If you’re a reader, then I’m a writer.

Today’s burning question is, “Kim, are you a writer?”

When I attended my high school class’s 30-year reunion a couple of years ago, I was surprised by how many times my former classmates asked if I had become a professional writer. Ummm, no, I hadn’t. Not exactly.

At first, I was really disappointed in myself to answer that in the negative. I used to love to write creatively – poetry, essays, personal journals, well researched pieces or off-the-cuff nonsense – but it’s not something I’ve ever really done professionally more than a small handful of times. Since entering into the Parenting Zone, I don’t put any time at all into much that’s creative anymore, due primarily to sheer exhaustion and a slight match-3 gaming addiction.

I still have the first paycheck I received for a written piece. The publisher of The Kootenay Advertiser in Cranbrook, BC gave me the opportunity to do a book review, probably more to get me to go away and stop bothering him than out of any hope that I might actually put something together. Surprise! He liked it, it was published, and I could’ve successfully traded effort for money if I’d taken the check to the bank. Don’t let anyone tell you that I’m not sentimental.

I later ended up working at that paper for a while as a proofreader, not a writer, and here’s why:

• I am highly detail-oriented (read that as “nit-picky” if you like), and
• I go to pieces creatively if there is a deadline

Working in the production department of a newspaper turned out to be my absolute favourite job of all-time, easily beating out “waitress” (I will literally refill your tea cup with coffee, I’m that bad) and way more fun even than playing in the mud or climbing scaffolding as a construction project manager. While with the Advertiser, I occasionally had the opportunity to write a bit here and there, but it didn’t take me long to discover that the anxiety unleashed by an impending deadline was death to my creative process. Can’t draft a piece and vomit at the same time; far too messy and awkward.

When I eventually moved to the Lower Mainland, I chose to look for work on the production end of the publishing arts – physically putting the paper together, pre-press – rather than in the Editorial department.

Goodness, no! I'm not THAT old!

Away back then, in the late 1980s and into the 90s, newspaper publishing was going through a transition from manual to digital composition. No, I did not have to hand-set reversed lead letters onto trays (it wasn’t the 1880s) but typesetters then were the production mystics who magically coded all of their Compugraphic type and pulled it out of the processor like typographic bunnies popping up from a hat. All of the columns of editorial type and every bit of an advertisement were stripped into the layouts by hand and stuck on with soft wax so the strips could be repositioned. Pictures processed in the darkroom by other wizards were outlined manually with “hairline” tape; inevitably, the soles of my shoes were covered in tidbits of tape and waxy paper. Everyone ran around with Xacto knives in their hands; mine lived in my back pocket and I accidentally washed it through the laundry countless times. (I still have my own pristine E-gauge and an 18-inch metal line gauge, and I’ll definitely smack your hands if you touch them!) 

I love my line gauge. Don't touch.

By the time I left that industry in 1997, all of the composition and production was digital – the darkroom and processors with their nightmare mixtures of chemicals were gone, the waxers had hit the scrapheap, and all of our proofs were printed on plain white, 20-lb copy paper to be scribbled on with whatever pen you had handy because the final version never appeared on paper till it came off the press.

When I was with the Advertiser, which published once a week, 95% of my time was spent proofreading everything from 2-line classified ads to double-page feature spreads, plus all of the editorial content that was either written in house or submitted by the public. The other 5% of my time was taken up by trying to be helpful on press-day, wherever a spare pair of hands were needed, till all the layouts were approved for press by the Production Manager.

Someone once posted an error-riddled piece that had published in a different, local paper up on our lunchroom bulletin board, with a sweet note like “this won’t happen here with Kim around!”; the publisher gave me a nice raise that week, too.

My time later at the North Shore News was the most fun earning a wage that I’ve ever had in my life – I still can’t believe what they paid me there to do something I enjoyed that much. I worked night-shift so I rarely had to dress up or see the executives (yay, jeans & T-shirts forever!). As the shift went on and the building emptied of every other department except for us Prod Squad heathens, the work flew by and the stereo just kept getting louder. Because the bulk of our work was labour-intensive but not massively tasking on the brain, we all sang along with varying degrees of volume and talent, or we listened to the Canucks hockey games on the radio. Eventually, we were all trained up on the new digital graphic composition software so we had to think a little more and sing a little less, but it was still like a party at your friend’s house every day. Good times!

All of that to say this: nope, not a writer when I worked for the assorted printers and  newspapers.

After 10 years, I left the papers behind and went back to school, graduating from BCIT in 1999 as a newly minted Building Engineering Technologist. That translated into a job with an engineering company where I was a construction project manager, working mostly with building envelope retrofits on wood frame construction. People’s eyes used to glaze over whenever I gave that answer to the typical “what do you do for a living?” chit-chat question, so I would usually add this cheeky bit, too: “I wear the white hat and tell the boys what to do.” (Not entirely true, but pretty accurate, really.)

Part of my job then was to compile and create construction specifications (written instructions for what product to use to fix which thing) and issue details & drawings for how the repairs were to be carried out. I never told anyone how to swing their hammer. I just made sure that the new work was completed the way it was designed to have been done.

Construction specifications are legal documents. The joke is that nobody reads the things until they’re walking into court. They’re boring, they’re 100% technical because that’s just not the place to get creative, and did I mention that they’re boring?

"Leaky Condo" ~ fun, fun, fun.

I was also heavily involved in issuing building condition assessment reports. These are also highly technical documents, not wildly exciting to read but important in their way. If you’re helping condo owners to understand what’s going on with their homes’ structure, accuracy is everything and you definitely don’t want to get dramatic (the repair bill will be scary enough for anyone.)

To summarize: yes, I was a writer in the engineering field, but I wasn’t producing anything that anyone would actually want to read.

In early June of 2003, I retired from the construction industry. That date miraculously coincides with the birth of my first child, and I’ve had the blessing of being an at-home parent ever since. Worse hours, lousy pay, and my coworkers are beyond strange, but I like the boss so I hang around.

But…. Maybe now, I’m a writer? You’re reading this mess (and thanks for that!), and I wrote it, so I guess that’s how this works? I press the “publish” button and that identifies my role as “author”. I’m still not entirely sure where I’m going with this whole blog experience but it is fun. It has prompted some deep thoughts on my part that I wasn’t entirely expecting, and has launched some interesting discussions & heart-to-hearts with my significant other, so that’s been worthwhile.

I think that I will keep writing for a while yet. I hope that you will enjoy reading along, too.

~ 30 ~