Yep, it’s true. BMA Magazine Is Seking A Editorr. (That’s the Bossman for you, never short of a laff). After three years in the ed’s chair and nigh on 70 issues I’ve decided it’s time for change. It’s true what I said in my previous column, I am moving to Vietnam, but first I’m heading home to Alice to hang with my family a while.
“Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day, I’ve got a wonderful feeling that everything’s going my way”. The chorus of Oklahoma!’s opening number played on repeat in my head when Allan Sko’s email arrived in November ’08. I’d been offered my dream job at 20; I deferred uni and floated around in an elated haze for days.
Before taking up the position I spent three months backpacking in India and Nepal. Towards the end of my trip anxiety about becoming editor trickled in. I’d just turned 21; surely I wasn’t old enough, wise enough or experienced enough to edit a music magazine!? Not long ago I was reminded of these fears by the close friend I was travelling in India with. “You were consumed by self-doubt; you doubted your writing ability, you doubted your music knowledge, you doubted everything. And now look at you,” he said smiling. This is my 66th issue. 66 dragons dead on the floor. I’m pretty proud of that fact.
These irrational fears didn’t fade immediately though, dear readers. Ohhh no. There were more than a few moments within my first month when I honestly thought Al had made a huge mistake and had hired the wrong gal. I spent late, late nights in the office during my first few deadlines oft on the verge of tears; the terrifying thought of missing a print deadline or forgetting to place an ad always on my mind (the latter happened, but only once). It was the selflessness of previous editor Peter Krbavac that saved me; he gave countless hours of his time to help me find my feet and I’ll forever be indebted to him. So thanks Pete.
Naturally the super late nights in the office gradually disappeared. When I made it to five issues I was so thrilled I had a little party to celebrate; five issues, when ten weeks prior I’d wholeheartedly doubted my ability to produce any at all. I was one happy lass.
And then came the day I discovered I could get my name on the door for almost anything. I could barely believe it. After countless trips to the ANU Ticketek outlet in first year where I’d hand over the majority of my youth allowance every fortnight, this revelation came as a surge of euphoria. Free gigs. Free gigs! I could go to anything and everything I wanted! Living the dream, thought I.
And it has been a dream, this job. And not just for the three years of free gigs and films and festivals and theatre, but more importantly for the family I’ve gained. More on them next issue. Ohhh yeah. You know it. I’m gonna drag out this self-indulgent nostalgia bollocks right up until my very last ish. Cos I’m the editor of a street rag baby and I can print what I want! sdlruthstuhsesrdtsertselritsdrliughsdrt. Travis H Heinrich eat your heart out.
