So today is my 20th anniversary in the journalism business, figured I should write something to commemorate it.

I’ve been thinking about this for awhile, trying to come up with something profound to say about the work that has helped define my life over the past two decades,

You see, 20 years ago today, I walked into the office of The Jackson County Banner for my first day as a newspaper reporter. (As a professional reporter, I should note; I had a brief stint working at the Ball State Daily News during my extended stay at that fine institution of higher learning).

I’ve pondered about what great statement I could make to commemorate this anniversary, what deep meaning I could find in the profession I chose to pursue. I mean, I’m a writer. I should be able to write something with weight, something you read that makes you say, “Whoa.”

Then it occurred to me as I thought about how journalism was going to be a means to a different end for that aspiring novelist. One of the biggest hang-ups for me, as I’ve tried to write those books over the years, is that stifling idea that if I’m going to write something, it has to be profound.

I’ve never taken that approach as a journalist; at least, I’ve tried not to, and on the occasions when I have aimed for some sort of weighty discourse, the results have been … eh, let’s go with mixed.

It’s work, this business of being a writer. Not in the sense that I’m not good at it; I believe I am, and the fact that I’ve been able to make a living at it for 20 years tells me I’m doing something right.

But it is work, in the sense that I’m creating something for someone else to use. It’s not a roof over someone’s head; I’m no house builder. It’s not food in someone’s stomach; I’m no farmer.

But that’s OK. There’s still a place for well-written stories. A lot of the ones I’ve written over the last 20 years have just given you the facts, whether it’s how a football team won a big game or how a town council voted to use your tax money. There have been some opinions here and there in the forms of columns and reviews. There have been some personal things I’ve shared, like why I chose not to be a parent, and the last days I spent with my father-in-law before his death.

It’s been work, work that I’m proud of. That novel may not be published yet (or, truth be told, even completed). But I’ve made an impact as a writer, and if you’ll forgive my indulgence (it is my website after all), I’m going to spend the next couple of weeks here sharing some thoughts on the life of a writer. It’s no European travelogue, but maybe you’ll find something to pique your interest.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll write something profound after all.