Ask any seasoned political observer when campaign season begins in West Virginia, and you’ll likely get a different answer each time.
Some will say it is right after Labor Day of an election year. This is typically the time when yard signs appear and TV ads start to dominate all the other commercials. Some will point to January, when filing papers start showing up in the Secretary of State’s Office. But for most candidates, especially first-time candidates, the real campaign season begins not on a calendar, but in a conversation.
For me, it all started most unexpectedly. It was just like any other day, my brother and I were talking about work, life, and other stuff. He was reading the newspaper and saw a story about Delegate Orphy Klempa seeking the State Senate seat in the 1st District, as senator and legend Ed Bowman was not seeking re-election. My brother, Steve, ever so casually says, with his paper still covering his face, “Great, Orphy is seeking another office. Wonder what ‘jack wang’ we are going to get in the House?” He slowly lowers his paper as he looks up and says, “you should run.”
I had no plans to run for office. None.
I was a working mom of three children, living and involved in my community in small ways. Politics was something I followed, but from the sidelines. I was a voter, a reader of local news, maybe an occasional Letter-to-the-Editor kind of person. Running for office? That felt like something “other people” did.
People with long resumes, big networks, and a great committee. I did not realize at the time, but I had all of that. I initially just figured I was the closest ‘jack wang’. I laughed. “Me?”
He nodded. “Why not? You care. You show up. You are honest. That counts for a lot more than you think.”
That conversation planted the seed. Over the next few days, it kept growing. I looked at who represented our district at the time. Both my brother and I were huge fans of Orphy, having worked with him in several different capacities throughout our careers. I thought about those with whom I would have the conversations, starting, of course, with my husband, Tom.
I thought about how to show up and how to focus on things people really talk about at the dinner table. Roads. Jobs. Schools. Broadband, which even in 2010 was a touchy subject. Within a few short days in January of 2010, just a few days before the filing deadline, I printed out the paperwork, completed it, wrote a check, and mailed it to the Secretary of State to run for the West Virginia House of Delegates. It was surreal. It was exhilarating. At that time, it was a two-member district. I had no expectations as to what would happen. That all changed, pretty quickly, but that is a story for another week.
That is when the campaign season really began for me, in January of the election year. I do not mean just the logistical side of it (ordering signs, knocking doors, figuring out where the voters live and how to reach them), but the mental shift from observer to participant. The transition from private citizen to public contender. Filing for office changes the way you see your community. It sharpens your sense of what is at stake, and fortunately, this is only a drop in the bucket of how one feels once successfully elected to serve the people.
On Friday, during “Novotney Now’s” Political Roundtable, we were discussing when the campaign season starts. This got me thinking. Over the years, I have come to believe that there are three “starts” to every campaign in most races.
First, there is the internal start. This would be that moment when the idea first takes root. For me, it was my brother’s question on a cold January morning. For someone else, it might be seeing a controversial vote in the legislature, or noticing that no one’s been to their neighborhood in years. It is a personal moment. Quiet. Sometimes, even unintentional.
Second, would be the official start. This would be when a candidate walks into the Clerk’s Office or logs into the Secretary of State’s website and puts their name on the line. That usually happens in January of an election year, during the filing period. This is when we start to see who is serious, who is testing the waters, and who’s stepping out of the race. Political insiders start watching the filings like hawks. The rest of the public might not notice, but this is the moment that matters most in determining what kind of ballot we’ll have in May or November.
Third, there is the public start. This would be when the signs go up, the open houses and debates start, and people begin answering their doors to find a candidate standing on the porch. This typically happens in the spring for the primary season, and in late summer for the general election. It is believed this is when the voters start paying attention and when the real campaigning begins.
This seems to be happening earlier this year. There are several candidates committed to the 2026 for various races, but there are also a number who are undeclared. This allows them to test the waters and to see how successful they can be with fundraising. Campaigns cost money.
Of course, in this digital age, do campaigns ever truly “end?” There are always social media posts to manage. There are campaign finance reports to file, and chatter to monitor. For those who truly care about their region, they will always show up, whether it is campaign season or not.
West Virginia has always been a place where regular people can and do step up to run. I am one of those regular people. Our politics is still personal. You can still win an election by knocking on doors, listening closely, and following through on your word. That is something worth preserving.
I am excited the 2026 election cycle is already underway. This is my childhood Christmas. My Olympics. I will be the person geeking out over the Secretary of State’s pre-candidate listing and will spend time each week pulling candidates’ campaign finance reports.
Let the games begin.
