Did I Get the Last Writing Job on Earth?
Small towns, sprawling valley, and big opportunity to tell stories from my backyard
At a time when chuckleheads think journalists are the bad guys, when AI hides under our beds, and when content and clicks leave us as empty as an Oilers Stanley Cup game, it’s heartening to know there’s a group of journalists still telling deep-dive, solution-based stories across British Columbia.
When we moved to the Island almost two years ago, The Discourse became my guide for understanding our new home in the Cowichan Valley, an hour north of Victoria.
Well wouldn’t you know it, like a gift from above, I found out they were looking for a senior reporter for my region. I didn’t even know there were still journalism jobs, let alone ones in my remote arboreal backyard.
After many discussions, vetting, and crossed-fingers—I was awarded the role. Now I’m extremely honoured to tell my community’s stories and help give a voice to many groups more traditional outlets gloss over.
You can read my enthusiastic Cowichan Valley Reporter Introduction, published this week.
Of course, my mom was the first to respond to the article (always is). But I also received a lot of emails from Disclosure readers warmly welcoming me to the Valley and to this role. Isn’t that just lovely, here in 2024?
The Discourse celebrates its 10th anniversary this year, and if you want see why this longevity is merited, just read the 10 Principles the team holds high. This is good, good stuff.
Writing? For a Living? Whaaa?
Even though I’ve been writing in different media my whole career, it wasn’t until recently that I gave myself permission to tell people that I’m a writer.
Even typing that still feels gooey. It’s just not something one says with a straight face. Hell…I swim, but I’m not a swimmer. I love cooking, but don’t call myself a chef. I love jazz, but I’m not an asshole.
So why is it so hard to call myself a writer?
It’s even worse when you catch yourself doing writerly events…in a brown corduroy jacket, no less:
During the pandemic, I took the downtime to go back to school, even if it was remotely from my laptop. Simon Fraser University accepted me into The Writers Studio, and I started submitting pieces that got published. Soon after, I launched this labour-of-love, and The Chase keeps me accountable for delivering my ramblings to subscribers regularly.
Yet, it remained tough to say the words. I write. Until now, I suppose. Because writing is now my job as well as my pursuit.
I’m changing my tune, because with The Discourse on the docket, all I do now is work with words full-time. There’s no unfinished manuscript hidden in a drawer, no “if only one day” ideas I’ll get around to. My job—every damn day—is to sit down and write. That’s both a great gift and a daunting notion. But I’m a-gonna do it.
Perhaps calling myself a writer can be the easy part. Doing the writing is another story.
Also. I should really learn the proper way to type by now, right? I’ll add it to the list.
What a scoop! I'm excited for you AND for The Discourse. Also, you look smashing in brown corduroy, so this is the logical next step.
Nicely done J-Dawg!! Congrats! I suspect it was the brief time you spent living in BURN A BEE that catapulted you into the successes before you. You have arrived.