writing – Page 4 – Irene North

Carter Canyon WMA.

The last two weeks have been incredibly difficult to get through. As with any trauma work, there will be good and bad times, progress and setbacks. This past week was one of the more difficult ones, but three friends stepped up to help keep me on track and to be that inner voice of rationality when my own inner voice could not. To them, I am eternally grateful.

As for where I go next, it has to be spending more time offline doing what I love (reading, writing, being in nature) and less online, even though I know that means losing touch with people.

There is no shame in asking for help

By Irene

On 2018-05-17

In Stories

I was sitting in the staff break room at the Star-Herald trying to keep it together. I had just sat down to eat my lunch, but wasn’t being successful. I was shaking. My heart was racing.

Up until that point, my day was the kind where thoughts are fleeting, including ones that make you wonder what it would really be like to drive your car off the Scotts Bluff National Monument. When that thought came to the front of my brain, I picked up my phone and texted my friend, Amber.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I typed. Before she could reply, I sent a series of rapid fire messages to her. When she responded her texts were ones of concern, reassurance, and messages that she was there for me. We texted for several minutes before I told her I needed to go sit in my car. I was about to break down completely and didn’t want to do so at work.

The Well-Mannered Balloon by nine year old me

By Irene

On 2018-05-12

In Stories

I am working on a piece for the Star-Herald about why I am a journalist. Honestly, I didn’t pay close enough attention, but I think it’s going to be used in ads or internally. I just listened to the topic, said I’d do it and stopped listening. Not a good trait for a journalist.

However, it got me to thinking about something I wrote when I was nine years old.

What a reporter does at 5 a.m.

By Irene

On 2018-04-26

In Stories

It was 4:47 a.m. A Thursday. After a restful night, I awakened to begin my usual morning routine before heading to work. There was the obligatory trip to the bathroom, then I was off to the kitchen to gather kitty treats so my cats do not kill me before 5 a.m., each day. One the cats were happy and disappeared to wherever they go after I give them food, I headed into the basement to ride my bicycle to nowhere. I ride anywhere from eight to ten miles each morning as I practice my French via Duolingo on my cell phone.

On this still dark Thursday morning, I opened up the program and began cycling as I waiting for it to load. My brain usually isn’t fully functioning yet, and it’s probably stupid to make it practice French at such an ungodly hour, but it’s when I have the time.

Then, my phone rang.

When work hits a little too close to home

By Irene

On 2018-04-22

In Ramblings

Imagine living in a world where you are told nothing you ever do is right. Imagine a world where everyone questions your actions or behavior. Imagine where everyone who could help you fails or is removed from your life. Imagine what kind of person you would be if you grew up in a world like this.

So long, Steve. Thanks for not giving me any fish

By Irene

On 2018-03-28

In Stories

Special Projects Editor Steve Frederick hard at work.

At the end of September 2013, I had been sitting on unemployment for a month. As October began, I continued to search for work in the Panhandle.

Nebraska requires those who receive unemployment benefits to apply for a certain number of jobs each week. It was Sunday evening and I was still short one application. The weekly deadline was looming and I didn’t know what to do. I scoured every job posting and want ad I could find. Then, I saw something that piqued my interest.

The Star-Herald was looking for a reporter and photographer. While I enjoy writing and taking photographs, I did not think I was qualified. I also had a degree in Anthropology with a double minor in Black Studies and African Studies. I filled out the application and resigned myself to the fact that I would not be finding a job for another week.

Writings

Tag: writing

A final thought on social media and why it needs a diminished role in my life

There is no shame in asking for help

The Well-Mannered Balloon by nine year old me

What a reporter does at 5 a.m.

When work hits a little too close to home

So long, Steve. Thanks for not giving me any fish