Writer's block a sure sign of brain damage

Never stare at a blank page for more than five minutes at a time.
On that note, it has now taken me about 20 hours to start this column. That is 20 hours, 10 cups of coffee, 15 trips to the bathroom, a dozen consultations with my staff on their stories, a half-dozen meetings with my boss and a brisk walk outside.
No matter what I do, the page never seems to fill itself. It’s what they call writer’s block. It’s a near-fatal disease for a journalist. You know you’ve got a pretty severe case when you start writing a column about it.
Maybe I should just call in sick. Or at least brain damaged.
Being brain damaged is a prerequisite for journalism. It goes with having an open mind in the name of being fair and unbiased. I’ve learned from my liberal friends that the more you open your mind the more susceptible to brain damage you are. That doesn’t mean I’m closed-minded – I just don’t buy everything that I’m told like some in this business will do.
I’ve been in this business long enough to understand why the ranks of editorial staffs are filled with left-wingers. They’re taught at an early age to be open to all viewpoints and to value each one equally.
In journalism school you learn to value freedom of the press at a much higher level than the average American. You’re taught to value all freedoms and you’re taught to treat the crackpot with the same level of respect as the most distinguished statesman. After you’ve listened to enough crackpots (and statesmen for that matter) you begin to believe some or all of what they say. At the very least you defend their right to believe and say what they want and you put those beliefs on a level with your own.
Heaven forbid that you actually stand for something and reject the stuff that is contrary to your beliefs … or common sense. Does that mean you don’t give a voice to those whose beliefs are contrary to your own? No. You give them their voice, but keep it in context.
Just because someone comes to you with a great list of health benefits from poison ivy stew doesn’t mean you should print the story that says poison ivy stew is the new great thing. It may be the culinary thing of the day for that person, but you still have an obligation to point out the side-effects of poison ivy. Too many people in this profession are too quick to run with kooky cook’s story and accept it at face value.
It’s that kind of thing that causes brain damage in journalism. And when that kind of brain-damaged news get out there, the next thing you know you’ve got a whole community of people who think it’s OK to eat poison ivy.
On the other hand, part of that brain damage comes from the cynicism one gets from covering all the weird and stupid stuff that people do. You build up a certain amount of callousness to various crimes. It’s a survival instinct. You can only feel so much for those who suffer in what I call “bleeding heart” stories. After you write your umpteenth story about a kid with cancer, you begin to detach emotionally. You have to, or else you’d go bonkers.
It’s that kind of thing that creates such a jaded, morbid sense of humor in journalists, cops, doctors, firefighters, morticians and the like. Trust me, if you are extra sensitive to human suffering, the last place on earth you want to be is in a newsroom on deadline.
So you can see, this profession can and will assault your brain and your common sense from many directions.
That’s why so many people leave the profession after just a year or two. Those of us who hang on learn to either thrive on the absurdity of everyday life or we become jaded automatons who go through the motions each day. I’ve been both at various times in my career.
I’ll let you figure out where I’m at now.
And when you do, please let me know. It might help me to think of something to write for this space in the paper. I’d hate to think I wasted it writing about something as mundane as writer’s block.