Election reflection

Or why I trust election results

While I was on my big road trip in September, I got to see political ads from places where the races are hotter–and PACS and people are spending way more money–than they are near me.

And I know some people are distrustful of the election process. Frankly, I’m not. And here’s why.

I started covering elections before I was old enough to vote. I also got to help in the preparation for a community college referendum.

For the referendum, the college had to foot the bill so part of my job was counting–exactly–the paper ballots for each polling place in the district. It was tedious work, but we had to be precise because we had to ensure that there could be no cheating. No mistakes. No chance for election fraud.

A few years later, I started covering elections in my first jobs. I liked setting up questionnaires for candidates and running them so voters could compare the answers. And I got to show up at one courthouse or another on election night to collect the vote totals.

When a friend of mine took a new job, he recommended me for a national news service that collected election night totals for wire services, as well as print and broadcast media outlets. I never minded waiting until after midnight for the final counts.

It was on election nights, back when a room full of journalists and freelancers would sit around a table in a crowded room, vying to be the first to grab one of the half-dozen phones–back in the landline days–that I learned about election delays and tallying problems.

We learned that the closes polling places to the clerk’s office would usually get counted first. The amounts could be so tiny they would be swallowed up in the later, bigger polling place results.

I learned about snags with voting machines that could slow the counting by long stretches of time while people in the counting room would work to fix whatever jammed one machine or another.

I was never in the counting room, but I accepted the explanations the clerk’s office gave us for the slowdown in releasing results.

I understood that the results, while accurate, didn’t include write-in votes. Those got tallied last and didn’t usually amount to much. Those totals, in fact, were unofficial. They wouldn’t become official until the governmental units–city councils, village boards, school districts, county boards, and so forth–accepted them by the end of November. I can remember going to a few meetings at the end of the month that were scheduled especially to accept the vote counts and determine who (or what referendum) won or lost.

It was that local approval of votes that got passed on to state officials so lists of the folks in charge of our many pieces of government would be accurate.

It was those county results in presidential and Congressional elections that would go on to the state voting authorities to be accepted by them and passed up the ladder to Washington. Illinois’s vote certification day is Dec. 4, 2026. (For other states, check Ballotpedia.)

Congress is scheduled to convene on Jan. 3, 2027, to seat the new House and Senate members.

At that point, the election is official. And over.

Maybe I’m lucky to have lived my entire life in Illinois, and to have had a chance to meet and get to know quite a few county clerks in my newspaper work. But I have yet to meet one who hasn’t taken her or his job seriously when it comes to making sure elections are absolutely fair and error-free.

I even got to hear a presentation–through the League of Women Voters–from the Illinois Election Commission about what they do with the results and how they work to ensure the elections in my state are accurate.

I also have friends from around the state–including in Chicago and Cook County–and I have yet to hear any stories of proven election fraud or of attempts to subvert the process.

Sure, my information is anecdotal. I’ve never looked into voter fraud in any kind of scientific or rigorous way. But my reporting goes back way into the last century. And despite being out of the election coverage loop, I have yet to hear that anything untoward or illegal has happened in my area.

And I am willing to extend my trust to the rest of the country. (And to today’s media and election oversight groups to verify my trust.)

If you want to know more about who runs the elections in your area, I recommend the League of Women Voters as a starting point. And most county clerks and other election officials aren’t opposed to meeting the folks who elected them, and for whom they work. Find out what their office hours are and go say hello. The next week will be pretty busy, so they might appreciate it if you wait until after Nov. 3. But there will be other elections.

Heck, go to a board meeting. Most are boring, but you can learn how they work before they find themselves in the midst of controversy. You can also learn what each board is supposed to handle, how much of your tax dollars they get to spend, and just what the board has direct control of.

Be a smart citizen, and do a little of your own oversight.

À bientôt!

Falling toward fall

Tom Fisk/Pexels

Are you a take-it-easy-in-the-summer-and-jump-back-in-when-it’s-over type? Or are you an everything-else-slows-down-so-I-revel-in-summertime kind of person?

Personally, I always get antsy for a refresh when autumn gets close. I guess my rhythms are still tied to the school year. I want new books and new pencils and new calendars. And I want to think about new stories, which makes it hard to focus on the fixes I need in my work-in-progress.

This year, I’ll be on the road for my refresh-month. Instead of staring at my keyboard, watching words stretch across the screen, I’ll be squinting at my GPS and trying to get on the road early until I reach my destination–wherever that may be.

I am looking forward to the time at the end of the road, visiting family and friends. But I still hope to squeeze in some time on my writing. I hope that doesn’t sound too selfish. But I have been waiting all my life to put stories to words, to polish my prose until it resembles poetry.

I’m inspired by stands of corn turning yellow, and by leaves, curling and crimson. By vivid red sumac leaves. And those first days of rime on the marigolds.

I want a pinch of purple prose in my life. But a pinch every day.

When I retired–and I’ve said this before–I was so used to being busy I volunteered for a dozen or more “small jobs” for groups I belong to or thought I could help. It took most of my time for four years. (I can hardly believe I’ve been retired for going on five years. They’ve flown.) But last fall the inkling of “spare time” glimmered on my personal horizons. I’ve gone back to the beginning. (See my February and March posts for details, if you’re curious.) I’ve replanned the novel I decided to focus on at Bouchercon in New Orleans last September. And I’ve been inching toward a much revised draft since then.

Inching because I’ve still let a few “small jobs” slip into my life. One has had me looking for free (or reduced price) illustrations since last spring. I am reworking some small booklets, but even though I have words on the new templates, I have yet to find appropriate new illustrations. That’s the biggest new job I’ve taken on. And when it’s done, it’s done.

Another new task (Note to IRS: one with a small paycheck) is a feature story for a trade publication. That could go on indefinitely, but it’s not too time consuming so far, and I enjoy doing it.

But none of that sates my annual urge to curl up with a good book–even if I’m “curling” at my computer and writing my own book. And this year, as I gear up in my usual way, I will be putting the brakes on my progress.

I’ve talked with some of my writing buddies. They are supportive, encouraging me to try to write at least one sentence every day while I’m gone. We’ll see how that works. I’m hopeful. And my fingers would be crossed, but it’s hard to type that way.

À bientôt!

Death knell for news

My hometown newspaper died Aug. 6, 2025.

No cause of death was reported as the news flew through social media, but I suspected sagging subscriptions and ad sales, coupled with rising materials costs as likely culprits in its demise. A press release reported later by area television stations and a regional daily said as much.

One more small piece of the formerly ubiquitous press is part of history. And I find it saddening for many reasons.

It was the first place I ever saw my words in print. In grade school, after I learned to read, I scanned every newspaper and magazine that came into our house. There were lots. We had a subscription to the now deceased local paper, which was actually two papers. The News and The Leader carried separate nameplates when I was growing up. The News was printed on Tuesday, with home mail delivery on Wednesday. The Leader came out Thursday, with Friday delivery.

(Pexels photo, Maxim)

I read lots of the articles, and looked at all the pictures. When I was elected scribe of my Camp Fire group in fourth grade, I copied the format of the new officer announcments from the adult clubs and wrote a short article. I recopied it in my best penmanship, carried it the four blocks from my school to the newspaper office, and handed it in. A week later, I read it in the paper. I remember the editor changed one word. (I learned early not to be too attached to my prose.)

The firt time I worked with a newspaper photographer was after I wrote to an area daily’s kids’ column, “Ask Andy.” I’ve always suspected my question was drawn from a hat, not selected because it was so interesting. But I won a set of World Books, which I still have despite its being hopelessly out of date. I remember going to the local newspaper office, the same one I carried articles to, for a photo shoot. The picture still shows up from time to time on my hometown museum’s Facebook post.

I grew up respecting our local newspaper photographer. We all knew to step over the cables in the high school gym because he brought extra lighting to the basketball games so he could get good shots. By the time I was taking sports pictures for the paper, we had strobe flashes for the cameras we carried but I don’t think our shots were as good as his.

I kept writing stories for school groups, from the seventh-and-eighth grade civics club to high school drama club, walking them downtown, and seeing my stories in print. I guess it’s no wonder I kept writing for newspapers for a good chunk of my life.

My first full time job was at that newspaper. I started in the backshop as a typesetter, eventually graduating to page design. I also got to help fix page negatives with a special red pen, “stuff” papers coming off the press, counting and tying them as I went. I could flip a stack of 100 papers back then. I even got to help change “dink” rolls on the press.

My boss in the back shop knew my goal was to work up front, so he helped me organize my schedule to attend classes at Northern Illinois University. Eventually I got a journalism degree there, but not until after my hometown paper had been sold to a young man my age who had dreams of building a nationwide newspaper group. He hired me as an editor for a county weekly, also owned by my hometown paper.

That was 1975. And 50 years later, his company closed, shuttering the papers in Rochelle, several other small towns in Illinois and in other states throughout the U.S.

But he really ended a tradition in my hometown that started in the 1800s. There were newspaperswhen the town was called Lane, before railroad progress required a name change. The Lane Leader ran from 1858 to 1859. The Lane Register was published from 1863 to `1865. The University of Illinois Newspaper Project says Lane changed its name to Rochelle on April 10, 1872.

The earliest papers I could find labeled Rochelle were the Herald, 1865-1877, and the longer-lasting Register, 1865-1926, although both seem to predate the changing of the town’s name. I think the records just include some of the Lane years.

The Library of Congress lists 1921 for the founding of the Rochelle News. According to the U of I Newspaper Project database, the Rochelle News succeeded the Rochelle Independent and the Rochelle Register when those nameplates died in 1926.

The News went into business with the .Rochelle Leader in 1934 but each continued under its own nameplate until 1994 when the two papers became the Rochelle News-Leader under the ownership that just closed its doors.

Sadly, no services have been scheduled to commemorate the loss.

À bientôt


May needs to slow down

May is departing in haste this year. At least from my perspective.

I started the month by ending my trek from Malice Domestic in Bethestda, Maryland, to Alabama to visit my son and his family. The trip was generally uneventful, but I’m not a long-distance driver. Oh, I drive long distances, but I break up the trip over multiple days. Fortunately, the weather was generally good for all my spring travels.

I stuck around a week, had lots of fun with kids and grands, and got a Mother’s Day gift a week early when my son took me to Atlanta to see a wonderful production of Wagner’s opera, Siegfried. For those who don’t know the opera, think dark fairy tale with an evil, troll-like blacksmith; a youngish lad destined to become a great warrior who wields the sword of power; a wizard akin to Sauron who ruled Mordor in The Lord of the Rings; the wizard’s wife who is effectively a prisoner of the tower wating for the Fates to release her; and a female warrior who has fallen in battle and who needs her prince (hark back to the young warrior) to come and awaken her so they can fall in love. A perfect story for a kid who grew up watching “He-Man and the Masters of the Universe” cartoons on TV.

(Screenshot of IMDb site)

In this production, the sets varied from dark views of what could be the interior of the Death Star in Star Wars complete with heavy steam punk overtones to mountaintop fantasies that only lacked dragons threating, and hosts of fairies circling, the lovers. I enjoyed every minute of the four-hour opera, even when I got caught up in the music and forgot to read the translations of the German. (My German was never good enough to get me through an opera, but I’m afraid it’s so rusty now I hardly picked up a single word.)

Ok, so that was just part of great week with my farflung family.

I’d been putting off so much during the three weeks I was away that I should have jumped in as soon as I go home to try to catch-up but I just vegged the whole weekend and didn’t plunge into my third short story draft for until Monday. Got that done and off to the critique group, then read the newest versions of the other writers’ tales with twists. Right before I dug into 140 pages of another friend’s cozy novel draft. I had critique meetings online for both sets of pages in Thursday.

But in the meantime, I also received the first 120-or-so pages of awards and judges’ commentary for a journalism organization I’m still part of. I have volunteered to proof the monthly newspaper, and the June issue is always devoted to the awards presented at the annual conference. Got those read by Friday, just in time to make my 10 a.m. dentist appointment.

(Sharon’s photo illustration)

The Saturday after I got home, I went up to Madison with my sister and women’s group from an area church. We strolled around the capitol square for the weekly farmer’s market. In addition to some amazing looking vegetables, garden plants, cheeses, and so much more, we got to listen to various protests groups (respectfully placed across the street from the market), and some musicians, including Cover Fire from the 132nd Army Band and the Raging Grannies. After a great early lunch at Barrique’s downtown, we popped into Grace Episcopal Church on the Capitol Square for a free noon concert by the local Ancora String Quartet. And finally, before we headed to the Overture Centure for a performance of Clue, a genuinely funny new comedy, we strolled down the block of crafters and I finally found a UW Wisconsin Terrace Chair to go with my Bucky Badger bobblehead.

(Background petunias by Valeska Huyskens on pexels.com; foreground images by Sharon)

The next week, I finished proofreading the last 287 pages of contest winners (see last week), and on successive days, I made it to my local writing group, my League of Women Voters International Studies discussion, my Shakespeare Society meeting, Temple Beth El’s annual Food O Rama fundraiser (to buy hot dogs, pickles, challah bread and blintzes–yum!), lunch with a writing buddy, and the next day with my daughter and friends, followed by book club. And that week ended with a Saturday drive to Dixon, Illinois, the petunia capiltal of the state and host of the annual Petunia Festival. (Mark your calendar for July 3-6.) I joined a few writing friends and we spent three hours at the library working on writing projects. (Yes! I got a new short story started!) We also looked at their Abraham Lincoln and Ronald Reagan displays, the gorgeous 1899 building. While it resembles some Carnegie libraries, that is probably due to the architectural styles of the day, but Dixon’s benefactor was local resident, O.B. Dodge. His picture hangs above a fireplace on the main floor. We really loved the display of “hidden” book covers showing the first lines of several books. As readers, we thought it was a great way to lure folks to the books. As writers, we were reminded of how important those opening words really are.

(Sharon’s photo)

Sunday, I shopped for our family cookout on Monday, which turned out to be a beautiful, sunny day.. Tuesday, I had an oil change and today I have more errands to run.

But, for those who have yet to celebrate Memorial Day, remember it was originally marked on May 30. So you still have a bit of time.

As for me, I am ready to flip the page to June. And keep working on that new short story.

À bientôt!

In the waning of the year

pexels.com | Tom Fisk

(I wrote this for my turn on my Lake Summerset Writing Gals blog, but it’s doing double duty this month.)

Cold weather tends to put me in mind of warm fires, hot mulled wine and poetry. Sadly, I have no fireplace. (But I can always put that Netflix fireplace video on my TV.) I can manage the wine, or maybe hot chocolate, and I always have poetry.

I still remember the day I discovered Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses in the kids’ section of my hometown library. One of my favorites was “My Shadow.”

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
– Robert Louis Stevenson

At one point in my life, I memorized “My Shadow” and a few other verses in the book.

When I was in high school, John Lennon’s poem, “The Toy Boy” appeared in McCall’s Magazine. I cut out the page, memorized the poem, and took it on the road as my entry for our forensics club in the poetry category. (Back then forensics meant speech team, not CSI.) I think it’s still in my filing cabinet, but I haven’t looked for it in years. I did manage to find a post of the original image on Pinterest. I printed a copy and it’s hanging on the wall near my computer.

I just discovered “December” by Joseph D. Herron. I don’t know much about the author, but it felt right for the snowless chills we’ve had lately. The poem is included at one of my favorite websites — DiscoverPoetry.com. Another site I like is PoetryFoundation.org, which publishes Poetry Magazine. Both sites feature a poem each day; you can subscribe for free to have them emailed to you.

(Illustration by Sharon P. Lynn)

A third favorite poetry site is the Haiku Society of America. I love haiku, a traditional Japanese form of poetry. Like English sonnets, haiku has a specific format: seventeen syllables in three lines of five, seven and five. I was taught that the original haikus, before they even had that name, were supposed to be about nature. Today, at least in English, that rule has been abandoned. I’ve also seen variations on the seventeen-syllable format.

My first writing successes came in the newspaper business. But my first printed work that wasn’t nonfiction was poetry. I submitted several to my college literary magazine. A long-ish free verse took first place one year. A few of my haikus were also selected for publication there and in other small-circulation volumes.

I’ve never entirely abandoned my interest. I think my “old-year’s resolution” will be to read at least one poem a day before I start my own writing. I think it inspires me to write with all my senses. Maybe it will inspire others, too.