DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE
“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”
———
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I committed my pink crayon to princess stationary when I was 5 years old and wrote my first poem: “Once upon a time, there was a prince and a princess. They fell in love and got married … they got a divorce.”
I was a pragmatist, apparently, and always have been.
However, journalism, for me, was never the pragmatic option. It is the siren song, calling me back to it again and again before I take a grand plunge into the water.
I heard the first note while studying professional writing at the University of Texas at San Antonio in 2010. A professor encouraged us to join the student newspaper, The Paisano. I learned more about journalism and what it means to be a reporter that first day in the newsroom than I ever had in the classroom.
After my first night, thriving in the controlled chaos of the newsroom, I knew: this is it. This is what I want to do with my life.
I dropped out of college and took my first “real job” at the El Campo Leader News — the newspaper of my hometown. If I’m being honest, I probably only got the job because my dad and the publisher, Jay, were in Rotary together and I think he was doing me a favor.
Shortly thereafter, I became the sole staff writer for the Wharton Journal-Spectator and East Bernard Express. The paper had a small newsroom with a blaring scanner — white noise of activity bustling in the background. It aired the worst moments of people’s lives.
It was an intimacy I craved. Not only am I professionally nosy, but I realized how privileged I was to share their stories. And I wanted more.
I also wondered what life would be like beyond the Texas border. So, naturally, without a job or a permanent place to stay lined up, I embarked on what would become a grand adventure: I packed up everything my little Scion xB could carry and moved to Denver in 2015.
I worked as a digital content editor for a B2B publication for approximately two years, basking in the glow of fresh snow and the majesty of the Rocky Mountains. Although I was still writing, I wasn’t reporting. I spent nights in the alley of my apartment complex, listening to the local scanner. With each dispatch, I longed to follow-up — to hear the full story beyond the cacophony of reports.
Then I lost my job. Eight months later, in 2018, I got a text from Jay, my former publisher. “Come back to Texas,” he said. In a way, Jay was telling me to come home — not only to Texas, but back to journalism.
I happily obliged and soon became the news editor for the Brenham Banner-Press. On my first day, I happened upon a now 30-year-old cold case of a missing woman named Jayne Davis. Days and nights turned into years that I spent digging into her case. This was the kind of story I needed to tell. It was the kind of story people needed to hear. It published and I never heard another word of it.
I went on to serve as editorin- chief for the County Gin in 2020 and then the pandemic hit. Weeks after I married my wonderful husband, I was out of a job. So, after 10 years, I decided it was time to go back and get my degree.
I spent my senior year at Lamar University in Beaumont, Texas, going to school full-time while also working full-time as a communications specialist for the university. We call public relations “the dark side,” and I got to see that it wasn’t as dim as we journalists made it out to be.
But I was unhappy. I started looking for jobs and putting out my resume. Jay even offered me a job at The Port Lavaca Wave, where he is currently serving as publisher.
Then, a month before I graduated with a bachelor’s in English and a minor in writing, I got a message on Facebook from a name and a face I didn’t recognize.
I remember the Sunday morning sun in my face and the crisp air in my hair. Tania French, the owner of Barton Publications, was asking me about Jayne's case — my labor of love and the haunting presence in my life.
We talked for hours about Jayne, but then she brought up open positions in both Kyle and Port Lavaca. I felt the hairs on my body rise.
I don’t believe in serendipity. I don’t believe in coincidences. But I do believe there are things we can’t explain.
I happily took the position Production & Copy Editor here in Kyle — never having stepped foot across the Hays County line. Journalism was calling and, whether I would make it to shore or not, I had to swim and answer its song.
Now, I wouldn’t trade my journey for anything. I have climbed down the rabbit hole and clawed my way back out, emerging as a better journalist, ready to tell the stories of the Hays County community with earnest integrity and an open door. My hope with these columns is to always share my heart with you.
As I continue to get to know the area — from its citizens and sites to its local officials and issues — I hope you’ll reach out to say hello!
I can’t wait to meet you.
Frels is the Production & Copy Editor for the Hays Free Press and News-Dispatch. She can be reached at natalie@haysfreepress. com or by phone at (512) 2687862.
