Stretching through My Struggles

by Deverick Martin

I was having lunch with a colleague the other day, and during the conversation he said, "I know what a struggle running a small newspaper can be." At the time, I briefly wondered what had caused him to say that, since I didn't think I had said anything that would indicate that I was "struggling." Somehow, that statement stuck with me, and I began to pay more attention to the areas in which I have been struggling. As one who works with affirmations and knows the power of positive thinking, I am reluctant to invest much energy in focusing on my struggles. After further thought, I realized that my struggles are often the areas of my life that offer the most potential for growth.

One of my struggles has been the blessing of an abundance of editorial content for The New Times. For much of 1997, the backlog of accepted articles meant that some articles have taken up to five months to publish. (As I share this, know that I'm much happier with this as a concern as opposed to the opposite, not having enough material!) We have exacerbated the problem by actively soliciting graphics and using pull-out quotes to add more graphic interest to The New Times, which translates into articles taking up more space.

I have struggled with having to run articles without the graphics (after we worked hard to get them) just to fit them in, especially when they were time-sensitive. There are a number of possible solutions: reduce the word limit; tighten the acceptance criteria and accept fewer articles (following the general direction set by the recent reader survey); or sell more ads to support more pages of articles. I am giving thought to establishing an advisory board to help with identifying new opportunities and considering the ramifications of policy changes. I have yet to formulate a framework for such a board, but if you have ideas about the structure and purpose or would be interested in participating when I do, please let me know.

I've also struggled with sharply increased costs for printing and distribution. While the strong demand for The New Times is gratifying to my ego, there is only a certain amount of money I can spend giving away a "free" paper. No one is served if The New Times is not financially viable. Each paper you see stacked to give away to our readers costs The New Times about eighty cents, so that stack of one hundred papers is eighty dollars' worth! While I've struggled to find additional ways to eliminate waste, I've had to pass most of the costs off in the form of sharply increased advertising costs. This was a difficult decision, since I know that many of our advertisers are non-profits or single-person practices who themselves may be struggling, and few, if any, are not sensitive to price increases. If you already subscribe, let me once again say how much I appreciate your supporting our work in this way (it really helps!). If you don't, I urge you to consider doing so.

There is a lot about this "bottom line" that points to our small staff doing (even) more. Although I am committed to finding ways that we can work "smarter" and accomplish more, one of my biggest struggles has been the long hours that have been required to produce The New Times each month and the toll that that has taken on my personal and social life. The thoughtful input from readers helps enormously with these struggles; the almost-daily reminders of how our efforts are truly "changing and enriching lives," in the words of our motto, keeps them in perspective.

We received and acted on a suggestion to format our "StarWatch" column in a way that makes it easier to refer back to specific sections. We hope you'll like this change. One way our reader survey surprised me was that 60% of the respondents said that they had Internet access (way above the national norm). Last month we added web page reviews in a new "Online" section of the Reviewers' Pages. We feel very fortunate to have the fine work and uplifting spirit of Elana Lindquist, who is a web designer and consultant, working with us on this project. This month, we also welcome Pat Gallagher, who will be sharing music writing duties with David A. Young in the Reviewers' Pages. We are pleased and excited to have her in our "family."

After two years in which readers rated our "Transitional Man" column the least read and least popular column, and knowing the difficulties our writers have had producing material that focuses primarily on men's issues, we have decided to discontinue the column. While on the one hand expressing relief at not being responsible for regular, pertinent contributions, and acknowledging the slump in interest (even within himself) in the men's movement, columnist-elect George Parks lamented the paradox that so much of the mystery of men and masculinity hasn't yet been touched.

The "Emerging Woman" column is more popular and the writers well liked by our readers, and, as a man, I often find great value in the messages by our "Emerging Woman" columnists, so I struggle with having a women's column that many times doesn't seem (to me) to address specific women's issues. I also struggle with the apparent exclusivity inherent in dropping a men's column and keeping a women's, especially when gender specificity seems increasingly irrelevant and a non-issue in each case. It is the sharing from the heart with which I always resonate in most in the articles and columns we print, and your responses to our recent survey once again affirm that the majority of you feel the same.

I am excited to announce a new column, which will run for a limited time (13 months) and not be placed under a banner as are our ongoing columns. This month, we introduce a column on death written by Cat Saunders. Cat is both the most highly rated and longest running contributing writer for The New Times.

Why do I think a column on death should be in a "good news" paper? We live in a culture that works to divert our attention away from asking or talking about death. For many families, the issues that death raises are not talked about or taken care of. For most of us, there is awkwardness in connecting with those whose days are numbered (as if mine aren't!).

In 1980, when my adopted father was dying, my mother and I listened to tapes by a pioneer in contemporary death work, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. She was actually talking about things that most people considered too difficult or morbid to discuss, and I found her words to be extremely comforting.

In December, my natural father's wife of nearly forty years died in an accident. I struggled over what to say in a sympathy note to a man that I largely know vicariously, and dusted off childhood memories of rejection by my "other" family and the resulting demise of an important relationship.

Death is a subject that I believe every culture and civilization across time has struggled with. Death brings up ancient, timeless questions. It calls us to question the purpose and meaning of our existence here and now. It causes us to expand our consciousness as we reach out to the unknown and contemplate the extinction of some — or perhaps all — parts of our being.

Is there life beyond the grave? What form might that take? What form might that take for me? Questions like these call us to consider God. As mortals, we can never know the whole truth about death, but it is a direction in which we all head. Death is a common element we share with all beings on this planet. It is perhaps our common bond. Death calls to our deepest fears: fears of the great vulnerability that most dying people assume, and fears of the unknown. How can we bring greater dignity and grace to a process that we, too, will one day embrace? We offer this new column as an opportunity to contemplate (and perhaps struggle with) this future event in a way that enriches our lives today.

As always, your constructive feedback, whether it is supportive or offers critical suggestions, is a blessing as I work with my struggles to stretch and grow and become more of who I came here to be. One thing I don't struggle with is my deep gratitude for that chance. Thank you for being part of it.