But this is Chico, too

Tomorrow, after three years as a feature writer, I go back to my old job at the Enterprise-Record. I return to a part of the newsroom, a team of co-workers and a state of mind known as “the desk.” Here, the stories, headlines, photos and captions that comprise the pages of the paper are assembled. More importantly, this is where mistakes are supposed to be caught. When they’re not and readers cry out in disgust “Don’t you have any copy editors?” they are referring to those of us who work on the desk.

We are mortified whenever we hear those kinds of comments and experience a sinking feeling whenever we let a mistake get by. Being wrong in print means we’ve screwed up 30,000 times.

So you can see that being on the desk is a vital job, but it’s not nearly as fun as writing. I’m lucky. I will still have my weekly column “But this is Chico” and this blog to console me.

The downside of working on the desk is the hours. The pages have to be put together after the stories have been written and the photos taken, so copy editors work a late afternoon and evening shift. Because the E-R comes out every day without fail, the copy editors take turns working on weekends and holidays.

The upside of working on the desk is the hours. The mornings and afternoons are mine to do with as I please. One of the ways I plan to use this time is to walk a little every day, both for exercise and to enjoy the life of a flaneur — a sentient ambler through urban space, who occasionally seeks rest and refreshment at coffeehouses.

When I told my son about how I intend to spend my days, he said “That sounds British.” I can see his point. All that idling about sure doesn’t sound American. If I were the kind of person who went in for pen names, I’d call myself Flaneury O’Towner. I’d want something that sounds European, and I’d want it to be as colorful as the name “Steve Brown” is plain. I’d know it was a good name if it would make my son shake his head in disbelief and say “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

No, I probably wouldn’t, but anything that needles my son is worth bringing up. We no longer take walks together, but we enjoy teasing each other. I pretend to be more strange than I am, and he pretends to be more shocked about it than he is.

Taking strolls and joking with my son are ways to help me relax and recover from my gatekeeping duties on the desk.