Dream Job

It is no secret that I am obsessed with where I live.

This goes beyond the barn, the story of Freedom Farm, the acres of protected Conservation Trust land that surround my rural corner of our bustling vacation destination. I am not just obsessed with my home, I am obsessed with Kennebunkport in general.

At times this expands to the broader Kennebunks. Over to downtown route 1 where I work my day job, or out to my brother's abode including both pigs and chickens in West K. I also can't help but love that long stretch of Arundel with it's flea markets, cheap breakfast diners, and of course Bentley's. But generally it is our humble population of around 3,500 year-round residents that I can't get enough of.

This is a good thing, since living in a small town means you get a lot of it. What is "it"? Oh, I guess the word 'gossip' could sum it up. But it's more than that. Because it's not just people talking about each other - it is people being genuinely involved in, and concerned about, each other's lives. Last winter a buddy of mine moved in. Dan is also a Kennebunkport resident and it took less than a week to have multiple people downtown ask me "when did Dan move in?" all based on seeing his truck in my driveway. Some were excited, some wondered if we were dating... others had no feeling one way or another - they just wanted to be in the loop on what was up.

The upside of such a level of involvement is that people remember you, and look out for you. Which is exactly how I earned my new title of Kennebunkport town columnist for the York County Coast Star. Back when I first moved to Kennebunkport I started working freelance for the paper - and I loved it. I stopped when I got a full time gig at the Kennebunk Post, and then stopped that job when I got a corporate job that actually paid above living wage (not common in entry-level journalism!). I have greatly missed having writing as a part of my professional life ever since.

(OK, OK, technically writing is still a part of my professional life. But corporate social media copy just isn't the same as feature stories on all the cool people who live in your neighborhood, ya know?)

Anyway. The Coast Star was in need of a new columnist, and my former editor thought of me. So now I get to balance my money-making corporate gig with what is truly my dream job: writing about this amazing place in which I live. Goooo, small town life!

You can check out my first column here.

I'm also hoping that writing regularly for the newspaper will inspire me to write more regularly in general. I mean, columns were the original blog, right? Why can't I keep up with both?

August Anxiety.

I have this thing I've termed my August Anxiety. You know, as opposed to my other year-round anxieties. My August Anxiety was born out of the fact that each of the last two Augusts has brought a totally unexpected and life-changing event.

August 7, 2008 my brother-in-law found out he was about to be deployed. My sister was pregnant. When he asked if could move back to Maine to help out with the new baby while he was away, I of course said yes.

August 12, 2009 I was called into a meeting at my office and was told my position in sales had been eliminated. Suddenly unemployed, and suddenly having to cancel the upcoming closing on my dream home, my life again changed direction.

It's now August 16, 2010 and my life-changing event has yet to happen. So, if any of you have the means to publish a novel, I'd officially like to invite you to a reading I am a part of, tomorrow night, Tuesday, in Portland, Maine.

Maybe we can stave off a traumatic event with an incredibly exciting one?

Community!

People often ask me if I have dreams of writing for publications larger than the Coast Star. And the truth of it is... I really don't.

I would love to write for national level magazines, and I would love to write novels, but as far as newspapers go, community journalism is where it's at.

[By the way, when I say "I would love to write novels," I mean that I would love to write published novels that I could casually stumble upon in national bookstore chains. I get tingly just thinking about it!]

In any case, I had a really interesting conversation with a friend the other day on the merits of community journalism. He told me a story of a writer from a small town paper, who always made sure to focus his stories on the people of the town. Apparently their readership increased to 130% every time he was published. I'm not exactly sure how that clearly inaccurate figure was created , but the point is, every time this man was published, everyone in the town picked up a copy of the paper, if not multiple copies of the paper.

Why?

Names.

Everyone likes to see their name in the paper. With the exception of the police notes and the obituaries, it is generally a sign of good things. Knowing this, the man would include as many local names as possible in each story that he wrote. In fact, in one interview, the man stated that if he could simply publish the phone book, he would be golden.

Smart man.

I love calling local people and telling them that our newspaper would like to feature both them and the work they are doing. 99% of the time, they are extremely excited with the news. Positive feedback is always a good thing, and to be recognized for your work, especially in this economy, creates a good feeling glow.

On the other side of things are those that pick up the paper to see MY name. Several of my regular customers at that little country store buy the paper solely when I am published, as a pledge of support to me and my work. And like the positive feedback above, this also creates a good feeling glow, regardless of the fact that some do it simply to be nice, and never actually read the articles.

Sure it would be a huge accomplishment to be published in... say... the New York Times. But for me, there is just as much satisfaction in convincing a tired landscaper to bring home a newspaper with his six-pack because he liked the way I made his breakfast sandwich earlier that same day and hey! Check it out! I'm on the front page this week, Bub!

So... I agree with the journalist my friend told me about. Names are key.

But I think the bigger theme is that community journalism is community supported. And as a girl who oh-so-loves that good feeling glow, this level of newspapers is where I'd like to stay.

We're gonna party like it's 2006.

I mentioned that there were big projects in the works, and while my actuality never quite matches the magnitude of my plans, the statement does still ring true.

I had this past week off from my job at the little country store down the street from my house. This allowed me time to catch up on some much overdue housework, organize my finances, and... write.

I declared early on that I would take the week to... "Finish My Unfinished Novel!!!!"

This was obviously a lie.

But the idea was that I would sit down and force myself to write in the time that I would have otherwise been making you all (delicious!) breakfast sandwiches.

Do you know what happens when you sit down at your computer to finish an unfinished novel?

Reflection.

And a lot of it.

This.... book? That I'm writing, is a project I started years ago. YEARS! And the thing is, I always wanted it to be written from the point of view of the 23-year old girl who started it. But now, though only four years older, I read what I wrote and want to scold that girl for her ridiculousness. And so, working hard to truly represent how a fresh-out-of-college-not-quite-yet-jaded girl would see the world, caused a lot of staring at the window and thinking on things.

Luckily there was some writing also, and a dent has officially been made. (!!)

This is a very good thing as last August, in an act of either courage or stupidity (the results are not yet in) I boldly promised my mother that I would present her with a finished manuscript for her 2010 birthday.

OK, the results just came in. It was stupid.

But for a girl that cannot write without deadlines, it was also necessary.

Now please excuse me while I buckle down and channel the dumpster diving days of my youth. There are stories to be told, and for better or for worse, I'm going to tell them.

Five W's

I am currently writing some stories for the news section of the paper, and ohmygod is it hard. Ok, it's not hard... it's just....... not the features section. And as a girl who has written exclusively for feature sections, music websites, blogs, alternative weeklies, and style magazines for the past four years, I find myself a bit challenged.

I mean, I can't even speak without a sarcastic slant, let alone write!

Luckily I am working with an incredible editor who has taken extra time out of her day to explain step by step (literally!) what exactly is wrong with what I have submitted thus far, and how to correct it. Because she understands that I know how to write... I just literally forgot how to write straight news.

Links to follow... if I succeed.

Raise your glasses to... Mom and Dad!

This past weekend my parents were honored by being named Town Marshals for the town of West Hartford in the annual Saint Patrick's Day Parade. They asked me to say a few words at the party held in their honor. Instead I said about 1000. What follows is that speech, in its entirety.

***

West Hartford Parade Fundraiser

February 6, 2010

I have been attending this yearly fundraiser for literally as long as I can remember, so I am assuming that a lot of you here already know who I am. For those of you who do not, my name is Bridget Burns. And while I have stood before you many times in the past, it was usually in preparation to dance a two-hand reel. Tonight, I stand before you in recognition of my parents, this year’s town marshals, Greg and Norine Burns.

While most people learn their heritage from their parents, my older sister Morrigan and I would like to take this opportunity to publicly claim full credit for our family getting reconnected to our Irish roots. You see, it all started one day when my sister came home from nursery school and announced that she had told her teacher that she was Chinese, and I, was Japanese. Mom and Dad took this as a sign that they weren’t doing enough to educate us on our family history, and the next thing we knew we were both enrolled in Step Dancing classes with Sheila Stevens and the Shamrock School of Irish Dance.

Step dancing opened doors for us that we never expected. My sister and I have performed Irish dance everywhere, from the floor of the State Senate, to a parking lot in New Jersey where we joined hundreds of other dancers in an effort to enter the Guinness Book of World Records. Step dancing has connected us with everyone from cast members of Riverdance, to President Reagan, to Jim Moriarty, host of the hit (though now defunct) cable access TV show, and radio program, the Irish Hour.

It was also through our involvement in dance that our parents became familiar with the Irish American Home in Glastonbury, which of course lead to their participation in the Central Connecticut Celtic Cultural Committee and it’s annual Saint Patrick’s Day Parade.

While Morrigan and I joined our dance school’s contingent, our parents – the new young couple on the West Hartford Parade Committee – marched with the Hoseys, Morans, Stauntons, Murnanes, and Bernie Reilly-Duffy. And of course, Liam.

It may be hard to imagine looking at him now, but my “little” brother Liam was so young when my parents marched in their first parade, that he couldn’t actually march. Instead, he was in a snuggly. Later, able to sit up on his own, he rode the parade in a wagon. A few years after that, Liam appointed himself head of the West Hartford Parade Float committee, and from that point forward managed to be a pivotal character on many an Irish-themed design, built mostly in our own driveway. In fact, now that I think about it, in all of Liam’s years “marching” in the parade with Mom and Dad, I’m not sure he’s ever actually marched!

While I do not remember everything from my parents’ early years on the West Hartford Parade Committee, I do remember getting really excited to go over to Pat and Bridie Moran’s house. Partially because I thought it was so cool that someone actually went by the nickname, Bridie, but mostly because I knew she would send us home with a bag of her delicious scones.

I also remember helping out at the annual Colleen Pageant. Morrigan and I loved to get dressed up in our matching Laura Ashley jumpsuits, to go onstage and hold the Waterford Crystal Question bowl for Colleen contestants like our own Mary McGloin. Of course by the time we were old enough to enter the pageant, it had switched to the more gender-neutral scholarship competition - much to Morrigan’s relief and my own tiara-loving dismay.

And of course I can’t forget all of the hours spent peeling vegetables in preparation for the Club’s corned beef and cabbage dinner. I supplement my current career as a writer, by helping out in a small kitchen down the road from my house. So… thank you. Without you all teaching me how to efficiently peel potatoes at such a young age, I might not be quite as gainfully employed as I now am!

In fact, Liam also has you all to thank for his current employment. When applying to be a carpenter’s apprentice, Liam was asked if he had any experience framing.

“Oh yeah,” he said, recalling a past float. “I framed a pub on a trailer bed once.”

“How about roofing?” the carpenter asked.

“Yeah, we thatched the roof,” Liam replied.

Since moving away from West Hartford, eight years ago, I have gradually pared down my Connecticut visits to around six annual trips. The first three are obvious: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. The second three? The Festival, the Fundraiser, and the Parade. I think the fact that these three events now reserve the same recognition as national holidays is a clear reminder of how huge a role this community has served in our upbringing.

A lot of you here are probably aware of the fact that my parents plan to eventually retire to their vacation home in Kennebunkport, Maine. What you may not realize, is that this parade is one of the biggest factors still holding them to Connecticut.

Sure, they will miss their careers in the West Hartford public school system. And of course they’ll miss their historic home that they have spent so much energy restoring and keeping up. And it goes without saying that they will miss their extended families and all of their other friends. But… I have a strong suspicion that the Irish Club, and the community that comes with it, is what they will miss the most. Frankly, their Maine-based social life is looking pretty bleak without it!

An old acquaintance recently asked me where everyone in my family is currently living. I explained that Morrigan and I both live in Maine, with Liam scheduled to move there this coming summer, and my parents headed up sometime after retirement.

“Wow, that’s so funny,” the acquaintance said. “That you all ended up in the same state.”

“It’s not that funny,” I responded. “We’re ridiculously close. If we didn’t all end up in Maine, we probably would have all ended up somewhere else.”

And I guess this is where we come full circle. Because the fact is, while we originally got involved in all of these Irish activities – dance, the club, the parade – in an effort to reconnect with our roots, in the end we really just grew closer to each other. Our heritage bonds us, and even though my sister, brother, and I have all moved away from home, and even though our careers have taken turns we never expected, the one constant that remains in our lives regardless, is our family.

I guess that’s just the blessing of being raised in an Irish household.

We love you, Mom and Dad! Congratulations!