Never burn bridges, and never delete a scene

My first job out of college was as the nights cop reporter at the Lansing State Journal, a medium-sized daily that was --in my overinflated opinion of my newbie self -- a mere stepping stone in what was sure to be a glorious, Pultizer-winning career.

My career did indeed take me to other places and bigger papers. No Pulitzers, but other awards instead. It was a successful newspaper career, and I was always grateful that the LSJ gave me such a great foundation.

Funny how life comes full circle... I'm writing for the LSJ again. As a freelancer this time, not full-time. But it still feels like I've "come home" in a way. Home to the paper that gave me my start. Home to the business that still lights a passionate fire in my belly. Home to a community that I care about (as a good journalist should).

I never would have predicted when I left the LSJ for the Detroit News years ago that I would ever end up working for them again. But life takes all kinds of twists and turns that you can never see coming ahead of time.

Writing is the same way.

As I come home to my first paper, I've also "come home" in a way in my current WIP. The revisions I've been slugging my way through, I made a wonderful discovery the other day. I suddenly understood why a certain transition wasn't working -- and I had the answer already. I dug through the many pages of rejected scenes that were written and later cut, and I found one that was part of the original version of this book. It's going back in, and it fits perfectly.

If there's a moral to this story, it would be this: Never burn your bridges, because you never know when your life will bring you full-circle. And never delete a scene, because you never know when your characters will demand that you bring a scene back.