Reinvention

In the fall of 1994, I graduated from the University of New Orleans with a degree in professional writing. For two years prior, I had been training in the art of the word. The curriculum covered journalism, non-fiction, fiction, technical writing, technical editing, and general editing. As is the case with many writing degrees, I had my share of school-sponsored work, including contributions to the paper (okay, a weekly rag that was pretty weakly), the literary journal, yada, yada, yada. Mostly crap. Face it, most college work is crap. You can rehash as much of that grammatically claptrap as you want, you still end up with...crap.

But hidden in the forest of dangling participles was a writer. Not some flouncy schmuck who regurgitates the bloody obvious, but a verbal expressionist, in love with the craft and spirit of the word. I wrote with wild abandon. It was mostly fiction, many delving into the darker genres of horror, a protege in line for Clive Barker's crown. There were journals filled with paragraphs, treatments, and chapters, drawings, character bios and plot points. More than anything I wanted to be a writer.

This germ of a notion started far back in my history, to grade school in fact. I was the guy everyone wanted for a partner on writing assignments. I was the goto man for report proofing. Got a paper due? Better have Penguin take a peek at it before you turn it in. Ironically, I was quite introverted, except for this one area. Talk with me about writing and I beamed with interest.

Well, when push came to shove in college, I was faced with some hard decisions. Chase what I dreamed of doing or follow the more sensible (read Dad's advice) thing to do and take business courses. I really fucking hated it. After a few years of collegiate abuse, I decided to take a break from college. I got a job in restaurant management. I suffered through a couple of miserable years of Pizza Hut and finally relented to going back to school. The thought of managing pizza jockeys for a career had simply lost its lustre.

This time around, though, I refused to follow the practical advice of others. I was going to be a writer, pure and simple. Not only that, I was going to be technical writer, diving into wonderful technology during the day, and writing my novels at night.

At least that's what I thought. The dim reality in New Orleans is that there is no market for technical writers. What few existed had been working in their jobs for eons, unwilling to let any young rebels in the door, lest they upset their delicate balance of power.

So I lingered and goofed off and ran up credit card bills and smoked pot and drank and just plain fucked around. This behaviour got me kicked out of the apartment for three months, in fact. I eventually did find a job, as a purchasing agent for a hospital. I rapidly ascended the job ladder. Within a year I was offered a job at the state's biggest bank as a purchasing specialist. My specialty was contract review. I also was point on buying computers, ATM's, credit cards (the actual plastic blanks, delivered in a big Brinks truck), and specialty items (all the gadgets and cool promo stuff you get when you sign up for a checking account.) It was fun while it lasted, but Bank One rolled in and snatched up my bank, thus showing me the door.

I found refuge in a company named EDS. Electronic Data Systems is a huge I.T. services and consultation company. This was 1999, so the Internet Boom was running amok. I was wedged squarely in the middle of it. I now had a great job, with some pretty spectacular pay, and I got to play with servers all day, and write manuals and white papers all night. It was fun! I even had a cool corporate apartment in Dallas, a fat reimbursement account, travel bonuses, and the reputation of being a can-do employee.

But it was all bullshit. Don't let anyone fool you. Consultants are scum. I considered myself different because I was actually building scaled-down working solutions for my clients. I eventually made my way to Textron Marine and Land Systems and planted myself as a Systems Administrator.

Being a Sys Admin is the onsite equivalent of being a Data God. I control it all, I see what sites you visit, I can (but don't) read your email, I scold you for opening virus emails, and I approved the purchase of bitchin' cool PC's.

This is a really long roundabout, but bear with me. My point is reinvention, the act of taking your present job and function and rolling it into something new and wonderful to someone else. This may involve moving to a new company or just moving across the hall.

Last week we were told the I.T. infrastructure functions of Textron are going to be outsourced to CSC, another huge I.T. services company. I left EDS for a reason, so hearing this news, which directly affects my job, was like being punched in the gut. I've mulled over the options and not found much. That is, until last week, when I overheard a conversation about the need for...technical writers. Textron has three mega-contracts in the wings and ZERO documentation to give to the respective military bodies that are buying the vehicles. This morning my boss pulled us into his office to tell us we would definitely have to face being outsourced, as the project is just being rubber-stamped by the board of directors. Thinking of that other need, I closed the door to his office and hatched a plan. I would be one of those writers, I know the systems, the business and all of the players involved. I have the ability to build up a data repository and even act as the liaison between the new I.T. people and the engineering department. Boss calls another boss. Within fifteen minutes, the present (and aging) tech writer pokes his head in my cubicle to ask "So. When are you coming over?" Word travels fast in close circles.

I haven't had the official word, but it looks like they are actually going to make me a writer. I can't express how giddy with excitement I am at the thought. I know for fact that my pay is substantially more than the present staff, but I'm also much younger, very enthusiastic, and I'm willing to go to extreme lengths to turn the documents around.

I'm sure I'll be sleepless till I hear something...