Ethier, grandson of Colson Ethier, the new owner of Going West. I’m sure you’re wondering why my grandfather, whose holdings are fairly substantial, would bother himself with one small, regional magazine. Trust me, I’m as baffled.”
A few titters greeted that comment, but Becky heard the faint cynicism in his remark. A trademark of his.
Rick Ethier was a travel writer for Colson Ethier’s flagship magazine. Though he couldn’t be more than thirty, his stories and articles usually held a shadow of world-weariness. As if he’d seen it all. Done it all.
And as Becky listened to him, one part of her mind easily resurrected other words of one particularly scathing article. “Sentimental claptrap” and “shamelessly manipulative.” These less than flattering descriptions came from a monthly book review column Rick wrote for the same magazine. A column in which Rick wrote about the first book Becky had published. Her pride and joy. And thanks to that negative review, Becky hadn’t been able to get a second contract with her publisher.
Focus on the now, Becky, she reminded herself, taking a long slow breath to ease away her irritable emotions. This was her new boss, and no matter what, she had to learn to get along with him. The past was past.
“I’ve done my research on this magazine,” Rick was saying, “but for now, I want to go around the room and ask each of you what you see as the purpose of Going West. The vision, so to speak.”
Feet shuffled, a few throats cleared as the staff glanced around the room at each other. Becky sat back in her chair, crossing her feet at the ankles, surprised at the momentary blankness in her own mind.
Going West was supposed to have a vision?
Nelson, the previous publisher and her father’s partner, had set the tone and layout of the magazine from its inception. He had reviewed, accepted and or rejected freelance articles. Since Becky started working as editor, she had simply followed his lead, hoping she caught the idea of what he wanted for that particular issue.
Never had they sat down and reviewed—or even spoke of—any kind of long-term vision.
“Why don’t we start with you, Becky, now that you’ve deigned to join us.” Rick stood beside his presentation board, his arms crossed, his legs apart, his head tilted to one side.
Definitely hostile body language, thought Becky with a surge of anger. She shouldn’t have been late. But that was also past.
“We can do that.” Becky licked her lips, buying time as hazy, insubstantial thoughts slipped past her defensive emotions. C’mon, Becky. Think. This is your chance to show Rick Ethier that you are intelligent and articulate. Not sentimental in the least.
“I’ve always seen Going West as firstly a regional magazine,” she said, grasping at an idea that she knew to be true. “Our second mandate is to be a magazine disseminating a viewpoint peculiar to Western sensibilities.”
Rick nodded, his lips pursed. “Can we try that in English?”
Becky held his direct gaze, trying not to be unnerved by his glinting eyes. In spite of her resolve to forget, snatches of his nasty book review sifted through her head. “Verbose, treacly and unrealistic.”
“It’s a cowboy and farmer magazine,” she snapped.
“That’s probably closer to the mark,” Rick said with a humorless half grin.
Becky held his gaze a moment, as if challenging him, but she was the first to look away.
The meeting went downhill from there. People who had received minimal guidance from Nelson or, to be honest, her father, now had to come up with a thumbnail sketch of what the magazine was supposed to accomplish.
Advertising. Art. Circulation. While they struggled through their answers, Becky felt embarrassed and exposed.
They should all know, she thought, taking a pencil out from behind her ear. But Nelson’s editorial meetings tended to be haphazard. He and Becky sat down once a week going over articles and their status, laying out the magazine’s plan for that particular month. When they wrote up the schedule for the upcoming magazines, there was an underlying cohesion, but a person had to go looking to find it.
But vision? Simply not there.
She scribbled a few things down on paper, took a few notes from what people were saying.
“So you can see—” Rick flipped over the first page of the presentation chart “—all this vagueness has translated into this.” He pointed to a listing of numbers he had written down.
“Circulation is down, subscription is down. Advertising revenue is down. And I’m going to attribute all that to what I’m hearing in this room this morning.” Rick looked around, letting his direct gaze tick over each of them, then finally coming back to Becky. “Which is a lot of vague words, but no single, clear statement that outlines what this magazine is really about. And that is going to change. As of today.”
He had done his homework, Becky thought with grudging respect.
“So what’s your first step?” Becky asked. Rick’s language made it very clear that he was lead dog. She just needed to know where he was heading.
“Sitting down with my editor and laying out my vision for this magazine.”
A cold finger of apprehension snaked down her back. “Your vision?”
Rick shrugged, rocking lightly back on his heels. “Media is all about communication. I haven’t heard much in this room, other than your cowboy and farmer comment, that creates a concise and clear idea of what Going West is supposed to be.”
He didn’t know the community. The surrounding area. How was he going to come up with the direction of the magazine? And where did he see it going?
“Branding is the name of the game in publishing,” Rick continued. “Now I need to figure out what brand of magazine we are going to become.”
His words were not comforting.
“I’ve already commissioned a marketing analysis team to do surveys, interview focus groups and send out questionnaires to our current readership. That won’t be coming in for a couple of months, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make some changes now.” He perched on the edge of Nelson’s desk and glanced around the room. “I’m going to be sitting down with each member of the various departments and going over what we’ve got coming up and what we can possibly change for now.”
Becky rubbed the back of her neck. Rick’s plans translated into work she didn’t have time for. She had a long-term commitment to the youth choir at church. She had promised the school librarian she’d help weed through books that needed to be sold or discarded. A fund-raising committee had asked her to write copy for their brochure.
She had Bible study. Book club.
And somehow in the middle of all this she needed to put together a stellar proposal that would negate any second thoughts her publisher had about working with her.
“I hope this isn’t going to be a problem, Miss Ellison?”
Becky looked up. Had her disappointment shown on her face?
Rick
