Guest Post: Tiffany Stuart, “Deliver Words”

We have had dozens of post from every spectrum of the blogosphere. Today, you’re in for a great story about a little girl who delivers newspapers. The lessons learned are just now being applied in full as Tiffany Stuart works as a writer. She blogs at Tea with Tiffany is scribbling hard at her first book. 


Deliver Words

When I was thirteen, I worked just so I could own my own private stash of Lemonheads, Twizzlers and beef jerky. Plus I just had to have my own set of rainbow-colored eye shadows. 

So every single day, I set my alarm for an ungodly hour. In the dark, right before dawn, I peddled my bike to the nearest grocery store parking lot. Under the glow of fluorescent lights alongside a couple other carriers, I peeled the plastic strap off a newspaper bundle and counted out my papers. Always checking for new subscribers, cancellations or vacation holds. Then, one by one, I curled and rubber banded each paper, tucking them into the twin wire baskets on the back of my bike. 

Photo by Tiffany

For the record, nothing wakes up a sleepwalking teenager faster than a rubber band that breaks. Snap!


With my wire baskets bulging, I started my route, peddling my bike and throwing papers into driveways. Occasionally, I parked my bike and ran to insert a paper into a sliding glass door, per customer request. But that wasn’t the hardest part. Sometimes scary barking dogs chased after me. I peddled as fast as I could, and when a dog came too close, I used my handlebars as foot rests to avoid being bit. No bites luckily, but a few close calls. 

On rainy days, my mom drove our van so I wouldn’t get drenched. On those mornings we added a step: plastic sleeves to each paper. Oh joy. I tried my best to chuck the news where it belonged, but sometimes I still missed the mark. While I jumped out to fix my throw, my mom shouted, “Hurry.” Not funny, Mom. 

Worse than getting up early every morning or being chased by crazy dogs or getting rained on, was the collection process. Going door to door, asking for money. Some people knew just how to avoid me. Hello, we’re talking nickels, dimes and quarters. A dollar or two to pay in advance. Please answer your door. Please pay me. I’m tired of knocking.  


Then came the dreaded “assembly required” Sundays. Similar to making pita pocket sandwich, I opened the cover story section, inserted colored ads, added the business section, and then wrapped that baby in a fat rubber band. No sabbath rest for this girl. Instead I worked twice as hard. Those papers were heavy. 

My favorite memory was Christmas, having the thrill of counting out $90 extra in tips. Plus people gave me homemade cookies. One lady even handed me a giant-size Hershey’s chocolate bar. 

Looking back I still cannot believe I had a paper route when I was that young. I don’t
know how I got up every morning. I barely remember my classes. But fearless and committed, I worked. It didn’t matter how much sleep I had, if the weather was bad, or how I felt that day, I had a job to do. 
Deliver words. 

Funny thing is today I’m a writer. A restless, insecure one sometimes, but a writer nonetheless. Just recently I realized that my first job was working with written words. Who knew?  


Somedays a paper route sounds easier. Most mornings I battle to sit down and write. Sometimes finding just the right words feels more exhausting than peddling and throwing papers at 5 am. Lately I’m tired, but I still love words. And I still dream of writing books. What happened to the girl that got up day after day and didn’t think twice about sharing the news?


I think she needs a reminder (from her first job):
* take the risk
* get up early
* do the work
* deliver


No more excuses. People still look for news. I write to deliver the Good News. What more motivation do I need?