15 tips I would tell brand new journalists

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Drat! Looks like somebody found my speech notes to the latest class of journalists coming into the world. All 20 of them.

1. Don’t complain about work conditions. You knew what you were getting into.

2. Above all else, maintain your credibility. You’re not here to be liked, only to be read and respected.

3. Visualize your readers every day — where they work, what worries them, what they talk about. If you don’t connect with them, you’ve failed.

4. Story ideas don’t magically show up on your desk. Look around as you walk to work. Talk to everyone you meet. Question everything. Leave your contact info with everybody, including your Twitter and Facebook info.

5. If don’t know what to write, you haven’t asked the right questions or talked to the enough people.

6. Somebody told me once, “Editors are the pirates who board your story ship.”

7. Pay attention in class, learn from great writers and never stop writing yourself.

8. Most newspapers don’t care about you. You’re there to feed the thresher, tossing stories in as fast as possible to keep it from running over you. Bosses will expect you to work all night, during your pregnancy, upside down or after your house exploded.

9. Spell the name back to your source, even if it’s John Smith. You have no excuse not to get it right. See No. 2.

10. Learn everything about the business. Know how to post to the Internet, the power of SEO, how to take and edit videos, write obituaries, answer calls from coaches, fix the copy machine, paginate, colate and work the soda machine.

11. Your readers have no idea what you do or why you do it. If I were in charge, I would create a Google+ hangout, allowing multiple readers to see a live stream into your newsroom.

12. Facebook and Twitter are gifts from Internet heaven. Appreciate and use them.

13. Show your readers they’re important as your smart phone. Thank them every day. Drive a newspaper to their house if they miss it. Return every message as soon as possible. Smile when you see them in the office.

14. Keep your promises to your sources and don’t make promises you can’t keep.

15. Remember people will always read stories that teach them, inspire them or make them angry or happy. That’s the best hope of job security I can leave you with.

Thanks for coming out. You’ve been a great audience.

Mike Henneke is a former print journalist with more than 23 years of experience. On certain nights, he still dreams of dangling participles and mixing his metaphors.

What really happens when mom isn’t here

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Forgive us if the boy and I are a little scared. Because of a job transition, mom won’t be here for a few months.

And it shows.

Something sinister appears to be growing on the side of the fridge (lab report will be back in a few days). We can explain the crunching sound on sections of the kitchen floor. We can neither confirm or deny that Facebook has been open during dinner. The two of us agreed that bedtimes are overrated.

If she asks, the boy is getting all the nutrition that Costco and Taco Bell can provide. Laundry will get done at some point, once the next Call of Duty game ends.

Mom worries a lot when she calls, and I’m not sure why. Make sure he has clean underwear, that he takes his medicine and doesn’t slip on his cereal bowl, she says.

Nothing to worry about, I tell her. He’s 14 and I got everything under control. Piece of cake.

After 23 years, my wife doesn’t believe me, for she knows I’m barely housebroken myself. For trips to the grocery store, she’s contemplated pinning notes on me, the way your teachers did in grade school.

OK, so maybe I exaggerated a tiny bit. We only stayed up late twice, maybe three times. Only one meal was in front of the television set and he’s only been late to school once. For the record, we actually cooked a meal once that didn’t include a box, and the dishes have been done almost every night.

More importantly are those moments when we can’t stop laughing together or when we sneak around the apartment, Nerf guns at the ready.

Even before bedtime, he might walk out to where I am, ready to share something personal and important. That’s my sign to stop what I’m doing and listen with all I’ve got.

With my ears and my heart.

For a 14-year-old, starting school in a new state in the middle of the year, away from his mom for an extended period of time, that might be the most meaningful thing I can do as a dad.

Christmas miracle in the checkout lane

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(Editor’s note: I wrote this four years ago. It reminds me how good people can be, and how good I need to be.)

The young woman ahead of me clutches some money in her hand and nervously watches the cashier scan each item. She plans to purchase about a dozen small food items and about $25 worth of clothes. She wears a black tank top, dark hair and can’t be older than her early 20s.

It’s not long before the girl realizes she can’t pay for everything and asks for some food to be removed from her bags.

The cashier painfully removes some food items one by one, then at the girl’s behest, returns a couple of items. I watch with interest, with a checkout nightmare blog brewing in my head. The clothes and some food are set aside to be returned to the store.

“I’m so bad at math,” the young woman stammers as the cashier realizes there’s still a difference of $12 to settle. The worker patiently begins searching through some other grocery bags to see if there’s anything else that can be returned to make up the difference.

I turn to a well-dressed lady to my left in line and give her a knowing look. Can’t this girl add? It’s a look that says we’re in this checkout nightmare together.

It was then the well-groomed older woman teaches me a lesson I will never forget. She reaches into her purse and hands some money to the cashier.

“Here, see if this will help,” she says with a smile.

It’s a $20 bill. The young girl’s mouth drops open.

“I’ve been there before,” the other woman says.

“Now that’s really cool,” I spontaneously exclaim out loud with a big smile on my face. The woman adds an additional $10 just to make sure.

By now we find out the younger woman is behind on her rent with her boyfriend. Christmas may not be so merry this year.

The cashier rings up all the original food items and clothes she was planning to purchase from the beginning. The boyfriend returns to the line in time to see everything unfold. He looks embarrassed.

When his girlfriend tries to return $12 in change to her benefactor, the older woman pauses and then gives it back.

“Take your boyfriend out for dinner. Merry Christmas.”

The grateful couple say thank you and eventually walk off together with their bags.

I think of the $800 kicker check burning a hole in my pocket. We have our own struggles but I could have helped. I miss a chance to make a difference.

I turn to the woman putting items on the belt.

“Thank you for teaching me a lesson.” I tell her.

A good lesson for us all.

10 unbendable, absolute truths about Christmas

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1. I still believe in Santa Claus.

2. Santa likes only frosted sugar cookies made special by Mrs. Claus, with no more than a half glass of milk.

3. We look pretty silly camping out for 6 hours outside Target, only to stampede inside, just to be the first to get that discounted Seinfeld DVD before anybody else. I’ve been told, that with enough surgeries, that blind, one-legged nun will recover from her injuries.

4. This is the only time of year when it’s cool to listen to a capella. A friend of mine told me this once.

5. Speaking of Christmas music, Thanksgiving is the first day it can legally be played. Also, anyone possessing a David Spade Christmas album faces possible felony charges. I’m just repeating the truth to help you all out.

6. Forget about all the crazy talk you heard about Mormons, Temple Square in Salt Lake City is the coolest place to be on Christmas. The light displays will blow your mind, the music is heavenly and no pepper spray to be found.

Lighting up Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah. (Reshared from newsroom.lds.org)

7. “Wonderful Christmas Time” by Paul McCartney easily makes the top 5 for worse Christmas songs of all time. (You’re welcome, Jim!)

8.“A Christmas Story” is obviously the best holiday movie, end of discussion. “Elf” will have to settle for second best.

9. Mom meant well, but I always found her presents without even trying. Next time, don’t use the dirty clothes hamper.

10. You didn’t think I would end a Christmas post without posting this clip, just as gentle hint to why we do this to begin with.

Dear Journal: I guess I did need you

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She held up the beautiful brand new journal and asked if I wanted it.

My first thought was to say no, because journals take too much work. Honestly journals are pretty useless, seeing how I hardly write on paper anymore. If you’re hankering to know, you can find my legacy on Facebook and Twitter.

Journals are so yesterday. They’re for presidents to make up material for their memoirs. Sisters battle over them, lawyers subpoena them or they gather dust under a bed.

But I looked at the pristine, embossed brown cover with detailed stitching and was touched by her generosity. I gratefully accepted her gift.

The next morning, I was exercising while listening to a church talk from Richard G. Scott. Figured it would do me more good than an “Everybody Loves Raymond” rerun. That’s something else my good friend and boss taught me.

Elder Scott spoke on how spiritual guidance can help us solve life challenges.

While I ran on the treadmill, Elder Scott described attending a church lesson from a member in Mexico who was struggling to teach. Suddenly, some very clear spiritual impressions came to Elder Scott’s mind. The following excerpt describes what he did next.

As each impression came, I carefully wrote it down. In the process, I was given precious truths that I greatly needed in order to be a more effective servant of the Lord. (Emphasis added.)

Tears came to my eyes and I paused the treadmill. This was meant specifically for me. I knew that I needed to write down the impressions that came to me.

I texted my friend and reminded her about the journal. “Coincidence? I think not,” I concluded.

About 30 seconds later, this was her reply:

Haha!! I was gong to send it to Taylor (serving an LDS church mission) but felt to take it out of my bag and ask you. You are so watched over.

I was stunned by her sacrifice and knew without a doubt that I was watched over. I vowed to treasure the journal, to not let her gift be given for naught.

Except that’s not the end of the story.

This Sunday morning, I read about Gideon from the Old Testament, how the Lord asked him to go save Israel from the Midianites. He doubted himself and needed reassurance from the Lord.

I was reading one of the verses in Judges, when I felt a strong feeling of warmth and peace. A definite impression came to my head that I knew was from God to me.

I waited to compose myself and looked at the brown journal sitting next to my laptop.

Thankfully I knew just where to write it down.

“What if Elder Zwick comes to your house?”

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The voice, impression, perhaps revelation, hit me as soon as I walked through the door of my tiny basement apartment.

I had just returned from stake conference in Billings presided over by Elder W. Craig Zwick, a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My mind was absorbing the doctrine taught and Spirit felt from two wonderful sessions.

Elder W. Craig Zwick

Elder Zwick and his wife spoke with great power during his two addresses. At no time did I see him refer to notes or written text. More than once, he looked at me and caught my eye. At least it felt that way. His words pierced my very soul. His Spirit spoke to my Spirit.

So were the thoughts in my mind as I entered my tiny basement apartment and put my Scriptures and notebook in their proper place.

I hung up my coat and quickly changed into pajama bottoms and orange OSU T-shirt. As I walked through my small living room measuring no more than 18-by-12 feet, the thought came into my head. It was very pronounced, almost like a distinct voice.

“What if Elder Zwick comes to your house?”

The first thought was panic as I looked quickly at the pile of clean laundry in the middle of the living room, still needing to be folded. File folders were scattered around my chair while blankets and my straw cowboy hat covered another chair. Crumbs and dirty silverware could be seen on of my kitchen counter.

I grappled with the absurdness of the idea. I knew he would be spending the week, working with missionaries in the Billings area. So it was possible. But there’s no way he would come to my house out of 5,000 members in the stake. What were the chances?

Then it hit me what I think I was supposed to learn here. What of instead of Elder Zwick, it was the Savior coming to my house. What would he find? What, if anything, would cause me to shrink from his presence?

I did a quick self inventory and realized something:

The Savior wouldn’t see football or anything else on television on this day set aside to focus on Him.

He wouldn’t find any movies in the apartment that would make it harder for me to be like Him.

The more I thought about it, the more I think he would find a good feeling here. And that’s more important than the garbage can sitting off in the corner of my living room. There’s so much I would tearfully beg his forgiveness for, but that’s OK. He already knows I’m trying.

So I don’t really expect a personal visit from Elder Zwick.

But just in case, I folded and put away my laundry and did the dishes.

Just in case, no matter who comes to see me.

"Go Ye Therefore, and Teach All Nations" by Harry Anderson

Mr. Downer unleashes his inner Mary Poppins (sort of)

When the gringo had to learn Spanish

Why I don’t care if you read this (for now)

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You 10 readers used to keep me up at night.

I used to pour over the blog stats fretting about who showed up on my blog and how they got there. What if I added the wrong keywords or (heaven forbid) give enough back links?

For a long time, you came to the blog in droves, and it was fun living my alter ego as a two-bit blog celebrity. I tried to act nonchalant when my kids reported more comments to them about my blog.

Now I’ve reached a point where I hope to write more and care less. It’s taken a long time, but I think I’m finally there. I’ll still share on Facebook and Twitter, and still be grateful when you visit. But letting go of the numbers, a process many months in the making, has been extremely therapeutic.

If you still come to visit me here, glad to have you.

Who knows what you’ll find when you get here. The writing most likely won’t be ~~gooder~~ than other writers. But it will have honesty, maybe make you smile or identify with a lesson that I learned. And like always, I never write longer than my attention span. These days, that’s usually not longer than success as a GOP frontrunner.

This whole discovering who I am is taking longer than I thought. Some day, I’ll finish the idea I had for a children’s book. I might even compile of these essays into book form. I’ll keep reading powerful writing, such as this this eulogy on Steve Jobs.

But for now, I’ll just keep writing. Judging by how often I look at these pics on my desk, I’ll have plenty of inspiration.

Lacey, Lindsey and the dog inspire me just as well. You're just on the opposite side of the desk.

7 tips from the Facebook Dad

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No time for moping when there's dad stuff to be done.

I think all my tools from home are gone. That’s probably for the best. I didn’t know how to use most of them.

I imagine that most loose items in the home have been sold or given away. Bedtimes could be blown out of the water, there could be olives in the house or much disrespect directed toward the Vizio.

See what happens when I’m not there? See the chaos that can ensue, the destruction of the space time continuum and new black holes on a daily basis?

You can’t? You’re probably right. Even without the dad, life continues as normal. The dog still smells, the car still works, food still gets devoured and the house hasn’t caved in.

It’s tempting to imagine them saying, “It’s become necessary to outsource you, dad. We’ll see you on the other side. Whenever that is.”

But come to find out, I am still very much needed. We’ve had to rewrite the playbook for these few months while we’re apart. (Click here to catch up on why jobs are forcing us to temporarily be apart.)

So we do the best we can until we can be together again. Here’s 7 ways we work to keep the family unit intact.

1. We try to pray once a night as a family. As often as I can, I participate through Facebook video chat.

2. We talk almost every day by phone. I never let a conversation go by when I don’t tell my wife that I love her.

3. Letters home. I nearly forgot how to print, but that was one of the best Sundays I ever spent, writing handwritten letters to my boys. I need to do that again.

4. Still live the values that I believe, even though there’s nobody in this tiny apartment to check to see if i’m watching the right movie or engaging in other debauchery. I’m still accountable to my family and my God.

5. Let them be surprised when I see them again, that only 1 in 5 socks end up under my side of the bed. Don’t want to shock them too bad.

6. Online grade reports allow to check and see if we need to hold an accountability session with one or both of the boys.

7. It’s fun thinking of all the ways I can tell my wife how much I love her from two states away.

Come to think of it I haven’t sent her flowers in awhile.

That gives me an idea.

What other ideas do you have for us?

Is This Mike On?

Live from the laundry pile: It's the dad!

15 tips I would tell brand new journalists

What really happens when mom isn’t here

Christmas miracle in the checkout lane

10 unbendable, absolute truths about Christmas

Dear Journal: I guess I did need you

“What if Elder Zwick comes to your house?”

Mr. Downer unleashes his inner Mary Poppins (sort of)

When the gringo had to learn Spanish

Why I don’t care if you read this (for now)

7 tips from the Facebook Dad