Dilemma: Can a newspaper columnist writing on deadline—and we’re all on deadline—write about arguably the most important election in United States history when the outcome of that election is still uncertain?
I’m going to give it a shot.
In order for my column, which appears on the editorial page of this newspaper every Saturday, to arrive in your mailbox on said Saturday, I must email it to my editors on Wednesday morning. Sometimes, that timing is problematic. Now, for instance. If this Harris-Trump race is as close as pollsters have predicted, we might not know the results for several days. Maybe even longer.
But even if the outcome is certain on Wednesday morning, there won’t be time to write the column the way I want. In a news story, a tight deadline is less of a problem. You put the who, what, when, where and why in the first paragraph. After that, you add details you’ve been able to verify. Then you send it in. But columns are different. They’re supposed to be artful and contemplative. Columns are designed not only to inform but also to persuade and entertain. That’s why I like to have at least three days to create mine.
Once I decide on a topic, I need time to mull it over. First, I write out my thoughts with pen and paper. Then I move to the computer and type those handwritten notes into a word document. When my double-spaced sentences and paragraphs reach the bottom of the second page, I’ve reached my limit. But I’m not yet done. I let that first draft percolate and marinate. I go back to it again and again over the next couple of days, with major revisions early on and smaller tweaks later. The final polish happens Wednesday morning.
That’s why I won’t write any more about the election in this column, except for this. Because I no longer work for the Putnam County election office, I’ll have the luxury of being home Tuesday evening to watch returns on TV. Though I understand the unreliability of early predictions, I’ll watch anyway. As to what time I’ll finally give up and go to bed, who knows?
So perhaps the remainder of my allotted space should be devoted to the brouhaha over the Cookeville Christmas Parade. Nah. I wouldn’t touch that topic with a ten-foot pole.
Perhaps I could write about how the rain gauge I hung on my open-to-the-sky upstairs deck in early October didn’t get a drop in it until Halloween night, when—unfortunately—it rained for a couple of hours. Though I had only a handful of trick-or-treaters, they were all decked out in wonderful costumes and were exceedingly polite. On a related note, my jack-o-lantern stayed lit for the entire three hours the porch light was on so yay for a precisely-cut and tight-fitting cap. The bad news is that I didn’t throw it into the woods before I left town for the weekend so I returned to an oozy, moldy mess. Lesson learned.
Perhaps I could write about how weird the Sunday we go off Daylight Saving Time feels, especially if you’re also travelling from the Eastern Time Zone back into Central. About the time my circadian rhythms finally adjust, it’ll be time to spring forward.
Last but not least, this is perhaps a good time to share that I’m participating once again in National Novel Writing Month, commonly called NANOWRIMO, during which writers try to finish an entire novel in November. Next month, I celebrate a big birthday, one that ends in zero. If I can’t finish writing “Half a Mile to the Dollar Store,” which I’ve been working on for too many years to count, it’s time to throw in the towel. I don’t want to do that. So, yeah, I’m writing.
Thanks for reading this “election” column. God bless America.
(November 9, 2024)