Life can feel so grim these days — an endless war in Ukraine. grocery and housing costs so high they leave you gasping in dismay, climate change…
We all need respite and comfort!
Three films I recently watched — two of them Oscar nominated for 2023 and one that won in its category — were such balm for the soul.
Marcel the Shell with Shoes On
sounds impossibly twee and saccharine and I studiously avoided it when it was in our local theater. I saw it on TV and was blown away with its low-key charm and humor and — how unlikely! — the presence of broadcaster Leslie Stahl of 60 Minutes as one of its characters.
The plot is simple enough — a very small shell with (!?) one eye and shoes (!) and a very big heart finds his family suddenly all gone after the owners of the house they live in turn it into an Air B and B. The new resident, who is a real person and who is the maker of the film but also a main character in the film, gets to know Marcel and his grandmother Connie, whose bed (of course) is a powder compact and (voiced by Isabella Rossellini) speaks with a husky French accent. I won’t give it away but here’s a six minute clip.
The Elephant Whisperers
is a documentary about a married Indian couple and the two elephants they care for. It won the 2023 Oscar for Best Documentary Short Film and became the first Indian film to win an Oscar in that category. It is beautiful to watch. In Thailand I rode on an elephant’s neck , as the mahouts do, and it was one of my life’s happiest moments. Here’s the 2:40 trailer.
The Quiet Girl
is an Irish film mostly in Gaelic with subtitles, about a nine-year-old girl shipped off for the summer to live with a middle-aged distant cousin. It’s set in 1981, but feels like the 1960s, as Cait settles into her new life on a dairy farm, a quiet and lovely break from her abusive family and the latest screaming baby. Anyone who’s ever felt ignored by their family, or worse, and longed for an escape — and some true love — will recognize what a gift this long visit offers the girl.
In their own way, each film also addresses grief and the loss of a loved one.
I’ve been writing for The New York Times since the 1990s, when I started out writing 300-word book reviews on arcane topics like a history of the Kurds.
As a generalist, I’ve since written for almost every section of the paper: real estate, culture, business, Metropolitan, health, styles, essays, sports.
The one place you never ever want to be published in is their corrections box! Luckily it’s happened to me only three times, with more than 100 bylines there.
I know that being published there is a dream for some writers, so here’s a peek inside how I produced my latest for them, about prenuptial agreements.
I pitched two ideas to the editor (you need to know who exactly to pitch! I learned this by reading Twitter, where he announced his new position and shared his email address.)
He immediately wanted one of them.
We had a phone conversation Feb. 16 to discuss what he wanted from the story, angle and length. I was off!
Then…gulp…it was time to find sources, not so easy when getting people to discuss their finances in a global newspaper with millions of readers.
I found a lawyer in Iowa to get started, to get a general idea of the story’s parameters. Once grounded, I found a New York lawyer — through their PR gatekeeper — who led me to a local woman who became a key source, albeit a fearful one I tried to reassure. I have a lot of respect for anyone who agrees to speak on the record, especially to the Times, and how anxiety-provoking it can be. I explained carefully the goal of my story — to help others — and we negotiated what felt OK to print, and what did not.
The Times does not allow freelancers to use fake names or unnamed sources, nor for sources to read copy pre-publication.
One of the many moving parts — the hidden bit — of reporting any story is finding and persuading sources to even speak to a reporter. People can be really jumpy and sometimes I explain in detail how the process will go to alleviate their concerns.
I get it! I’ve been interviewed enough times I know how scary it is to lose control of your own story.
But the gatekeeper to the NYC lawyer was also initially quite resistant to a Times story, arguing that the paper only caters to the wealthy. Well, fair comment, but I told them my story was designed more to protect people, especially women, from getting screwed in a divorce, which I’ve seen plenty of, and it’s not pretty.
We went back and forth a bit, and she agreed to put me in touch with the lawyer she works with.
I interviewed the lawyer and her client (3 sources now) and through a pal in Los Angeles, found a lawyer there to add more insights and who connected me to a young gay Asian couple who were terrific to speak to; we did an hour Zoom.
Now we’re up to six sources…more to come!
The final one (in addition to me) was a financial writer, a woman.
Then it was time, finally, to write.
The actual writing, typically, is not difficult for me as, by then, I always have a clear idea what I want to say and in what order; my assigned word count was 1,500 to 2,000, enough real estate to tell this complicated story properly.
But I also know an editor will have, always, their own ideas and lots of questions.
I was a little nervous, as this was my first story for a new-to-me editor and I always hope to start off on the right foot.
For my first revision, I changed my lede (the first line, key to hooking the reader) and it stayed unchanged to publication; I choose them really carefully, and am fiercely protective of my ledes, relieved when the Times (and the FT) have liked them enough to keep them and praise them.
The editor immediately trimmed it a bit (no biggie) and had some smart questions I needed to answer to clarify and better explain some things. One real challenge of including your own story is that it’s obviously so familiar to you, but not to your editors and certainly not to your readers. It was also, to be honest, emotionally difficult for me to revisit a painful period of my life and a brief marriage.
The editor warned me the story would be read by several additional editors, (best to know this ahead of time) but each edit at the Times means you, the writer, get a “playback” which is our chance to make sure it still reads well, hasn’t been changed in a way that (unlikely!) is now inaccurate.
It’s very helpful to see, in every playback, what changes they make (with strikethroughs, etc) whether in sentence structure or wording; I don’t find it intrusive but see my copy getting tighter and stronger. The guts of the story, and my voice, remain, and that’s important to me as well.
Every new editor who reads the story can also make their own cuts or changes and adds their questions, then sends their version, so one can easily receive two or three or more different playbacks, each of which you need to read — and once a story is skedded for iminent publication, hang on!
My adrenaline is up.
You’re on a speeding train now, with the Times editorial machinery moving at its own internal pace, your copy moving from one editor to the next — so you need to be ready to give them whatever they need, asap. No pressure!
I always ask — what time do you need this back from me?
And why I always warn sources when I first interview them to be ready to reply very quickly to more questions once this process is in motion.
So by 4:30 Thursday afternoon I was reading the third playback — with 14 more questions; none overwhelming, with two needing my quick calls to sources for clarification.
I also had to make sure a few times the story’s photo caption was correct because one of the sources had changed her surname since I began work on the story, so I alerted a few editors to that. The photos also matter!
Accuracy in every syllable matters.
By 7:30 p.m. my story was in the hands of the final editor — who helped me finesse an attribution; if the source got back to me after 10:30 pm ET, I should (!) alert a Times editor in Seoul.
Talk about a global newsroom!
The piece went live yesterday at 5 a.m. Eastern and got nice “above the fold” placement on the Times’ homepage.
It will also appear in print tomorrow.
So, almost two months from pitch to publication, it also got a great illustration and photo, and some very nice feedback from editors and readers.
So many people want to be known as a writer, preferably one with multiple best-selling books, maybe a movie or TV deal on top of that.
Hope is charming.
But the reality of writing for income is simply not that, for the vast majority.
If you want to produce freelance journalism, you need a steady supply of sale-able ideas, smart editors ready to reply to you quickly, pay you well, edit you intelligently and promote the work. That’s a lot to hope for in one person!
Despite the lone-wolf perception of freelancers like me, having a wide and supportive network of smart, generous peers is essential — we steer one another away from lousy clients, share pay rates, send work to others when it’s not one of our specialties (and vice versa.) We meet at conferences, join online communities like ASJA and Study Hall.
Journalism pay rates have dropped enormously to a “competitive” $1/word — banal in the 80s when $2/word was standard at every glossy magazine. Today that’s a wildly elusive rate and we’re all struggling with inflation.
I still write occasionally for The New York Times, at a pay rate unchanged since the 90s. But if I can do the story efficiently and have an impact, there’s value in that for me.
I became an editor by volunteering for an Asian American magazine, a nonprofit mission-driven labor of love where no one drew a salary. Ten to fifteen hours of unpaid labor a week in exchange for the editorial experience I wanted was, to me, an acceptable trade—nearly all my labor then was unpaid. I cared for my infant and toddler during the day, then went to writing class at night. I spent every spare moment I had and some that I didn’t pitching freelance pieces and working on my first book proposal.
Then one of my favorite indie websites hired me to edit on a part-time basis. The job started at thirteen dollars an hour, twenty hours a week, and after a couple of months I was brought on full-time and granted a salary in the mid-30s. I loved that role, the tiny team I worked with, our community of readers. I was responsible for editing and publishing two to three freelance pieces a day, reading and responding to hundreds of pitches a week, and handling social media. I found my confidence as an editor, as the volume of work meant I had no time for imposter syndrome. By the time that website shuttered two years later, my salary had risen to the mid-40s. My agent and I had finally managed to sell my first book for a small advance. The independent publisher that acquired it later offered me a job as managing editor of its digital publications, starting at a few thousand more than I’d made in my previous role. Again, I felt lucky, working and collaborating with fellow writers every day—it felt like a dream job.
People who want to sell their books — certainly fiction — face multiple challenges, from finding an agent to represent their work (or self-publishing) to finding a reputable publisher. There are scammers out there preying on the naive.
Even those of us who have been multiply published may have to find a new agent — a slog — and a publisher, another slog. Obstacles appear you could only dream of, like a friend whose new book has not gotten the publicity boost she very much needs due to a strike by workers at that publishing company — this, after a decade of her hard work on the book.
Then you face another serious challenge — getting the word out as far and fast and wide as humanly possible — to boost your book sales. This is where a wide network with some serious social capital can offer a real help; I called the host of a TV show I appeared on many years before to tell them about a friend’s new book. It may now get a second look.
As I wrote here earlier, my husband and I co-authored a book proposal and found an agent, but 30 publishers rejected it. We offer tremendous credentials and a huge potential audience…but no luck. I may try again, but have been too discouraged since January by this failure.
An interesting recent story finds that later-life journalists in their 60s, 70s and beyond, are now working as mentors and editors, still passionate about the essential value of journalism.
From Neiman Reports:
These retirees include everyone from a onetime local sportswriter in Washington state to former top editors at The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, The New York Times, and Reuters, a retired senior editorial director at CNN, familiar names from NPR, the ex-editors of the San Diego Union-Tribune and Miami Herald, Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalists, a retired AP bureau chief and a former top executive at Hearst. Many are in their 70s or 80s.
Many also share a collective frustration with the decline of the profession in which they spent careers that date back to a time when media organizations were flush with resources and influence.
“If you can do something to help reverse that tide, you do it,” says Walter Robinson, the former editor of The Boston Globe Spotlight Team, who has taken on a second career helping set up nonprofit community news sites, mentoring younger journalists, and serving on the board of a government accountability and First Amendment coalition.
“I had a great run and a lot of good fortune, and I just feel I have an obligation to give something back,” says Robinson, who is 77, of his continued involvement in the cause of journalism. “A lot of people I know who are my age have the same impulse.”
I recently signed up to become a mentor with Report for America and am very much heartened that others want to keep our industry thriving in whatever way we can.
Two lovely signs of ongoing life for my two books…524 libraries hold a copy of Blown Away, according to Worldcat., arguably the coolest website in the world for authors — as it lists every library in the world with a copy of your book, beginning with those physically closest.
I am so honored to see it in the libraries, and law libraries, of major American universities like Harvard, Yale, Brown, George Washington University, Johns Hopkins, and many smaller colleges, including community colleges. This, not making a best-seller list, was always my goal. I wanted my intensive national research to help inform and guide possible policy decisions.
It’s held by libraries in New Zealand, Germany, Viet Nam, the Philippines and the Netherlands, to name only a few.
The other joy, annually, is a small check I get thanks to Canada’s Public Lending Rights program — which pays authors for the public use of their books in libraries.
It means a great deal to me to know my hard work has had some lasting value.
I’ve been hanging out on Twitter for a few years, but have never had a tweet go viral — more than 11,000 likes!!
This one did:
I recently got a NYT call for pitches, none of which worked for me at all — but was perfect for a friend, and one with a new book on that topic, now both soon to appear. This is what we all should be doing. It is rarely as zero-sum as everyone assumes. #freelance
I didn’t think much of posting this, as it’s nothing I haven’t said there many times before.
Maybe it was the “ooooooh!” allure of an elusive New York Times byline that caught people’s attention?
Maybe it’s just the luck of that fickle algorithm?
But it’s been really gratifying and satisfying to see it retweeted and liked and bookmarked.
At its best, Twitter can offer a bully pulpit.
It was nice when that specific writer outed herself in reply and thanked me but I was just happy to make that introduction; I know her and I know her work and I trust her to do work of NYT quality. I don’t just do it for anyone; referrals can wildly backfire if the person you refer is less than completely professional.
I recently signed up to be a mentor with Report for America, a program designed to encourage younger/newer journalists as they start their careers, some in small towns, others in larger markets. It’s a joy to be helpful.
I’ve also been really busy this week emailing fellow alumni of our Toronto high school to create a new annual award for a graduating senior for creativity, named in honor of a fellow student who was funny as hell and much beloved and whose later life was very much marked by severe mental illness, a terrible loss.
Three fellow alumni from our year, so far, have agreed to share the cost with me.
Thanks to the school’s guidance counselor, we’re figuring it out quickly and I hope to be up in Toronto June 28th to present the award with a fellow student, a dear friend of that student.
Without kids of my own or nieces or nephews to encourage, I feel it’s really important to encourage the latest generation…already so plagued with so many challenges like COVID and climate change as it is.
Our high school is still pretty upper middle class, but now more diverse racially and ethnically, and has some lower-income students — the $1,000 we will offer is still a nice amount.
The Nova Scotia house I fell in love with — and had to say NO to for my financial health
By Caitlin Kelly
It’s sometimes very difficult for me.
I’ve been freelance for much of my life and career — which often means saying an immediate and hearty yes to work even if you’re ill or exhausted or grieving or might not even need the income right then, because there are always fallow periods when you need to have acquired some savings.
So saying No, or No thanks, or I’ll pass or It’t not a great fit for me can feel awkward and risky.
But — and pardon the cliche — I now see saying “no” (without offering endless explanations or reasons or justifications) as a primal sort of self-care.
Resentment and anger for reluctantly saying yes just corrode the soul.
So you have to get good at saying no, even when it feels like a dangerous choice.
Especially when something apparently alluring is offered and your gut tells you….don’t do it.
Women are often trained from early childhood to keep everyone happy, to avoid conflict, to keep the peace — which can mean saying yes to all sorts of things we really don’t want to do! That could be hosting or attending a family event, agreeing to do something that makes us seethe inside or accepting a lowball offer of work or salary.
Our eagerness to please and not offend or annoy or anger — especially if you were raised in a family that always made quite clear what they wanted — continues for decades, in our loves and marriage and friendships and work and medical settings.
When we know someone holds power over us — even if it’s our choice — it can feel very difficult to risk losing their affection or support or kindness.
I had a friend here in New York for many years, someone I thought would be friends for life. We laughed a lot, traveled together, were often mistaken for sisters. Then she married someone I really didn’t like, nor did he care for me. Invited to her destination wedding, I said no. The friendship ended soon thereafter.
I sometimes still miss her, but with hindsight I also saw more clearly that I was the more submissive one. I don’t miss that role.
With work, it’s tough to turn down any chance to earn income; freelancers only “eat what we kill”, with no guarantees. But sometimes we can tell it’s just not a good fit.
With offers of pro bono work, as one recently made to me, it’s even more of a calculation; I was told I could address a small group of professionals who might hire me for my coaching skills.
The offer was very flattering.
Might.
If the group had been 50 or more people, the odds of that happening would have been better.
If the person asking me wasn’t getting paid — but not paying me — maybe.
If the demands for more and more of my time before even doing the presentation had stopped, perhaps.
It became easy to say no.
It ended civilly and professionally…which doesn’t mean I feared some sort of verbal fistfight.
When you emerge from a verbally abusive family, saying no always feels like an unwise choice.
I’ve been asked many times, mostly by my father and late mother, to do things I really didn’t want to do — from signing a document to sell real estate I had no financial interest in to cooking and cleaning house when visiting.
I grew up ages eight to 13 in boarding school and camp so a conventionally intimate family life wasn’t really in the cards…so I don’t feel much obligation in return. I left home for good at 19 when my father sold the family home and moved to Europe with his girlfriend.
No one paid for my university education but some income from my maternal grandmother and what I earned from my own freelance writing and photography work.
Saying no when others have said it to me many times?
Broadside 