Every story starts somewhere, right? To kick off every tale, no matter how long or how short, there is a moment, a flash or a dull thud that sets off enumerable other thuds and flashes that trace a kind of line. The line itself is bent.

This story, I thought, began on Bleury street, under the marquee of the Cinéma Imperial. That was the spot where, in 2013, feeling unhelpful and out of place, I saw the guy I understood to be Mr. Bishop. He was like the redname; a few hours earlier he had given a speech introducing the inaugural Newschoolers magazine at the iF3 awards, and here he was maybe reaching for a cigarette outside this theatre where Sherpas Cinemas had just unveiled Into the Mind. It makes sense that a story about a story also includes Sherpas. That whole circular motif governing Into the Mind that no one cared to entertain comes up again here, accompanied by the swooshing sound effect. I thought the story began there, with a deep-breath-here-goes moment before I caught this guy's eye and said "Doug Bishop, right?"

And then I became an MC... photo: Jamie Walter

In fact that's more like the opening line to a new chapter. The real beginning is less tangible. The reason I ever found myself standing on a curb questioning my ability to act is the result of boredom and curiosity mixed together. The cluster from which this story emerges is one that's familiar to a lot of us here, I think. It goes something like: I really like skiing. From this position, I can't foresee any better outcome in this life than a career in skiing. I am not ever going to be a professional skier. I want to be like a professional skier. I need to figure out a way to do that.

From that first encounter with Bishop, the story the one I'm telling you now speeds up. It includes moments of uncontested joy on mountains I never imagined I'd visit, with skiers I'd never imagined I'd share a chairlift with. It includes some dumb but amusing incidents involving alcohol: the time I broke the key to the Traveling Circus van being chief among them. The story also includes moments that have altered me fundamentally and have convinced me of the thing I set out to find in the first place: I want to be a part of "skiing".

The key.

So the story arrives here, in this spot we're at now. There's a little byline that appears on every email I send that identifies me as the "editor newschoolers.com". Boredom, interest, terror at the prospect of ever joining a workforce, they earned me a title that's sure to raise an eyebrow here and there. "Newwhaters?" All of those feelings have culminated here, but you should understand that this isn't some kind of special case. You've felt it before too. You've watched an edit and felt something about it, and you've smashed together fisheye shots of your homies in final cut. The question is how far are you willing to take it?

Here's what's going on in the meantime. I'm taking off. I'm going out in search of some corny answers to some corny questions I've been asking myself through three years of college education. I'm going out to see some of the world in the hopes that it will allow me to see some of myself. It even comes with another cool title: Editor at Large. The best part about this is that I get to write my balls off, and go experience the world. Will it work? Who knows. However... the controls at HQ have been handed over to Twig, who has been utterly slaying it at the content game here at Newschoolers. NS is redefining the game, and this is us rewriting the rules.

This isn't some fucking farewell. The point I'm trying to get across is that if you've got a feeling, run with it. If you've got a bright idea, fucking actualize it! If you're waiting to write your story, grab hold of a thread and run with it. You cannot know where it will take you.

Editor's Note: Twig here, and it seems fitting that the first thing to cross my metaphorical desk is this 'until next time' from Sam, who is without doubt the most talented wordsmith to grace NS for years. I'm stoked to be taking over and helping NS grow the revolutionary news program we've been building. Sam will be an unbelievable asset bringing stories from the field that only one of NS' best could tell. I can't put it any better than it's already been put, but if you've got a story, get writing! Who knows where it could lead.

If you've ever had the inkling to tell a story, either get writing or join the official NS Journalists cult to stay on top of the hottest revolution in ski media ever to happen.


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