Zest: not just a body soap

I spent nearly 2.5 hours with a local band last week.  The guys were great, naturally had several fantastic (but unpublishable) stories, and I ended with pages upon pages of notes.

Good stuff.

Turns out the lead singer is originally from a town about 40 minutes from me.  Same area code.  And he had met/jammed with the lead singer of another band from our hometown areas.  That guy is the cousin of my best friend.  No big deal.

Yet I was still in for a surprise when I read edits from B.H.

“In reading it I felt as if you enjoyed doing the reporting and the writing.”

Absolutely.  But I can’t believe it was so apparent in the writing.  This story is one of a handful I’ve been excited about all semester.  I’m an extremely competitive person, and I refuse to give less than 110%.

How, then, to reconcile that drive with stories I don’t care about? There have been several for which I’ve felt no compassion, forced creativity and a general detachment for their existence.  Not to say I didn’t write them excellently, but the animation was lacking.

Here’s a toast to more zeal.

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