Friday my friend Katie sent me a photo of the cover of Chicago Magazine, because I wrote the cover story. I suspected the piece I wrote might make the cover but I didn't know for sure so it was exciting to see. I really worked my ass off on the story. When my editor asked if I was interested in writing it, part of me wished I was still at my dayjob so that I had a good reason to turn down this big scary project, but I don't have a salary anymore to use as an excuse. Plus, maybe my editor knew something about what I could do that I didn't.

So I said yes and immediately reached out to my friends who work in real estate to see if they could give me some suggestions on the topic of most up-and-coming neighborhoods in Chicago (PS the story isn't online yet but I'll link to it when it is.) I compiled a master list and then was summoned to meet with the (now-former) editor-in-chief to explain my choices, which was  nerve-wracking. What if I had collected the information wrong? What if she asked me questions I didn't know the answer to? But I survived somehow and emerged with a list of the 11 neighborhoods we'd cover. I then began the task of finding actual human residents of the neighborhoods to interview and confirming the news items that offered reasons why the neighborhoods were indeed up-and-coming (examples include new real estate development, parks, public transportation, things like that.) I think my favorite part was driving to Douglas Park, which I'd previously never heard of before, and self-touring the Lagunitas brewery, speaking with some of the employees there about what they liked about the area. Steve can attest the story stressed me out but I also felt proud knowing that I was working my butt off on the piece. I am aware people will disagree with the story strenuously on various levels (That neighborhood is trash! Don't promote gentrifiation!) but that is the world of Chicago neighborhoods for you, and I felt comfortable knowing I could back up all my choices.

There was one round of serious edits, and then just like that the piece was out of my hands and done. It feels like I worked on it forever ago, although it was only the Friday before the Super Bowl that I was interviewing a friend about Avondale and then buying the beer at Lagunitas.

So that was an up.

At the same time I got the Chicago Magazine story I got another assignment--same length, actually, for another publication. The editor was/is so kind and supportive and the topic relatively familiar to me so I didn't feel nearly as panicky. I interviewed probably 15 people for this story, appreciative of the reporting muscles I was building on the Chicago Magazine story, and got to work. I was relieved to send off the first draft, knowing that it definitely needed a guiding hand from the editor, but proud of myself that I got it off my plate and that I had done all that work.

Right now, as I write this blog, I'm putting off working on the revisions because in this case, my hard work did not pay off. My first draft needed a lot more work than I initially thought, which the editor told me kindly but firmly. And the worst thing was, I knew she was right--while I thought the story was pretty good when I sent it off, I realized I had mishandled it. I basically told the most boring version of the story (when I had covered it previously, it was for a very dry outlet, although that's not an excuse, because my new editor definitely let me know up front that she wanted good storytelling, which I didn't deliver.)

I couldn't tell what felt worse--that perhaps I had let the editor down and made her doubt the wisdom of giving me the assignment in the first place? Or maybe it was the suspicion that while I had indeed done a lot of work, it was the wrong kind of work. I had asked all the wrong questions and now I didn't have much time to ask the right ones. I moped on this all week long, and then felt bad about being mopey.

Eh, anyway. I am a big baby and it takes me awhile to get over the sting of rigorous comments and then move forward. There were a few moments on this second story where I thought "What if I just said I can't do this?" but I would never do that. It will get done, somehow, and it's just going to involve more work than I anticipated. Every now and then I get this attitude of, "I did the work--what more do you want?"

This is writing. Some days you're the bomb; others you suck. And some days it's both at the same time.