Smoking Pot Would Make My Stories Flow Better.

I am naive about a lot of things. I would admit it too. As a tender, young 18-year-old, I took a job as a writer on the school newspaper. I was in awe of this world. There were no computers at that time. (Yes, I'm as old as dirt, as my kids would tell you! ha) I believe they were called something like VDT's, perhaps. Anyway, a computer-wanna-be just waiting to happen.

I needed to produce 2 stories per week. My pay was astronomical! $100 per month! Wow......what would I do with all of this cash? Well, I'd put gas in my car (then, a navy, Pontiac Firebird) and buy a new pair of jeans and top! (For the next new date, of course!) What else would a girl do with her money????

I always smelled this funny odor when I walked into the "newsroom." I never really understood what it was.......just weird. Did the other journalists not wear deodorant, perfume, cologne, what? I dared not to ask. I already stood out like a sore thumb and was trying so hard to blend in, just as the rest of them. First, I dressed too nice. Most wore the same jeans they had on from yesterday and a Poison or other "hard rock" band concert, even the girls. I didn't own any of those. Second, I had  joined a sorority, something I had to keep as a deep, dark secret. Journalists hated the "Greek" world and I knew it. So, I believe I must have looked like "Miss Apple Pie" or "Goodie Too or is it Two Shoes?" to them; however, I tried to chat with everyone, always smiled at all, and tried my best to develop relationships.

I must admit that we did not "hang" with the same crowds, I had never heard of most of their "favorite" groups, and yes, I washed my hair every day! (An oddity in the newsroom.)

One day, I was summoned to see the News Editor. I was scared to death. What had I done? I was trying to hard to blend in, make friends, write the best stories that I could, so what had I done?

I already knew that most of the rest of my crew drank themselves silly the night before because I heard  their "tales" as I typed away. So him catching me drinking while "on the job" was not a possibility!

I grabbed a notepad, a pen, and despite the surge of an upset stomach, proceeded to his office. He was nice -- a senior-- brilliant writer, not much of a personality (typical); didn't care about appearance (typical); and very ex-establishment (typical). But, nevertheless, I admired him: his creative intelligence, his way with words, his pure ability to write so well with such little apparent effort. He was truly amazing, in my eyes.

I walked in. He asked me to close the door. (I felt a migraine coming on........I was now very sick to my stomach.) I sat down and he still had not looked up from the paper he was reading.

I sat in terror, pondering what horrible thing I could have possibly done to deserve this "meeting."

He said my name. (I was surprised that he even knew it...........it was a really large staff.) I want to give you some advice that I believe will help your writing.

Advice? From the Imperial Wizard himself? The guy I thought wrote amazing stories? This was golden. I grabbed my notebook and pen and thanked him for seeing me.

Here it comes: (make sure you're sitting down for these intellectual words of wisdom that I, the freshmen, received:)

I believe if you'd try smoking a little pot before you write your stories, your words would actually flow better.

I had stopped writing after the word "smoking." I hated cigarettes. They smelled. I was allergic to the whole stink of the smell.

After hearing his "words of wisdom," I was in shock. I sat there in shock. I wasn't sure what to say. He was the editor, so I couldn't tell him what I was really thinking!!! I had to say something, so I thanked him for his advice and left quickly.............very quickly.

I ran home to my dorm roommate and we both laughed hysterically at what my editor had told me. She was against the idea as well. All my friends were.

But I still appreciate that dear sweet guy..............because his words have caused me to laugh more times than he'll ever know. To this day, I've never tried pot. So, hence, my stories must still read like "crap!" But, alas, I've somehow managed to be a writer, despite not heeding his advice.

 And the smell in that office? I then discovered what it was.......everyone else was "high" while they were writing. I noticed their blood-shot eyes, I grew to know the smell, and their stories must have "flowed" oh so perfectly!

I'm not sure how I made all A's without smoking pot. Must have been pure weed.............er.............I mean "greed" on my part to be the one journalist who would learn to write stone sober! lol

Sometimes, professional advice is just that! To be thrown in the 'pot' and then pondered upon.

I pondered, I decided, and I chose. And to think that guy almost gave me a migraine over such silly advice? I would have vomited over his whole pile of stash! ha!

Still not flowing...............

Trapped!

trappedwithoutbars trappedwithoutbars
46-50, F
3 Responses Feb 13, 2010

Funny. You do write well

I adore you dearly, as you know. If you were the only one serving as a major employer or recruiter in Michigan, I could have the job of my dreams! Bless you for always spreading kindness. Your friendship is precious. I don't deserve you, but I'm glad that you're mine. Ty dear Paco......

Funny story Trapped. You have proved others wrong by writing great stories while remaining true to yourself. It's called integrity. Nice attribute. <br />
Paco35:)