I was once invited to a journalism convention in Portland, Maine, to give a workshop on opinion writing. The organizers paid for a nice hotel room. My nametag had one of those cute ribbons saying, “SPEAKER,” in the event that people did not fully grasp my importance.
Practically glowing with anticipation of the spotlight, I entered the room for my presentation to see about 200 chairs set up. A bottle of water at the podium. A live microphone.
And nobody showed up.
At least, not at first.
After about 5 minutes, a woman came running up the aisle that divided that sea of empty chairs. As she ran she said, “I NEED HEEEEEELLLLLP!”
She had been a city editor at her small newspaper, but two weeks previously she was asked to take on a new role instead: that of the editorial page editor. She felt overwhelmed about writing opinions nearly every day. She found it difficult to organize all the components of the job – the letters to the editor, the op-ed page, and somehow finding time to write thoughtfully. She saw my workshop on the agenda and lunged at it like a drowning woman grabbing a life preserver.
So, together we worked on a plan for the next hour, figuring how she could keep her head above water, write good editorials, yet juggle all the tasks that she needed to do. I gave her a book on editorial writing and my card. At the end she was upbeat, but I was even more so, despite the empty chairs. If a lot of people had showed up, I never would have had the time to spend with the one person in attendance who really needed help.
I realized then that any audience, even an audience of one, is a privilege.
This is my too-long way of thanking every one of you for reading what I write every week. I started my column on Substack two years ago this week with an audience of four – my son Tim and daughter Anna, my brother Tim and sister Claudia. After one year, I was grateful to have a little over 600 subscribers. Now, on the verge of my 67th birthday, just shy of 2,600 subscribe.
Writing this column has been a humane experience in a world with far too many sharp edges.
I’ve struck up lovely correspondence with readers as far away as Australia, New Zealand and Brazil. Readers are now friends I hope to meet someday. You’ve made suggestions and even introduced me to technology and apps I didn’t know existed.
For example, my knowledge of birds vastly expanded when I put “Merlin Bird ID” on my phone thanks to reader advice. One memorable morning in spring, the app informed me that the chirping and songs I heard from the porch outside my barn office came, in fact, from nine different birds, from purple martins and Carolina wrens to a bobwhite quail. Previously, all those songs were just a mash of unrecognizable notes. How nice it is to know who is gabbing in the neighborhood!
I began writing every week because I craved a regular outlet that I once had as a newspaper journalist. But I was also putting the finishing touches on my book, “Saving Ellen: A Memoir of Hope and Recovery.” If I had a weekly newsletter, I thought, I would have more people to tell if it ever gets published.
Well, we are inching ever closer to that goal; Skyhorse Publishing has written a “sell sheet,” designed the cover and is in the midst of editing the book as I write this. Plans are to release it in April next year. More on that front soon.
If these columns are more or less error-free, it’s because of my brilliant editor and friend, Elaine Hooker, former Connecticut Associated Press bureau chief. In August, Elaine’s husband, Herrick Jackson, died unexpectedly. I wanted to give her a break from this, but Elaine refused, insisting on continuing her weekly stewardship of my writing. She is awesome.
I have learned here the same thing I learned that long-ago day when I gained an audience of one in a sea of empty chairs. That being the “sage on the stage” might be a big, fat ego trip, but an exchange of knowledge, encouragement and hope is so much better. So thank you, thank you, for keeping me going.
I am so grateful for you, friend, and for all that you do to make Substack more interesting. Love you.
You’ve given so much more to us than we’ve given to you. Thank you, Maura