gannett, but the disease continues to spread. Independents are safer, for now. Helps not to have a boss at a corporate headquarters in Metro, USA breathing down your neck about trimming expenses. Perhaps the rural weeklies will thrive in the collapse of corporate dailies, filling the void and picking up ad revenue from dropped and jilted advertisers. One thing is abundantly clear: jobs are hard to come by. And I'm not just talking about the measly five-a-day posts to journalismjobs.com. I'm talking about the dozens of part-time jobs I've applied for in the last four months. Baristas, waitresses, sales associates. Those who have 'em are keeping 'em, clinging to those hourly wages like life belts. Freelancing doesn't pay the bills, not nearly. Savings dwindles, money in the market is no longer a fallback.

That begs the question: what next? Do I entertain Sean's musings about making Valkenberg a full-time pursuit? Do I continue feeding this sad, discouraging cycle of applications and rejections? Or do I purchase a Canada pass, use my old Boy Scout connections to get a guiding gig and retreat to the interior of Ontario's canoe country? I do have one answer. I won't stop writing. All this nay-saying, all this Dooms Day shit doesn't mean we unemployed journalists have to give up. Staff writing isn't the only writing to be had, in Missoula or otherwhere. If you're passionate, if you're dogged, if you are now the news junky you once were, use that fire to fuel even the faintest flicker of work. The worst thing we, as trained journalists, can do in light of all this mayhem is throw up our hands and say "Surrender. I'm out. Not my game anymore." Then you're just the guy in the dirty trenchcoat on the corner, stabbing at the sky with a sign boasting "The End is Nigh!"