Writing Unorganized Territory is usually the highlight of my week. It is such a joy to be able to just sit at the keyboard and let my thoughts flow. A column is much, much, easier than a news article where you have to be exceedingly exact with your statistics and quotes. It is even easier than features, which are fun to write. Because although features are generally about a person or an event that is interesting and enjoyable, there is still the pressure to get all the information exactly right.
So a column is refreshing. Because while you do have to have correct information, you get to decide whether something needs to be included or not. If you can’t find the date of that county board meeting you want to mention, that’s okay. You can just say “last month.” You don’t remember just where you spotted that moose or skunk? That’s okay, you can just say “on a county back road.” And so on. Artistic license is allowed in a column—especially one that declares right up front that its author is unorganized.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t ever get stuck when I sit down to write Unorganized Territory. I do. In fact, all day today, the column has been nagging at me. As I walked over to Gunflint Mercantile to get some yummy coffee for our late night at the office, I pondered what I would write about this week.
As I was walking back, I saw two friends standing on the sidewalk— Chuck the barber and Jim from The Shirt Outfitters. I laughed seeing these two businessmen standing outside of their respective businesses, chatting. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do?” I asked.
“No we don’t,” grinned Chuck.
“Report about that,” teased Jim.
So there, guys!
I owe them thanks, though, because they got me out of my miniwriter’s block. They gave me something to write about that I know I have never written before. That is something that is difficult because I’ve been writing Unorganized Territory for a dozen years now.
Occasionally, I’ll start a column, get a few paragraphs into it and I’ll think—have I written about this before? I usually slog on, because if I can’t remember, I’m pretty sure our readers don’t remember either. At least no one has called me on it yet.
Don’t be impressed that I can remember that I’ve been writing this column for 12 years. I forgot how long it had been until I consulted the calendar and did a little calculating. I realized that last week, October 8, 2011, was the actual 12th anniversary of writing this column.
So please forgive me if occasionally I seem to repeat myself—or if I write about something silly and insignificant like a couple of guys lollygagging on a sunny fall day. It happens in Unorganized Territory!
It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
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