Back in January, the Editor-in-Chief at StreetWise, Suzanne Hanney, told me she'd like to nominate two of the pieces I wrote for the paper last year for Mate E. Palmer Communications awards, sponsored by the Illinois Woman's Press Association. At the time, I thought she had gone daft. I had been a freelance reporter for all of about five minutes when she told me I actually had a shot of winning such an accolade. I spent a sizeable amount of time in 2009 honing a reputation as a go-to journalist for Chicago's burgeoning urban agriculture business. But considering that my previous reporting experience consisted of theater criticism for the Lincoln Park High School newspaper, I figured I still had a ways to go before earning the right to trophies. But is always nice to be nominated for something, and Suzanne has been a critical mentor in my development as a writer. I can never thank her enough for all she's done.
So imagine my great astonishment as I returned from the gym Tuesday afternoon and opened a letter from the Association. I had to read it several times over before anything made sense. It seems the good ladies of journalism decided to make me the State's winner in the Special Articles: Agriculture, Agribusiness, Aquaculture category. Really? Wow!
Pleased as I am, I did have to take a moment to appreciate the irony. Ms. Concrete Jungle herself, lover of all things urban and high culture, wins a media award for writing about farming. True enough that the farming takes place within City limits, but it's agriculture. If there is such a designation, I have what the horticulture set might refer to as a "black thumb." I couldn't even keep a cactus alive when I was living in Bensenville. But I suppose that's life, isn't it? Full of surprises.
The awards luncheon will be held on Saturday, May 15th, and I will receive the honor in front of a sea of female journalists who have been in the game much longer than I. How humbling and awe-inspiring. I don't do praise well, never have, so when the inevitable tears of embarassment materialize, I will have the support of my family to help me dry them. It means so much to me that Jen will be sitting at my table, because honestly, I wouldn't be writing this post were it not for her. A little more than a year ago, I was languishing in corporate hell, nursing a dream, but doing nothing about it. Jen invited me to participate in this blog, then kicked me in the pants as often as needed until I found the guts to branch out.
As a winner of the 2010 Mate E. Palmer Communications Contest, I will have paid entry for a wider competition, sponsored by the National Woman's Press Association (NWPA), of which I am also a member. Again let us pause to reflect on that idea that Boop will going womano y womano against seasoned Red state agriculture vets. It's kind of hilarious.
I dare not develop a big enough head to think I will place at the national level. I still can't believe something I wrote will be considered at all. But I feel pretty amazing today, not to mention vindicated. I chucked it all, literally - safety, salary, benefits and continuity - to enter into a new field, as it has fallen on hard times, and when I have to compete for bylines against people ten years younger than me, with twice the experience. But even more astounding than having the gall to take a risky plunge is the fact that it's working.
I'll be damned.
So imagine my great astonishment as I returned from the gym Tuesday afternoon and opened a letter from the Association. I had to read it several times over before anything made sense. It seems the good ladies of journalism decided to make me the State's winner in the Special Articles: Agriculture, Agribusiness, Aquaculture category. Really? Wow!
Pleased as I am, I did have to take a moment to appreciate the irony. Ms. Concrete Jungle herself, lover of all things urban and high culture, wins a media award for writing about farming. True enough that the farming takes place within City limits, but it's agriculture. If there is such a designation, I have what the horticulture set might refer to as a "black thumb." I couldn't even keep a cactus alive when I was living in Bensenville. But I suppose that's life, isn't it? Full of surprises.
The awards luncheon will be held on Saturday, May 15th, and I will receive the honor in front of a sea of female journalists who have been in the game much longer than I. How humbling and awe-inspiring. I don't do praise well, never have, so when the inevitable tears of embarassment materialize, I will have the support of my family to help me dry them. It means so much to me that Jen will be sitting at my table, because honestly, I wouldn't be writing this post were it not for her. A little more than a year ago, I was languishing in corporate hell, nursing a dream, but doing nothing about it. Jen invited me to participate in this blog, then kicked me in the pants as often as needed until I found the guts to branch out.
As a winner of the 2010 Mate E. Palmer Communications Contest, I will have paid entry for a wider competition, sponsored by the National Woman's Press Association (NWPA), of which I am also a member. Again let us pause to reflect on that idea that Boop will going womano y womano against seasoned Red state agriculture vets. It's kind of hilarious.
I dare not develop a big enough head to think I will place at the national level. I still can't believe something I wrote will be considered at all. But I feel pretty amazing today, not to mention vindicated. I chucked it all, literally - safety, salary, benefits and continuity - to enter into a new field, as it has fallen on hard times, and when I have to compete for bylines against people ten years younger than me, with twice the experience. But even more astounding than having the gall to take a risky plunge is the fact that it's working.
I'll be damned.
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I am just bursting with pride. I may have nudged you in the direction you were meant to go in, but you got there squarely on your own. I just hope I don't embarrass you at the luncheon when I do my best Arsenio Hall impersonation when they call your name. Practicing my fist pump now...
ReplyDeleteI've already expressed my congrats to you in person but allow me to do so publicly as well. Bravo!! Just what we need, another liberal journalist! jk...lol! Good luck with the national award.
ReplyDelete-Mr. A
Besides reiterating the richly deserved props I gave you, I must point out that this is a particularly good post and the crux of it is sticking with me, enough so that it inspired me to blog about it, as well. It touches on something that has been bugging me, even more so as the reality of my age is bitch-slapping me repeatedly.
ReplyDeleteThis happened at a good time for you. And we are never too old to put our hat in the ring. If you ever look back at this with regret. Don't.