I knew I was in trouble when …
I hit send on that email to a faraway corporate boss, even though something inside me said don’t. (I learned not to do stupid things like that anymore.)
As a young reporter, my editor who would go on to win a Pulitzer Prize told me not to write an article like that anymore. (I studied his writing style and technique.)
As a new writer, I asked my manager what kind of style we use in writing our content and she said they don’t follow any particular style in the company. (I got our writing team to adopt AP style and also made a style guide.)
At a small company, my bosses gathered our team, told us how hard things had been financially in the firm and cut everyone’s hours. Then they booked a vacation to the Caribbean. (I left that company shortly afterward for a better gig.)
I was the newspaper’s Saturday reporter and got an eyebrow-raising assignment to go to an inner-city apartment complex for a story about a recent murder victim. Fortunately, I called the regular crime beat reporter—who was incredulous someone would send me there—who referred me to a police sergeant to make sure I had company. (My instincts were right to call our crime writer and double-check the assignment.)
I was sitting in an Oregon coast funeral home covering the death of a fishing boat captain whose chartered boat went down in rough water, costing the lives of several of his passengers. The fisherman sitting next to me stared intently at me and told me twice he was going to break my nose, probably because he didn’t like the stories he read about his friend.. I walked briskly out. He followed me. My photographer across the street saw the fisherman closing in on me and turned his camera on the guy, stopping him in his tracks. I’m forever grateful to the great photographer and my friend Sol Neelman. (Always make good friends with your photographer.)