Getting used to being a werewolf column - The Werewolf Chaff with Scott Stephenson

In every transformation, there is a moment of disbelief, a moment when the extraordinary reveals itself and we’re forced to confront a new, unsettling reality. Last week, Werewolf Chaff entered that moment. No longer just the whispered jest of ink-stained wits, no longer merely the fanciful imaginings of a news desk gone rogue - Werewolf Chaff is real. This is no ephemeral tale to be forgotten by the next full moon, no passing shadow on the streets of our proud region. No, dear readers, it is now our living, howling reality.

 

Now we must ask ourselves: what does it mean to live in the era of Werewolf Chaff?

 

First and foremost, it is essential to recognize that this transition is not, as some might have feared, a descent into chaos. Far from it. What we’re witnessing is not a breakdown of journalistic integrity, but its natural evolution. This is adaptation in its finest form, a seamless blend of civic duty and primal instinct. The Chaff, much like the werewolf itself, is simply adapting to its environment. It has sensed the blood in the water - or perhaps the scent on the wind - and responded with a transformative ferocity that is to be applauded.

 

Let us address, then, the first question on everyone’s minds: Is Werewolf Chaff here to stay? We say yes. Not because we have no other choice, but because this metamorphosis represents the truest expression of what community journalism should be. No longer tethered to the dull rhythms of daily life, we are free to hunt down the most elusive truths, to prowl the alleys of injustice, to bite into the flesh of corruption. Gone are the days of passive reporting and detached observation. Werewolf Chaff is engaged, enraged and ready to tear through the noise with teeth bared.

 

It’s important to consider the benefits of this new phase. Werewolves, as we all know, possess heightened senses - vision sharp enough to spot a budgetary oversight from 200 metres, hearing acute enough to pick up on the faintest of murmurs at town hall meetings and a sense of smell that is unrivalled in detecting political backpedaling. This new approach to journalism is poised to usher in an era of unprecedented accountability. No longer will half-truths and evasive statements slip through the cracks; Werewolf Chaff will be there, sniffing them out, howling them into the light.

 

Some readers, of course, may express concerns about this radical shift. They may worry that Werewolf Chaff’s ferocity will alienate the community, that its snarling prose will prove too much for those accustomed to the polite, restrained columns of yesteryear. To those readers, we say: do not fear the wolf. Fear stagnation. Fear complacency. The Chaff was never meant to be a tamed, domesticated thing. It was always, at heart, a wild creature, barely contained by the ink and paper that bound it. And now, free from those constraints, it has emerged in its truest, most powerful form.

 

What will this new era bring? For one, expect more thorough investigations, delivered with a bit more growl. Municipal coverage, while still essential, may take a turn for the theatrical as Werewolf Chaff embraces the inherent drama of local governance. Who needs another dry account of council proceedings when you can have a play-by-play of councillors shifting uncomfortably under Werewolf Chaff’s gaze, keenly aware that their every word, every nervous tick, is being scrutinized by this fur-covered force of nature?

 

And then, of course, there’s the matter of tone. Will Werewolf Chaff adopt a more guttural lexicon? Will sentences be shorter, sharper and punctuated by the occasional bark? Quite possibly. But this is not a step backward into barbarism - this is progress. The Chaff is merely shedding its skin, embracing a more primal, direct method of communication. A howl, after all, carries much farther than the polite whisper of bureaucracy. Why explain when you can roar? Why reason when you can rend the truth from its hiding place with the force of fangs and claws?

 

Still, let us not become too enamoured with the aesthetics of the werewolf. Yes, there is power in this transformation, and yes, there is beauty in its raw, untamed form. But, at its core, Werewolf Chaff remains committed to its primary mission: to inform, to engage and to provoke thought. Whether we are shredding through the latest, most-whack proposals or sniffing out li’l inconsistencies in council minutes, our aim is always the same. And if we occasionally leave a trail of fur and claw marks in our wake, well, consider it the price of progress.

 

We are no longer the column we once were. We are something more. Something wild. Something free. As we stand beneath the moon, let us not mourn the passing of the old Chaff, but celebrate the birth of the new. This is not a phase. This is the future.