Mesa Musings:

One year ago this week my first “Musings” column appeared in this space.

I was recruited to pen Musings (bet that surprises many of you!), but wasn’t certain that I wanted to commit to a weekly writing deadline. I confess, however, to harboring a lifelong fantasy of being a columnist in the mold of Jim Murray, Herb Caen or Jack Anderson.

Shucks, I reasoned after the offer was tendered, why not give it a try?

Lest I mislead, this isn’t my first rodeo. I hold a bachelor’s in communications and was an editor of my college newspaper. I was sports editor and weekly columnist for a U.S. Army newspaper and wrote sports in my spare time for the Daily Pilot for more than a decade.

For 36 years — in what now seems like another lifetime — I was a writer-editor at Orange Coast College.

Still, the Daily Pilot invitation to post my thoughts and observations brought with it considerable angst and a sizable portion of humility.

“What the heck will I write about? Am I worthy?” I asked myself then.

The answers to those questions were: “You’ll figure it out,” and “no.”

Today’s “Musings” is my 52nd. I’m acutely aware of the fact that 365 days and 52 submissions don’t a columnist make. The aforementioned Murray wrote more than 10,000 flawlessly crafted columns during his career. He was an essayist extraordinaire!

When I first pondered this assignment I thought, realistically, I might be able to produce something once or twice a month. But, weekly? Actually, that hasn’t been a problem, though I make no claims as to the quality of the work.

So, after a year on the job, this weekly columnist has the chutzpah to offer some observations to other would-be columnists out there.

How do I go about writing my column? I really don’t write it — it’s more like I rewrite it. My first draft — as a writing coach I much admire once advised me — is always “crap.” My work is hastily constructed, though lovingly massaged.

Where do the topics come from? I have no idea.

They usually pop into my head as I’m taking my morning constitutional, though the final version bears little resemblance to the account that initially began percolating in my subconscious. After an idea has crept into my noggin, I sidle up to my computer and begin to bash away at the keys.

I’m limited to 700 words and, after an hour or so, have about 1,000 staring back at me. Obviously, it’s time to stop. I make a stab at a concluding statement, then, voila!, the column’s finished.

Well, not quite.

I must now eliminate 300 perfectly good words. I’d rather tie a hand grenade to my foot and blow off an extremity than cut a single syllable from my masterpiece.

Yet, it must be done.

Finally, the draft is reduced to the magic 700. The mess that remains is just that: a smoldering heap. Your mission, Mr. Phelps, should you choose to accept it, is to turn that pile into something worthy of consideration by another human.

I spend considerable time cleaning, rewriting, editing, re-editing and polishing. The process extends almost until my deadline. In fact, on rare occasion I’ve continued to edit after submission, and I’m forced — by my obsessive-compulsive nature — to resubmit an “updated” version.

I don’t often do that because, frankly, editors hate it. The pulsating vein in the middle of their beady foreheads comes dangerously close to bursting.

I choose not to read the column after its final submission. That would be far too painful! I’d invariably detect some gaffe in need of revision without me being able to do so. I therefore preserve my sanity by electing not to cast eyes on the piece again.

So, that’s how my weekly process unfolds. I’m convinced that Murray produced perfect copy in one take — every time. But Murray wasn’t of my tribe. Like Mozart, he was outrageously gifted. Mere mortal that I am, I must edit, edit, edit!

Here’s hoping that I actually show some growth in Year Two.

Thanks for reading!

JIM CARNETT lives in Costa Mesa. His column runs Wednesdays.