Meet the new kid on the page (spoiler: she worries)

I sat in the big office, surrounded by three editors, smiling, even though I was worried about why they had summoned me. I thought about how Clay Thompson had called this the Dark Tower and the editors his “masters.”

It turned out the masters had a new assignment for me: Move my column here, Clay’s old space in the newspaper, prime real estate for a columnist. And instead of one column a week, write six.

Immediately, I worried. Clay is a hard act to follow. He was funny, a good writer and you people loved him.

But what really worried me was the space I’ll be writing in. It holds 300 words, give or take. Sheesh, it takes me 300 words to say hello.

Clay was my editor in my early years at the paper. He told me to “Write tight, and make it sing.” Even when Clay was no longer my editor, he sent emails that said, “That was a good story, kid,” but could have been better if it hadn’t jumped from page to page three times.

I never took to it. The license plate on my car says “LNGSTRY.”

When Clay was sick, I would sometimes take dictation for him. He’d think for a minute and then hold forth. “How many words is that?” he’d ask. 287. He’d throw in a few “you people”s and a “Try not to worry about it.”

And that’s another thing: I worry. Whether I’m raising my kid right. That I’ll run out of money and have to move in with my mother.

That the pain in my knee is a blood clot that will travel to my brain and kill me. (Which would solve that running out of money problem.)

So what am I going to write about? Probably not mockingbirds or baseball, but you never know. They said I could write about anything. Just do it in 300 words.

I’ll be here Tuesday through Sunday. On Mondays, we’ll run the best of Clay.

I can practically hear him cracking up.

I hope you people stick around.