To be a journalist is like being on fire.
Extinguish one flame — deadlines, disgruntled readers or writer’s block — and more start to smolder in its place.
I’ve toured a prison and endured its pat-down policy, been essentially banned from a senior center, and had my student newspaper pulled from the racks for publishing a story about an Ecstasy drug bust on campus.
So it’s nice to remind myself sometimes why I voluntarily chose this profession.
All it took was another newspaper.