Blonde Productions Group

Without question, my undergrad degree served me well. You can’t go to a college that intense without coming out with some level of working knowledge. (The place: Wheaton College, and no, not the place Billy Graham went, but one of the then-called, so-called Seven Sisters, located in Massachusetts.)

Since then, I’ve grown my career space by taking seminars. Curiously, some of the most learning-filled seminars were the ones least likely to pan out that way…at least at the time I enrolled.

I fell on some “chance” learning the year I signed up for a seminar on Assertiveness Training. In the ‘70s, assertiveness training was all the rush, nearly as much as John Grey’s “Dress for Success” in book format and seminars too. Randy advertised his assertiveness training as a means to control situations that weren’t going right basically because one lacked the hutzpha to speak up and defend one’s position.

That would be me as a cub reporter. The cotton-headed editor would make a point 4 out of 5 mornings to turn to me and ask, “Where’s Bonnie?” Bonnie was the next youngest reporter in the room, a keep-to-herself kind of gal who had a mysterious existence that kept her out late and, like domino theory, got her to work late each morning. But to her credit, she never missed a story or a deadline, staying well after quittin’ time to log in her copy.

The problem for me was that the minute I would hear Harriet the editor start to ask the question of Bonnie’s whereabouts, my stomach would tighten and I’d immediately feel guilty for her tardiness. I’d start dialing the rotary phone (no cell phones in these dark ages) and dial repeatedly if I wasn’t getting an answer, just to be sure that Bonnie hadn’t overslept. Geez, I’d mutter under my breath, why is she asking me…like I know…Bonnie, pick up the phone, please. Please.

In Randy’s course, I learned to envision the situation: early morning, no one in the newsroom talking much, bleary-eyed and focused on their coffee and the deadlines ahead. I learned to anticipate the editor’s inquiry and respond with an appropriate answer that was as straightforward as it comes, and as appropriate to: “Gee, Harriett, I don’t know where Bonnie is, but if you’d like, I can call her.”

The first day back on the job after the seminar, it wasn’t 10 minutes past 8 before Harriet asked where Bonnie was. I breathed in deep and as politely as I could repeated what I’d practiced in the car all weekend, “Gee, Harriet, I don’t know where Bonnie is, but if you’d like, I can call her.”

Harriet studied me for a few seconds and then nodded her head as if it had never occurred to her that I wouldn’t know Bonnie’s whereabouts. “I can call her,” Harriet stated plaintively. There, it was that easy. I was off the hook. Harriet got the point. Bonnie was still late. But I had no dog in the fight.

The best take-away I got from Randy’s course was that simple exercise in setting boundaries-worth every nickel of the then-pricy $45 seminar fee. It was, after all, 34 years ago.

If you’re interested in learning multiple tactics to get an editor’s attention and get your story into print, sign up now for the Sept. 20. Promise, we’ll give you more than even one smart answer you can take home with you! Sign-up here.

THESE WORDS DON’T FALL OUT OF MY HEAD. As a writer, that phrase courses through my head when a client or editor or graphic artist wants me to “write up a little quick….” If they’re a client, they tick off the purpose for the writing and all its seriousness and sometimes add, “This shouldn’t take you too long.” If they’re an editor, they call panicked that another writer failed to turn in their copy and that I was the next logical call to make. And oh, by the way, the deadline is COB (Close Of Business) same day. If they’re a graphic artist, they’re likely stumped for copy because, well, that’s not what they do for a living.

Writers aren’t taken seriously, I’ve learned over decades of manufacturing verbs, adjectives and pronouns. English degrees are often interpreted as the choice college undergrads make when they can’t decide on a major. J-school is increasingly something you do before going to law school, a career that ensures that you’re really going to make the money.

Of course, writers have to take part of the blame. As writers, and not so much talkers, we tend to put our heads down and write. The only noise in the room is a cd playing, ambient noise that helps us get into our writing space. I’ve been known to play the same cd over and over for 14 hours straight on a writing project. There was the time my upstairs neighbor couldn’t take another stanza of Madonna’s American Girl album and let me know as much, pounding at my door and shouting, “Are you trying to give me a message?! Well, I’ve got one for you!”

At first I was stunned at his interpretation of my choice in easy listening. Then the more bemused I became as I understood that he really had no affection at all for “I’m so stupid” (one of my personal favorites on the recording), the greater he took offense. Let’s just say it did nothing for our HOA relations.

The point is that writing is as much a science as blood testing in a hospital lab. It’s as much an art as architectural drawings. It’s as serious a business as being a teacher, a cop, a judge. I wouldn’t think of performing surgery because I’d had one; but I know doctors who don’t believe their copy needs editing.

So the next time your editor, your boss, the chairman of the volunteer board you serve on asks you to write a little something up, stop them in their tracks. Tell them that you’ll email them a Project Scope that delineates what you need to know about the writing project so that you can deliver copy that’s on target and on time. Then prepare a formal document that sets you forth as the professional you are. You’ll be surprised at how this single step can take you one rung higher. Toward heaven, perhaps?