Graduation is in exactly one month. Yikes.
But let's not dwell on that. Yesterday I had another front page story in the Diamondback, this one about how some teachers handle student laptop use in the classroom. I was far more pleased with the copy desk's chopping job on this story than Monday's. But you, dear reader, get the online link, where copy runs loose and editors aren't scrounging for space.
But on to more important things. I was incredulous about Monday's Romenesko headline "The days of the six-part series are gone, says Baltimore Sun editor." Mr. Cook, are you telling me I've spent four years and probably around $100,000 learning how to write news stories when all I have to look forward to are blogs, blogs and Twitter. Seriously?
Ironically, a little more than four hours later, a slew of Pulitzers were awarded to stories, columns, cartoons, and ahem, series.
And the next day, the following rebuttal, via Romenesko, "Why multi-part series are even more important for newspapers today." I'm really glad Temple talked about the value of series for reporters in addition to their obvious value to the community and public at large.
"They give the staff a way to grow," Temple wrote. Yes, it's nice when I can summarize my thought into a 140 character Tweet, but that's just a micropayment into the happiness bank. Writing a really good story, on the other hand, well that'll brighten a whole day or two. And though I haven't written a newspaper series yet, I can only imagine the weeks of joy and satisfaction that stem from seeing an idea blossom into a fully developed project.
Even better, series allow a newspaper to take readers to unexpected "journalistic heights," Temple said. Sure, we all know the beauty of crafting a mysterious lede or assembling an eye-catching multimedia package. But when a reader feels that same wonder -- well then we've really done our jobs.
Stories and series aren't going anywhere. I won't believe it. Sure, they might not be called newspaper series per say, and I'm willing to accept that multimedia is increasingly part of any good story. Let's go back to finding a new financial model that allows us to do those series rather than downplay their role the news business.
Showing posts with label journalism joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journalism joy. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Same Headline, Different Story
I picked up today's copy of the Diamondback feeling anxious. My story was on the front page and I was hoping the copy editors had been merciful with their digital scissors.
One look past the jump told me they hadn't. Although the lede and nut graf on page 1 were unchanged, there was no way the rest of my 600-plus word story was in those two half columns on page 2.
A quick scan of the text assured my fears. It seemed like half my story was missing. Interesting anecdotes, quirky quotes and fun facts had been deleted into oblivion. I wasn't mad; after all, space is space. But I'd spent hours on Friday crafting sentences and weaving paragraphs together.
The story was on Bob Moyer, an alumnus who now works for Pixar. (That famous alum I mentioned in Friday's post was Muppeteer Jim Henson, who, like Moyer, created his own major here). While drafting an e-mail to Moyer with the link to the story, I considered sending my original draft too.
I glanced at the online version of the story and saw the words rust and chrome. That wasn't in the newspaper, I thought.
I read closer and compared the two versions. To my surprise, the online link was my original draft.
Yes! I thought. Then I paused. The headlines were identical. But the stories technically weren't, right?
Obviously, I'm excited that the paper posted my original work. But on some level it seems a little misleading to me to have two different articles under the same headline. Has anyone seen any other papers do this?
One look past the jump told me they hadn't. Although the lede and nut graf on page 1 were unchanged, there was no way the rest of my 600-plus word story was in those two half columns on page 2.
A quick scan of the text assured my fears. It seemed like half my story was missing. Interesting anecdotes, quirky quotes and fun facts had been deleted into oblivion. I wasn't mad; after all, space is space. But I'd spent hours on Friday crafting sentences and weaving paragraphs together.
The story was on Bob Moyer, an alumnus who now works for Pixar. (That famous alum I mentioned in Friday's post was Muppeteer Jim Henson, who, like Moyer, created his own major here). While drafting an e-mail to Moyer with the link to the story, I considered sending my original draft too.
I glanced at the online version of the story and saw the words rust and chrome. That wasn't in the newspaper, I thought.
I read closer and compared the two versions. To my surprise, the online link was my original draft.
Yes! I thought. Then I paused. The headlines were identical. But the stories technically weren't, right?
Obviously, I'm excited that the paper posted my original work. But on some level it seems a little misleading to me to have two different articles under the same headline. Has anyone seen any other papers do this?
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Stay tuned; good days are coming.
Any day that begins with bright sunshine, a cloudless blue sky, a new coral colored polka dot blouse and a hot cup of coffee has to be good, right?
After the gloomy rain we had earlier this week, such spring weather was sorely needed. Even more so today because it was the final prospective student open house of the year. Mom, Papa and Neeraj came to learn all about biomedical engineering. I ran around campus selling the j-school to admitted students and covering a lecture from an alum who's carrying on the legacy of one of our most famous alums. (That story will run in Monday's Diamondback, so I'll keep you in suspense until then.)
Back at work I got the interview set up for my AJR story (keeping lips sealed on that one too) and ran off to cover yet another event for yet another paper. After developing the story with my main source, my mood was almost back to the over-the-moon status I walked out feeling almost as good as I did over the winter. I shoulda known there was a bigger reason why.
It turns out Romenesko picked up my Mark Bowden post.
Ever since NewsVision, I've been incrementally repackaging myself as a journalist. I signed up for Twitter, fixed my resume, figured out how to create my own Web site, and most important, stepped up the writing.
Just as a heads up, the new Web site won't debut until after graduation. I'm going to step up activity on this blog, so stay tuned! There's lots to share.
After the gloomy rain we had earlier this week, such spring weather was sorely needed. Even more so today because it was the final prospective student open house of the year. Mom, Papa and Neeraj came to learn all about biomedical engineering. I ran around campus selling the j-school to admitted students and covering a lecture from an alum who's carrying on the legacy of one of our most famous alums. (That story will run in Monday's Diamondback, so I'll keep you in suspense until then.)
Back at work I got the interview set up for my AJR story (keeping lips sealed on that one too) and ran off to cover yet another event for yet another paper. After developing the story with my main source, my mood was almost back to the over-the-moon status I walked out feeling almost as good as I did over the winter. I shoulda known there was a bigger reason why.
It turns out Romenesko picked up my Mark Bowden post.
Ever since NewsVision, I've been incrementally repackaging myself as a journalist. I signed up for Twitter, fixed my resume, figured out how to create my own Web site, and most important, stepped up the writing.
Just as a heads up, the new Web site won't debut until after graduation. I'm going to step up activity on this blog, so stay tuned! There's lots to share.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Mark Bowden's Tips on Narrative Journalism
The closer I get to graduation, the more I worry I may be an anachronism. I dream of delving into long-form narrative journalism at a time where it seems the public’s attention span is increasingly limited to blog posts and sound bites.
The Internet has forced journalists to write shorter and faster, but, as journalist and bestselling author Mark Bowden pointed out, the internet also offers something newspapers and magazines do not – infinite space.
“We swim in a sea of information that’s as wide as the globe, but about an eighth of an inch deep,” Bowden said. “If you’re human, you’re thinking about the how and why behind a headline,”
Clad in a simple navy blue turtleneck and round gold glasses, Bowden spoke to my complex story writing class yesterday. His tips quelled some of my fears about entering an industry in transition and assured me that the narrative hasn’t lost its power.
Behind every breaking news tweet and cable news ticker is someone who wants to explain themselves. “People are dying to tell their stories,” Bowden said.
The key to being a successful narrative journalist is finding a story’s dramatic center, Bowden said. Zoning board meetings are dull. But talk to the man who wants to build a three-foot high fence in his backyard and the neighbor who’d have to live with it, and suddenly you’ve got characters and drama.
Bowden recounted his experience going on a drug raid with Anne Arundel County police. A young reporter working for the Baltimore News-American, he didn’t trust himself to challenge the police’s characterization of the raid at the morning press conference. So he turned the raid into a narrative and described what he saw. And of all the pieces written about that police press conference, I’ll bet his was the most-read.
The key to drawing readers is to make the subject matter accessible. Be ignorant, Bowden said, only half-jokingly. Ask the stupid questions, because chances are, readers are no more experts at technical scientific principles or covert military operations than you are, he said.
A good reporter stays on track by constantly sketching story structure. This tells you what you need to know, but more important, what you don’t. While Somali anger at U.S. forces was important for context, at its heart, "Black Hawk Down" was a narrative describing battle.
It’s easy to lose sight of narrative in the inverted pyramid world of journalism. Newspapers tend to tell stories backward, Bowden said. A court story will lead with the verdict, describe the trial and mention the crime, sprinkling details where necessary. But sometimes, straying from this inverted pyramid offers the most compelling story.
After all, when a reader finishes a story, it’s not the beginning, but the end that’s freshest in their minds. To exercise his creative muscles, Bowden said he sometimes likes to rewrite stories with the lede at the end.
So, where can I find the story that will become the next nonfiction bestseller?
First, find something that interests you, Bowden said. Don’t worry if it’s outside your area of expertise or if it lacks timeliness. Write for story, not for setting, he said. (Though Mark Bowden’s editors probably don’t worry about nut grafs the way the editors of this budding journalist will.)
But it’s a lot easier for an editor to reject an idea than it is to kill a fully written, thoroughly reported story sitting in their hands.
Although the Internet means that stories aren’t told with words alone, Bowden’s advice reminded me why I’m excited to enter this field. Good stories will always need to be told.
After all, how many professions enable you to walk around in other people’s lives and let you understand their minds, their thoughts, their dreams, he said with a smile.
The Internet has forced journalists to write shorter and faster, but, as journalist and bestselling author Mark Bowden pointed out, the internet also offers something newspapers and magazines do not – infinite space.
“We swim in a sea of information that’s as wide as the globe, but about an eighth of an inch deep,” Bowden said. “If you’re human, you’re thinking about the how and why behind a headline,”
Clad in a simple navy blue turtleneck and round gold glasses, Bowden spoke to my complex story writing class yesterday. His tips quelled some of my fears about entering an industry in transition and assured me that the narrative hasn’t lost its power.
Behind every breaking news tweet and cable news ticker is someone who wants to explain themselves. “People are dying to tell their stories,” Bowden said.
The key to being a successful narrative journalist is finding a story’s dramatic center, Bowden said. Zoning board meetings are dull. But talk to the man who wants to build a three-foot high fence in his backyard and the neighbor who’d have to live with it, and suddenly you’ve got characters and drama.
Bowden recounted his experience going on a drug raid with Anne Arundel County police. A young reporter working for the Baltimore News-American, he didn’t trust himself to challenge the police’s characterization of the raid at the morning press conference. So he turned the raid into a narrative and described what he saw. And of all the pieces written about that police press conference, I’ll bet his was the most-read.
The key to drawing readers is to make the subject matter accessible. Be ignorant, Bowden said, only half-jokingly. Ask the stupid questions, because chances are, readers are no more experts at technical scientific principles or covert military operations than you are, he said.
A good reporter stays on track by constantly sketching story structure. This tells you what you need to know, but more important, what you don’t. While Somali anger at U.S. forces was important for context, at its heart, "Black Hawk Down" was a narrative describing battle.
It’s easy to lose sight of narrative in the inverted pyramid world of journalism. Newspapers tend to tell stories backward, Bowden said. A court story will lead with the verdict, describe the trial and mention the crime, sprinkling details where necessary. But sometimes, straying from this inverted pyramid offers the most compelling story.
After all, when a reader finishes a story, it’s not the beginning, but the end that’s freshest in their minds. To exercise his creative muscles, Bowden said he sometimes likes to rewrite stories with the lede at the end.
So, where can I find the story that will become the next nonfiction bestseller?
First, find something that interests you, Bowden said. Don’t worry if it’s outside your area of expertise or if it lacks timeliness. Write for story, not for setting, he said. (Though Mark Bowden’s editors probably don’t worry about nut grafs the way the editors of this budding journalist will.)
But it’s a lot easier for an editor to reject an idea than it is to kill a fully written, thoroughly reported story sitting in their hands.
Although the Internet means that stories aren’t told with words alone, Bowden’s advice reminded me why I’m excited to enter this field. Good stories will always need to be told.
After all, how many professions enable you to walk around in other people’s lives and let you understand their minds, their thoughts, their dreams, he said with a smile.
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Value of Communication
I saw Tai Shan's cuddly face staring at me from this week's Washington Post Magazine feature and I expected five pages of "awww" reading.
I didn't expect another somber life lesson.
But then I read this:
So, basically, capitalism rewards the worthless things in life. OK, that's a bit harsh, but echo that with what one of the other interns told me last week, while we were talking (what else) jobs.
Her recently graduated boyfriend works at an engineering firm and makes more than double what I can even dream my entry-level salary will be.
"I love him, but he's a horrible writer," she said.
"Why is something as essential as the ability to convey thoughts in a coherent manner undervalued?" I asked, not really wanting an answer.
Journalism isn't just reciting the news or telling a story. At its heart, journalism is about fostering communication. And with the increasing specialization or, as one attendee at NewsVision called it, the "niche-ification" of the internet, I fear losing the common ground of the newspaper that fosters communication between, and not just among groups.
I didn't expect another somber life lesson.
But then I read this:
"We're all losing our shirts," said the National Zoo's Berry. "People think: Oh, you're making money on these damn pandas. You're making a fortune. Every penny we make is plowed back into this species."
Then again, he added, "this is about advancing science and all biology . . . It's worth losing the money on. We lost money on Apollo, too, you know."
So, basically, capitalism rewards the worthless things in life. OK, that's a bit harsh, but echo that with what one of the other interns told me last week, while we were talking (what else) jobs.
Her recently graduated boyfriend works at an engineering firm and makes more than double what I can even dream my entry-level salary will be.
"I love him, but he's a horrible writer," she said.
"Why is something as essential as the ability to convey thoughts in a coherent manner undervalued?" I asked, not really wanting an answer.
Journalism isn't just reciting the news or telling a story. At its heart, journalism is about fostering communication. And with the increasing specialization or, as one attendee at NewsVision called it, the "niche-ification" of the internet, I fear losing the common ground of the newspaper that fosters communication between, and not just among groups.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Published
Not surprisingly, the semester has sucked me away from posting, which isn't good for an aspiring journalist.
Speaking of which, I was finally published today! No, it isn't my first time being published, but this is the first article I've written that is likely to reach more than five people.
The profile I wrote was a Web exclusive for the magazine where I'm interning this semester. I mass e-mailed my family/former teachers and colleagues with the link (friends will get the link off Facebook) and have since gotten some replies, including this message from the subject of the profile.
"Thanks. You were kind. Best of luck."
My editor was impressed with my initial draft and made only a few minor changes. I too am impressed with myself, namely the fact that I got this assignment on Thursday and turned it around by today. The best part is that I now longer fear the reporting process, in fact I relish being on the phone and having an excuse to ask people almost anything. And I don't even know where to begin explaining the joy I get out of taking what people tell me and assembling it into a coherent, creative and meaningful narrative.
I have so much more to say about this semester and my new love affair with reporting, but my eyes are heavy and I'm afraid I feel a sore throat coming on.
to be continued..
Speaking of which, I was finally published today! No, it isn't my first time being published, but this is the first article I've written that is likely to reach more than five people.
The profile I wrote was a Web exclusive for the magazine where I'm interning this semester. I mass e-mailed my family/former teachers and colleagues with the link (friends will get the link off Facebook) and have since gotten some replies, including this message from the subject of the profile.
"Thanks. You were kind. Best of luck."
My editor was impressed with my initial draft and made only a few minor changes. I too am impressed with myself, namely the fact that I got this assignment on Thursday and turned it around by today. The best part is that I now longer fear the reporting process, in fact I relish being on the phone and having an excuse to ask people almost anything. And I don't even know where to begin explaining the joy I get out of taking what people tell me and assembling it into a coherent, creative and meaningful narrative.
I have so much more to say about this semester and my new love affair with reporting, but my eyes are heavy and I'm afraid I feel a sore throat coming on.
to be continued..
Monday, December 1, 2008
Writing
I can't sleep. And that means you, lucky reader, get a second helping of moi. See, I'm already making up for the two-month hiatus.
God I love to write. Yet I feel like such a fraud saying that considering I've been MIA since September. Typically enjoying something means you actually engage in it every once in a while. Sure I write for class (especially this semester, where my entire courseload consists of journalism classes), but that's also class.
I've never been one to consistently keep a journal or diary. Documentation of my life comes in waves, most usually centered around when I take a big vacation. (Studying abroad wreaked havoc on this strategy.) I write when I'm frustrated or when my brain manages to put together an especially noteworthy sentence. My writings vary from pages of boring chronological recounts of events filling any of the half a dozen notebooks I have scattered around to a smattering of sentence fragments listing sights, smells, colors and emotions scrawled onto whatever notepad I had handy.
I keep willing my mind to just remember, to file away all the details so that once I get the time I can do that memory justice. But the real reason I let so many of those memories just slip away without a permanent paper anchor is because my writing style overwhelms me.
Ever since I was little, I've felt the need to document my life with the precision and thoroughness of a court stenographer. And after a day of sightseeing, the last thing my tired self wanted to do was wear out my hand documenting the day's every detail, including the food we ate, the stories our tour guide told us and the wrong turns we took. The concept that some details simply aren't important escaped me until I realized how cumbersome details can be.
This eye for detail permeates my verbal storytelling as well, a style I get from Mom. Everyone groans when she has a story to tell because we know it will meander like a lazy country river until an exasperated Papa will ask her what the point it. At which point she will have either forgotten or realizes that ninety percent of the details had nothing to do with that point.
I'm really no different though. I seem to have no concept of drama or suspense in verbal communication. I'm more focused in getting the entire story out in conversation than in making that story interesting to the listener. Ask me what happened in class today and I'll begin with something the professor said two months ago and then plod along from there. Flip the situation and I'll mmhmm my way through their story, hearing each word but listening to none.
But now we've veered into another branch of communication. This post is, after all, titled "Writing." For someone who proclaims she wants to be a journalist, or at least make writing a central part of her career, it's peculiar that I haven't actively sought forums to show off my writing. Typically people launch blogs to have some kind of accountability to writing. It's a lot easier to blow off that diary entry when there's no expectant audience. So I dipped my toe into the blogosphere and started this. But with what I think to be one devoted reader, that public accountability argument withers away.
For almost two years I've said I'd apply to be a columnist at my school newspaper, a daily with a circulation of 17,000. Something has always held me back though, primarily the fear of attack. Although I crave attention in almost every other sense, the idea that my thoughts, opinions and words would be completely open to discussion, ridicule and comment was just too much. I mean, some letter-to-the-editor writers are just plain harsh.
Yes, I know, in the words of "Hillary Clinton", I, as a future part of the media, need to just "grow a pair."
God I love to write. Yet I feel like such a fraud saying that considering I've been MIA since September. Typically enjoying something means you actually engage in it every once in a while. Sure I write for class (especially this semester, where my entire courseload consists of journalism classes), but that's also class.
I've never been one to consistently keep a journal or diary. Documentation of my life comes in waves, most usually centered around when I take a big vacation. (Studying abroad wreaked havoc on this strategy.) I write when I'm frustrated or when my brain manages to put together an especially noteworthy sentence. My writings vary from pages of boring chronological recounts of events filling any of the half a dozen notebooks I have scattered around to a smattering of sentence fragments listing sights, smells, colors and emotions scrawled onto whatever notepad I had handy.
I keep willing my mind to just remember, to file away all the details so that once I get the time I can do that memory justice. But the real reason I let so many of those memories just slip away without a permanent paper anchor is because my writing style overwhelms me.
Ever since I was little, I've felt the need to document my life with the precision and thoroughness of a court stenographer. And after a day of sightseeing, the last thing my tired self wanted to do was wear out my hand documenting the day's every detail, including the food we ate, the stories our tour guide told us and the wrong turns we took. The concept that some details simply aren't important escaped me until I realized how cumbersome details can be.
This eye for detail permeates my verbal storytelling as well, a style I get from Mom. Everyone groans when she has a story to tell because we know it will meander like a lazy country river until an exasperated Papa will ask her what the point it. At which point she will have either forgotten or realizes that ninety percent of the details had nothing to do with that point.
I'm really no different though. I seem to have no concept of drama or suspense in verbal communication. I'm more focused in getting the entire story out in conversation than in making that story interesting to the listener. Ask me what happened in class today and I'll begin with something the professor said two months ago and then plod along from there. Flip the situation and I'll mmhmm my way through their story, hearing each word but listening to none.
But now we've veered into another branch of communication. This post is, after all, titled "Writing." For someone who proclaims she wants to be a journalist, or at least make writing a central part of her career, it's peculiar that I haven't actively sought forums to show off my writing. Typically people launch blogs to have some kind of accountability to writing. It's a lot easier to blow off that diary entry when there's no expectant audience. So I dipped my toe into the blogosphere and started this. But with what I think to be one devoted reader, that public accountability argument withers away.
For almost two years I've said I'd apply to be a columnist at my school newspaper, a daily with a circulation of 17,000. Something has always held me back though, primarily the fear of attack. Although I crave attention in almost every other sense, the idea that my thoughts, opinions and words would be completely open to discussion, ridicule and comment was just too much. I mean, some letter-to-the-editor writers are just plain harsh.
Yes, I know, in the words of "Hillary Clinton", I, as a future part of the media, need to just "grow a pair."
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The Right Set of Ears
Be careful what you say because you never know who's listening.
I don't say that to be menacing, in fact, something decidedly positive happened when the right person heard the right words this evening on the Metro.
Fellow intern Hannah and I were chatting on our way home from a dinner at the city's Top Chef- created burger joint when she asked me if I knew a certain professor. Turns out, the man who taught her internship program's class this summer was also the one who pushed me through the journalism class from hell I told you all about last fall.
"You're kidding me," I told Hannah. "He was one of my favorite teachers ever!" I went on to tell her how Megan (who's also interning at this office) and I were in his class together and how we absolutely loved him and he loved us, going on and on. Soon enough Hannah's stop came and after bidding her good bye, I pulled out my book to occupy the rest of the ride.
Shortly before my station, the lady sitting across from me slides over and hands me her card.
"I overheard you talking about Mr. Journalism earlier," she told me. "Well, I'm the one who hired him to teach for this internship program."
Say what?
She told me she was so happy to hear how much we liked him, and wanted to pass the praise on.
"Too often teachers only hear from the bad students and I wanted to let him know what I heard today," she said before we parted ways.
I just sent her an e-mail telling her who Hannah and I are, and how I'd be more than happy for her to let Professor know how much we appreciate his teaching us.
I'm sure Hannah will get a kick out of this coincidence when I tell her tomorrow. What a small world after all.
Oh, and remind me, I must write about the new possible career option I discovered yesterday evening :)
I don't say that to be menacing, in fact, something decidedly positive happened when the right person heard the right words this evening on the Metro.
Fellow intern Hannah and I were chatting on our way home from a dinner at the city's Top Chef- created burger joint when she asked me if I knew a certain professor. Turns out, the man who taught her internship program's class this summer was also the one who pushed me through the journalism class from hell I told you all about last fall.
"You're kidding me," I told Hannah. "He was one of my favorite teachers ever!" I went on to tell her how Megan (who's also interning at this office) and I were in his class together and how we absolutely loved him and he loved us, going on and on. Soon enough Hannah's stop came and after bidding her good bye, I pulled out my book to occupy the rest of the ride.
Shortly before my station, the lady sitting across from me slides over and hands me her card.
"I overheard you talking about Mr. Journalism earlier," she told me. "Well, I'm the one who hired him to teach for this internship program."
Say what?
She told me she was so happy to hear how much we liked him, and wanted to pass the praise on.
"Too often teachers only hear from the bad students and I wanted to let him know what I heard today," she said before we parted ways.
I just sent her an e-mail telling her who Hannah and I are, and how I'd be more than happy for her to let Professor know how much we appreciate his teaching us.
I'm sure Hannah will get a kick out of this coincidence when I tell her tomorrow. What a small world after all.
Oh, and remind me, I must write about the new possible career option I discovered yesterday evening :)
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Journalism Success
This post-graduate dilemma now has an added twist. A twist that kind of has to do with the VERY BIG NEWS I'm about to reveal. Okay-are you sitting down? Here it (drumroll please) is:
I GOT AN A IN JOURNALISM CLASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Not an A minus, mind you, but a solid, I actually-earned-this A.
Okay fine, so Prof may have been right when he told me last Monday after class that I'm really good at this whole reporting thing. And yes, I may now be able to pick up the phone and call complete strangers and ask them a bunch of annoying questions without panicking. But this totally does not help me figure out what the heck to do with myself after graduation. I told prof that, despite my journalistic success, I was thinking about going to grad/law school after graduation. Prof, who got a master's in history just so he could have it, said he could see me doing the law school thing, and suggested I try the whole jour thing for a year, and if I like it, go ahead and get the master's to have it, and if not, then go to law school.
Great - so the option of going straight to work is back on the table again. Even though I still don't think that journalism is necessarily my life's calling (at this point I have absolutely no idea what is). Then again, I shouldn't totally write off journalism until after I've truly worked in it (i.e. until after I've done my journalism internship). Who knows; I might actually enjoy it (and boy would my mind's life planning mechanism be overjoyed to hear that?)
I GOT AN A IN JOURNALISM CLASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Not an A minus, mind you, but a solid, I actually-earned-this A.
Okay fine, so Prof may have been right when he told me last Monday after class that I'm really good at this whole reporting thing. And yes, I may now be able to pick up the phone and call complete strangers and ask them a bunch of annoying questions without panicking. But this totally does not help me figure out what the heck to do with myself after graduation. I told prof that, despite my journalistic success, I was thinking about going to grad/law school after graduation. Prof, who got a master's in history just so he could have it, said he could see me doing the law school thing, and suggested I try the whole jour thing for a year, and if I like it, go ahead and get the master's to have it, and if not, then go to law school.
Great - so the option of going straight to work is back on the table again. Even though I still don't think that journalism is necessarily my life's calling (at this point I have absolutely no idea what is). Then again, I shouldn't totally write off journalism until after I've truly worked in it (i.e. until after I've done my journalism internship). Who knows; I might actually enjoy it (and boy would my mind's life planning mechanism be overjoyed to hear that?)
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Two reporting realizations
I don't think I've worked as hard on any other story for this journalism class as much as I am on this, my final story. Which makes sense, seeing as this story is 10 percent of my grade. The story is our last hurrah, a 20-paragraph, in-depth look at an issue on our beat. I'm back to the taxes again, and as much as I hate to admit it, it is kind of rewarding when I look at the other articles I've done on this issue how much I really have learned. The sad thing is that while understanding this issue makes me so proud, in real life, most people who see articles like these skip right over them, unless they're the ones directly affected, in which case more than half of what I include in the story they already know. But there are two other specific realizations I had while working on this story today that I'd like to share:
1) This whole semester, I've been approaching the whole calling sources thing with the "I need good quotes from you" mindset, when in actuality, I should not be so focused on transcribing the conversation, but rather, "you have valuable information to teach me." Maybe that's why I started out as a broadcast major - it seems that all I'm after is a sound bite. This realization follows with the whole, I need to ask better, more focused questions, rather than the softball "So what's your reaction to the council's resolution?"
2) It's very difficult, especially with an issue as controversial and convoluted as this tax issue, to separate fact from interpretation. This whole day, I've been researching what the lawyers told me yesterday about what's right and wrong, and when I called the councilmember's office to check something, his chief of staff told me, "Well, that is that attorney's assertion of the Master Plan. Another attorney will have a different opinion." And since no court has ruled on which interpretation is the "correct" on in terms of the law, I'll just have to settle with dealing with an issue to which there is "no absolute truth" as she put it.
*deep breath* Alright, time to dive back in so I can have a somewhat decent product to show Professor tomorrow and ask him whether I've gotten lost in the bureaucratic muck yet again.
1) This whole semester, I've been approaching the whole calling sources thing with the "I need good quotes from you" mindset, when in actuality, I should not be so focused on transcribing the conversation, but rather, "you have valuable information to teach me." Maybe that's why I started out as a broadcast major - it seems that all I'm after is a sound bite. This realization follows with the whole, I need to ask better, more focused questions, rather than the softball "So what's your reaction to the council's resolution?"
2) It's very difficult, especially with an issue as controversial and convoluted as this tax issue, to separate fact from interpretation. This whole day, I've been researching what the lawyers told me yesterday about what's right and wrong, and when I called the councilmember's office to check something, his chief of staff told me, "Well, that is that attorney's assertion of the Master Plan. Another attorney will have a different opinion." And since no court has ruled on which interpretation is the "correct" on in terms of the law, I'll just have to settle with dealing with an issue to which there is "no absolute truth" as she put it.
*deep breath* Alright, time to dive back in so I can have a somewhat decent product to show Professor tomorrow and ask him whether I've gotten lost in the bureaucratic muck yet again.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Business Story Breakthrough
This morning when my journalism professor told us about this week's story, I kind of freaked out. For the past month, I've been following the same issue, basically rewriting the same story three times. Just when I got into a fairly comfortable routine of calling up the same four sources for information, Prof threw us a curveball and instead of continuing with our issue stories, we now have to do a business story.
We have to profile a local business, talk to owners, customers, ask people what's good, what's bad, walk around the strip mall and ask people if they would go to that store or not. Even worse, this week in class we have to write a story on the unemployment rate. Upon hearing this, apparently my internal dread leaked through onto my face, because the girl behind me just started laughing and said I didn't look particularly excited for this assignment.
Fast forward a couple hours: I was telling Sumegha about how much I didn't want to write this story when she suggested I just profile our local Indian grocery store. I thought about it for a minute and realized what a genius idea that was. We already go there a lot and I know the owners pretty well. I had to come home tonight anyways, because tomorrow I'm going to get my visa to study abroad.
Fast forward some more: Papa and I were running some errands and I was completely dreading going to the grocery store. You know me - I hate interviewing people, especially when I know that all they want to do is buy their dal and go home. But I sucked it up, walked into the store and explained my assignment to the Uncle who owns the store. And just like every other experience this class has forced me to endure, once it began, it wasn't really that bad at all. Uncle was more than happy to talk to me, and he said some really great quotes.
But now came the worst part. I had to walk up to customers and ask them what they thought about the store. I took a deep breath and walked up to one woman who was standing in the checkout line. I told her what I was doing, and she just started chatting away, telling me how great the store was. Alright, I thought, this isn't so bad after all. I talked to a couple more customers, and one even said something about how the store could be improved. I was so relieved when he said that, because Prof emphasized that this article was not to be an advertisement for the store. I wandered around the store writing down random details that might come in handy, and even talked to one of the employees. Thirty minutes later I walked out of there totally set. All I've got to do now is write this bad boy up, and the journalism assignment I was dreading only twelve hours earlier will be finished and ready to go.
See, I shoulda known. Things always work out. Freaking out is just wasted effort.
We have to profile a local business, talk to owners, customers, ask people what's good, what's bad, walk around the strip mall and ask people if they would go to that store or not. Even worse, this week in class we have to write a story on the unemployment rate. Upon hearing this, apparently my internal dread leaked through onto my face, because the girl behind me just started laughing and said I didn't look particularly excited for this assignment.
Fast forward a couple hours: I was telling Sumegha about how much I didn't want to write this story when she suggested I just profile our local Indian grocery store. I thought about it for a minute and realized what a genius idea that was. We already go there a lot and I know the owners pretty well. I had to come home tonight anyways, because tomorrow I'm going to get my visa to study abroad.
Fast forward some more: Papa and I were running some errands and I was completely dreading going to the grocery store. You know me - I hate interviewing people, especially when I know that all they want to do is buy their dal and go home. But I sucked it up, walked into the store and explained my assignment to the Uncle who owns the store. And just like every other experience this class has forced me to endure, once it began, it wasn't really that bad at all. Uncle was more than happy to talk to me, and he said some really great quotes.
But now came the worst part. I had to walk up to customers and ask them what they thought about the store. I took a deep breath and walked up to one woman who was standing in the checkout line. I told her what I was doing, and she just started chatting away, telling me how great the store was. Alright, I thought, this isn't so bad after all. I talked to a couple more customers, and one even said something about how the store could be improved. I was so relieved when he said that, because Prof emphasized that this article was not to be an advertisement for the store. I wandered around the store writing down random details that might come in handy, and even talked to one of the employees. Thirty minutes later I walked out of there totally set. All I've got to do now is write this bad boy up, and the journalism assignment I was dreading only twelve hours earlier will be finished and ready to go.
See, I shoulda known. Things always work out. Freaking out is just wasted effort.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Role Reversal
I love how I overcomplicate my life.
On Thursday, I came back to my apartment with a pounding headache, intending on doing nothing but eating and lying down. Out of habit, I checked my email immediately when I got back, and what I saw left me stunned.
Let me backtrack for a second.
On Wednesday our school held its annual career fair, and I went. Even though I have an internship lined up for the summer, it hasn't been set in stone, so I essentially went to secure plan B (but shh, don't tell them that). I interviewed at one political publication, and I don't think I did a very good job, because this publication covers Congress and domestic issues and all I talked about was how interested I am in international relations. But I dropped off my resume, said thank you and moved on to the other political publication that was there. I think I did a much better job talking to them, and evidently my thinking is correct because it was an email from this publication that I found in my inbox.
Usually it's us students who are writing the polite emails to prospective employers thanking them and asking for an interview. But, this situation was quite the opposite:
"I remember you mentioning that you were studying abroad next semester and wanted to secure a summer internship before you left. Please let me know if you are available for a phone interview sometime next week."
Whaaaa? Did they just ask ME for an interview?! I honestly didn't think I was good enough to get something like this, especially because I've never technically done a journalism internship (shhh don't tell anyone) and the only pure journalistic experience I have is writing for on-campus publications (although I do now have all that beat reporting from this semester's journalism class).
Anyways, I freaked out because this would be an amazing opportunity, but I really want to keep the other internship, which is abroad. But, that internship isn't set in stone yet and in case that doesn't work, I would want to do this one. Anyways, to make a long story short, I called Papa and then I wrote this four paragraph email to my internship coordinator asking what should I do. The email response was 3 lines. Don't worry, she told me, just mention that you might be staying abroad but you're interested in the fall. Which is exactly what Papa told me too.
So, I now have an interview for an internship I wasn't planning on getting in the field I wasn't planning on going into. The best part - my overactive imagination has now started thinking about this internship turning into a job after I graduate - which isn't for a couple of years.
I know. I'm crazy :) But apparently that craziness pays off every once in a while.
On Thursday, I came back to my apartment with a pounding headache, intending on doing nothing but eating and lying down. Out of habit, I checked my email immediately when I got back, and what I saw left me stunned.
Let me backtrack for a second.
On Wednesday our school held its annual career fair, and I went. Even though I have an internship lined up for the summer, it hasn't been set in stone, so I essentially went to secure plan B (but shh, don't tell them that). I interviewed at one political publication, and I don't think I did a very good job, because this publication covers Congress and domestic issues and all I talked about was how interested I am in international relations. But I dropped off my resume, said thank you and moved on to the other political publication that was there. I think I did a much better job talking to them, and evidently my thinking is correct because it was an email from this publication that I found in my inbox.
Usually it's us students who are writing the polite emails to prospective employers thanking them and asking for an interview. But, this situation was quite the opposite:
"I remember you mentioning that you were studying abroad next semester and wanted to secure a summer internship before you left. Please let me know if you are available for a phone interview sometime next week."
Whaaaa? Did they just ask ME for an interview?! I honestly didn't think I was good enough to get something like this, especially because I've never technically done a journalism internship (shhh don't tell anyone) and the only pure journalistic experience I have is writing for on-campus publications (although I do now have all that beat reporting from this semester's journalism class).
Anyways, I freaked out because this would be an amazing opportunity, but I really want to keep the other internship, which is abroad. But, that internship isn't set in stone yet and in case that doesn't work, I would want to do this one. Anyways, to make a long story short, I called Papa and then I wrote this four paragraph email to my internship coordinator asking what should I do. The email response was 3 lines. Don't worry, she told me, just mention that you might be staying abroad but you're interested in the fall. Which is exactly what Papa told me too.
So, I now have an interview for an internship I wasn't planning on getting in the field I wasn't planning on going into. The best part - my overactive imagination has now started thinking about this internship turning into a job after I graduate - which isn't for a couple of years.
I know. I'm crazy :) But apparently that craziness pays off every once in a while.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
All the wrong questions
I have never been more inundated in journalism as I was yesterday. My entire Saturday disappeared as I sat in front of this computer finalizing the layout of the monthly newspaper I am co-editor in chief of. I picked up layout where my co left off around 12 p.m. By the time I emailed the pages out to the publisher, it was almost 11 p.m. Half the weekend gone and I hadn't even begun the four stories I have to write for class/other publications.
Now I've finished one article and am halfway through the second one. In the course of all this reporting, I've realized something. I don't know how to ask the proper questions. You know, the interesting ones, the probing ones that get really colorful quotes. Take this one article I'm writing for example. It's about film classes on campus. In the middle of writing the article, I go to insert a quote from a student I interviewed, and here's what I have to choose from. "Film is something I'm interested in," "This class fills up quickly" and "It's exactly what I expected." Nothing earth-shattering, nothing mind-blowing, nothing even halfway decent. These statements can apply to 97.5 percent of the film classes offered at any university.
Most people, no, make that pretty much every person, would usually not choose to put themselves through such a rigorous pre-professional program unless they actually wanted to go into that field. Of course, we've all learned by now that I'm not like most people. Freshman and sophomore year I was constantly thinking, I don't know what to do, should I drop this major. Now, all that anxiety is gone. It's like I've finally made peace with myself. I may complain every day about it, but the thought of dropping the major has left my mind the way the autumn leaves fall off the trees. You don't actually notice when they drop, but one day you look up, and they're gone. One day I just accepted that I was graduating with both degrees no matter what.
But the entire thing has taught me one thing. I finally understand the meaning behind a love-hate relationship. I keep saying I hate it, but I keep getting more and more involved in it. This week was my first time doing layout, and I devoted about 20 hours to it this week. I'm writing more articles at one time than I ever have. And while I dread calling and interviewing people, when the time comes for me to actually write up the story, I find myself kind of enjoying it. To be able to take a jumble of fact, quotes and data and synthesize into something readable, now that's something. But I know that no matter how good it feels to see that finished product, there is absolutely no way I could build a career just on that article-writing.
Now I've finished one article and am halfway through the second one. In the course of all this reporting, I've realized something. I don't know how to ask the proper questions. You know, the interesting ones, the probing ones that get really colorful quotes. Take this one article I'm writing for example. It's about film classes on campus. In the middle of writing the article, I go to insert a quote from a student I interviewed, and here's what I have to choose from. "Film is something I'm interested in," "This class fills up quickly" and "It's exactly what I expected." Nothing earth-shattering, nothing mind-blowing, nothing even halfway decent. These statements can apply to 97.5 percent of the film classes offered at any university.
Most people, no, make that pretty much every person, would usually not choose to put themselves through such a rigorous pre-professional program unless they actually wanted to go into that field. Of course, we've all learned by now that I'm not like most people. Freshman and sophomore year I was constantly thinking, I don't know what to do, should I drop this major. Now, all that anxiety is gone. It's like I've finally made peace with myself. I may complain every day about it, but the thought of dropping the major has left my mind the way the autumn leaves fall off the trees. You don't actually notice when they drop, but one day you look up, and they're gone. One day I just accepted that I was graduating with both degrees no matter what.
But the entire thing has taught me one thing. I finally understand the meaning behind a love-hate relationship. I keep saying I hate it, but I keep getting more and more involved in it. This week was my first time doing layout, and I devoted about 20 hours to it this week. I'm writing more articles at one time than I ever have. And while I dread calling and interviewing people, when the time comes for me to actually write up the story, I find myself kind of enjoying it. To be able to take a jumble of fact, quotes and data and synthesize into something readable, now that's something. But I know that no matter how good it feels to see that finished product, there is absolutely no way I could build a career just on that article-writing.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
75 Days To Go
I should be finishing my English paper right now, but it's almost half done, so I thought I'd take some me-time, just for a minute.
Man, what a depressing day. Yesterday I was utterly overwhelmed at the amount of stuff I have to get done this week. You think the other weeks have been bad; wait til you see this one. Council meeting story for journalism, three articles due by Sunday/Monday, English paper due Friday, government reading due Thursday, AND to top it all of, an entire newspaper to get through production. Yeah, I know, it's a ridiculous week.
So I went to the council meeting this morning, hoping to get another slam dunk akin to last week's court story. No such luck. I will say it was absolutely great seeing everyone in Councilman's office again (I interned there in high school.) But, I wasn't there to chit-chat, I was there for a story. Turns out, the topic they were discussing, development stuff in C-burg, is one completely over my head. Joyce, the resident expert on C-burg, was out this morning, so I was sitting in this meeting trying to decipher planning language into English. Yeah, didn't happen. But, I saw Joyce on my way out and she said she'd be happy to talk to me and explain me everything, which means I still have a chance at knocking this story out of the park. Random thought - I emailed my jour prof to ask him what I should do at 9:31 tonight, check my inbox 6 minutes later and bam, I've got a response. I love efficient professors. I mean, isn't everyone addicted to their email nowadays? His response - this is a tough one, let's talk about it in class tomorrow.
Anyways, so I had to get back to school earlier than expected because Sam and I have to start production on the newspaper. She had to show me and our production editor how to actually use the software. So we practiced a bit until it was time for me to go to my research meeting.
Now, I haven't really explained my undergraduate research project, so here it is in a nutshell. There's a relatively low-income community nearby that comprises mostly Spanish-speaking immigrants. My team and I are going to conduct a needs assessment to determine what community services they want. But, no one on the team speaks Spanish, and while I've got some proficiency, it's not nearly enough to get us accurate data. I found a possible translator for our team, a grad assistant with experience working in our target community. She spoke to us today and basically pointed out just how difficult it will be for us to collect data for this project. I've been having doubts about the feasibility of this project for almost a year now, and this did nothing to ease those doubts. I know, usually I'm not the pessimistic one, but really, there's only so much an undergraduate team can accomplish. Anyways, I'm really glad she came because she gave us valuable (honest) insight and seemed genuinely interested in our project.
After the meeting Sam and I met for two more hours to work on stuff for the paper, which we didn't even begin laying out because the software we need is only on the computers in the lab. Which only means this paper business is going to get even more stressful as the week goes on. The good news is I was back in my room by 9, meaning I actually had a chance to get work done tonight, namely the English paper. The bad news, I'm only halfway through the English paper and my eyes are getting pretty heavy...
P.S. The day wasn't totally bad - I scheduled three interviews for the stories I have write this week.
Man, what a depressing day. Yesterday I was utterly overwhelmed at the amount of stuff I have to get done this week. You think the other weeks have been bad; wait til you see this one. Council meeting story for journalism, three articles due by Sunday/Monday, English paper due Friday, government reading due Thursday, AND to top it all of, an entire newspaper to get through production. Yeah, I know, it's a ridiculous week.
So I went to the council meeting this morning, hoping to get another slam dunk akin to last week's court story. No such luck. I will say it was absolutely great seeing everyone in Councilman's office again (I interned there in high school.) But, I wasn't there to chit-chat, I was there for a story. Turns out, the topic they were discussing, development stuff in C-burg, is one completely over my head. Joyce, the resident expert on C-burg, was out this morning, so I was sitting in this meeting trying to decipher planning language into English. Yeah, didn't happen. But, I saw Joyce on my way out and she said she'd be happy to talk to me and explain me everything, which means I still have a chance at knocking this story out of the park. Random thought - I emailed my jour prof to ask him what I should do at 9:31 tonight, check my inbox 6 minutes later and bam, I've got a response. I love efficient professors. I mean, isn't everyone addicted to their email nowadays? His response - this is a tough one, let's talk about it in class tomorrow.
Anyways, so I had to get back to school earlier than expected because Sam and I have to start production on the newspaper. She had to show me and our production editor how to actually use the software. So we practiced a bit until it was time for me to go to my research meeting.
Now, I haven't really explained my undergraduate research project, so here it is in a nutshell. There's a relatively low-income community nearby that comprises mostly Spanish-speaking immigrants. My team and I are going to conduct a needs assessment to determine what community services they want. But, no one on the team speaks Spanish, and while I've got some proficiency, it's not nearly enough to get us accurate data. I found a possible translator for our team, a grad assistant with experience working in our target community. She spoke to us today and basically pointed out just how difficult it will be for us to collect data for this project. I've been having doubts about the feasibility of this project for almost a year now, and this did nothing to ease those doubts. I know, usually I'm not the pessimistic one, but really, there's only so much an undergraduate team can accomplish. Anyways, I'm really glad she came because she gave us valuable (honest) insight and seemed genuinely interested in our project.
After the meeting Sam and I met for two more hours to work on stuff for the paper, which we didn't even begin laying out because the software we need is only on the computers in the lab. Which only means this paper business is going to get even more stressful as the week goes on. The good news is I was back in my room by 9, meaning I actually had a chance to get work done tonight, namely the English paper. The bad news, I'm only halfway through the English paper and my eyes are getting pretty heavy...
P.S. The day wasn't totally bad - I scheduled three interviews for the stories I have write this week.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
My Day in Court
When I started this blog, I thought my days of procrastination would be over. I've lost so many vacation memories that way, by just putting off writing them down until they were all fuzzy and the emotion was gone. And now, I 'm afraid, the same thing is about to happen to the story of my court adventure. The second half of last week was so crazy that I thought if I took out some "me-time" to update the blog, none of my work would ever get done and then I'd just fail. Yes, I know, I'm a little extreme sometimes. But now it's the weekend and since I never really did justice to this court adventure, here goes.
Despite my fairly chipper mood when describing the impending court adventure, I was feeling slightly apprehensive about how the whole thing would go. True, I did have a court case to see and a police officer who would help me, but I'd never done anything like this before. I kept pushing those thoughts out of my head and replacing them with reminders about how I was already ahead of the ball.
Tuesday morning: The alarm went off at around 6:30 or so and I was entirely confused as to why I was waking up at the crack of dawn on a weekday in my bedroom at home. Then it all came back and I remembered today was THE day. Fast forward to 8:45 when I reach the courthouse and find my courtroom. I walked in and found a semi-large wood paneled room with about, 10 or so rows of pew-like seats. The room was fairly full and the docket was long. I double checked that my case was going to be argued there, and sure enough, my defendant's name was right there. Step one, finding the room, check. Time to work on step two, finding the right people.
I asked one of the cops in the room if he knew my Cop buddy, and was politely told that there were about 1300 police officers in that building, so no, he didn't. I took a seat in the very back corner, closest to the door and wondered what I should do. I thought my mind was going to start freaking out any moment now; I expected my anxiety level to skyrocket. Surprisingly, though, I remained quite calm. I think, somewhere deep down inside, I knew everything was going to work out fine. I stole a look at everyone entering the doors behind me, and if that person was in uniform, I focused in on their name tags, hoping to get a glimpse of my buddy.
Since I didn't really know what else to do, I simply absorbed the entire scene. The lawyers were going back and forth, in and out of the courtroom, sometimes pulling clients out to talk. There was one lawyer who, in fluent Spanish, was basically yelling at this poor man, who I'm pretty sure had no idea what was going on. I felt bad for him, forgetting we were in a court house and the only reason he was even there in the first place was because he (probably) broke the law. But the way she was yelling at him, as if he were a child who knocked over a glass bottle or something, it seemed so very condescending. Yes she's a lawyer, and I'm sure she's an intelligent one, but still, no matter who they are, doesn't everyone deserve to be treated with a little dignity?
Around 9:15 or so, the bailiff made an announcement, the judge entered the courtroom and court went into session. The attorneys began calling cases, and the defendants would walk up with their lawyers, and I can't really tell you what happened next because I could not hear a thing. The bailiff had told us we were not allowed to talk while court was in session, but, rules are meant to be broken right? I realized sitting at the very back may not have been the wisest idea. What if my case went up there and I missed the whole thing because I couldn't hear it? I glanced over to where all the cops were sitting and tried to figure out if any of them was my buddy. I thought about walking up there and asking some of them if they knew him, but decided against it. So I sat there and listened intently, trying to figure out how the hell this all worked.
Case after case went up there, and just as Professor had told us, decisions were made fast, and most of it was in legalese. Then, the door opened and in walked a guy in his prison jumpsuit and handcuffs. I think my eyes widened a bit. As the cases went by, it dawned on me that I was sitting in a room full of, well, criminals. I mean, technically, they had broken the law. The people in this room had stolen things, broken into cars, homes. It's not that I was scared. It just hit me that this was a situation I'd never been in before. I mean, these people didn't look like criminals. They just looked like people who'd messed up and done something stupid. That's also when I realized I couldn't be a lawyer. Not that I had ever, ever even considered being a trial lawyer or a criminal prosecutor or anything. I don't have that ability to twist facts, nor am I thick-skinned enough to do things like the lawyers on TV do (and yes, I know, it's television, but someone has to argue all those murder trials in real life, right?) But at least those high profile cases are interesting. These cases, the ones I was witnessing, they're all boring. It seems like such a mundane way to make a living.
Anyways, back to my adventure. About an hour after the session started, the judge decided to take a break and left. For a second I thought, that better not be the end of it, my case wasn't even argued. Then I figured I should go and try to find cop buddy, otherwise I'd have no story. As I walked over toward them, I was trying to figure out how I was going to find my buddy without being really awkward and staring at everyone's name tags. Luckily, I didn't have to worry much, because the first cop I saw was my buddy!
After all the introductions, he sat down and explained me the case. I absorbed all the information and like a good journalist thought of some additional questions to ask him. I was waiting for him to come back over to me, when I realized I was the journalist, this was my story, so I should just go up and ask him for more information. We stepped outside, since court had now gone back into session, and he answered all my questions. It was a bit confusing, since there were three people involved in this particular crime, and everyone's case was handled separately. It was complicated, but interesting at the same time. We went back inside and Cop buddy pointed out both the defendant and the plaintiff.
Knowing Professor had told us we had to try and talk to everyone involved, I asked Cop buddy if it was okay if I tried to talk to them. He replied that was fine, if they were willing to. I realized later that I had sought approval from Cop buddy for a number of things that day. I think I had kind of latched on to him as my connection into this whole different world and as the wise adult in the room. It's weird, I still feel like a kid sometimes. It was almost like I was asking Cop buddy's permission to do all these things, when in reality, I didn't need it.
Anyways, after sitting down and mentally readying myself, I walked over to the plaintiff, introduced myself and asked if I could talk to him after the case. He agreed. One more thing checked off. Now, now came the hard part. I had to talk to the defendant. I knew he wasn't going to comment, and the thought did cross my mind about just writing that he refused to talk to me. But I knew that was absolutely unethical and totally wrong, so I quickly trashed that thought and went back to figuring out just how I was going to build up the courage to talk to this guy. I guess it did help that he was exactly my age, so it wasn't like I was walking up to some burly old criminal man.
And then, for the first time that day, I was nervous. Really nervous. You know what I mean, when you can feel every thump of your heart, when your stomach starts doing backflips in your abdomen. This is the reaction I was expecting this morning, when I couldn't find Cop buddy. Anyways, I knew I had to do it, so I took a deep breath, got up and walked up a couple of rows to where he was sitting. I knelt down beside him, introduced myself, and asked if he had any comment. I could tell by the look on his face that he knew I had to do this, and that I wasn't expecting him to actually say something. He gave me a half little sympathetic smile and replied, "I don't think so." I smiled a sigh of relief in understanding, thanked him and walked back to my seat.
I had done it! I had walked up to him, talked to him, and he was polite! Dealing with police officers is one thing, but dealing with someone who has made probably the biggest mistake of his life and wants to do whatever he can to make it go away is another. He didn't yell at me, he didn't curse, he didn't even give me a dirty look! The world doesn't hate reporters (or maybe the world just doesn't hate me :)
With my newfound confidence, I ask Cop buddy if it would be possible for me to obtain a some of the paperwork so I can check the facts. Another cop took me downstairs, gave me all the information I need and more. I returned to the courtroom in time for my case to be heard, and thankfully by now, the courtroom was pretty empty, given that it was almost two and a half hours since court started. The case went by quickly, but I was able to hear everything and Cop buddy explained me what I didn't get. I stepped outside, spoke to the plaintiff for about 10 minutes, and when I went back in, I saw that the lawyer was still there. This was my chance, the last person on my list I needed to talk to. I ask her for comment, and she sat down with me and explained how she can't really comment at all, you know, case is still open, all that stuff.
I think I said this last week, but I'm really surprised at how helpful people have been. I was expecting people like cops and lawyers to completely blow me off, a) because I'm a journalist and b) I'm not even a real journalist, but a student. Why would they, who have full schedules and important things to do, take out time to talk to me, some kid who's doing her homework assignment. But that's not what I've gotten at all. People are not only willing to answer my questions, but they're willing to explain me how things work, how the media relationship functions. They're actually teaching me, taking time out to explain things to me! If I've learned one thing in the past month, it's that the world really isn't as bad as I thought it was. Or, I'm just the luckiest girl alive.
Needless to say, I walked out of that courtroom absolutely on top of the world. It was noon on Tuesday and the hardest part of my assignment was done. All I had to do was write the article, which was the easy part. I wouldn't have to spend the week glued to my cellphone calling everyone and their mother in pursuit of a story. And not only that, but man was Prof impressed on Wednesday morning when I whipped out all the prized information I'd collected on Tuesday.
Man, there's nothing like writing about a great adventure to lift your mood!
Despite my fairly chipper mood when describing the impending court adventure, I was feeling slightly apprehensive about how the whole thing would go. True, I did have a court case to see and a police officer who would help me, but I'd never done anything like this before. I kept pushing those thoughts out of my head and replacing them with reminders about how I was already ahead of the ball.
Tuesday morning: The alarm went off at around 6:30 or so and I was entirely confused as to why I was waking up at the crack of dawn on a weekday in my bedroom at home. Then it all came back and I remembered today was THE day. Fast forward to 8:45 when I reach the courthouse and find my courtroom. I walked in and found a semi-large wood paneled room with about, 10 or so rows of pew-like seats. The room was fairly full and the docket was long. I double checked that my case was going to be argued there, and sure enough, my defendant's name was right there. Step one, finding the room, check. Time to work on step two, finding the right people.
I asked one of the cops in the room if he knew my Cop buddy, and was politely told that there were about 1300 police officers in that building, so no, he didn't. I took a seat in the very back corner, closest to the door and wondered what I should do. I thought my mind was going to start freaking out any moment now; I expected my anxiety level to skyrocket. Surprisingly, though, I remained quite calm. I think, somewhere deep down inside, I knew everything was going to work out fine. I stole a look at everyone entering the doors behind me, and if that person was in uniform, I focused in on their name tags, hoping to get a glimpse of my buddy.
Since I didn't really know what else to do, I simply absorbed the entire scene. The lawyers were going back and forth, in and out of the courtroom, sometimes pulling clients out to talk. There was one lawyer who, in fluent Spanish, was basically yelling at this poor man, who I'm pretty sure had no idea what was going on. I felt bad for him, forgetting we were in a court house and the only reason he was even there in the first place was because he (probably) broke the law. But the way she was yelling at him, as if he were a child who knocked over a glass bottle or something, it seemed so very condescending. Yes she's a lawyer, and I'm sure she's an intelligent one, but still, no matter who they are, doesn't everyone deserve to be treated with a little dignity?
Around 9:15 or so, the bailiff made an announcement, the judge entered the courtroom and court went into session. The attorneys began calling cases, and the defendants would walk up with their lawyers, and I can't really tell you what happened next because I could not hear a thing. The bailiff had told us we were not allowed to talk while court was in session, but, rules are meant to be broken right? I realized sitting at the very back may not have been the wisest idea. What if my case went up there and I missed the whole thing because I couldn't hear it? I glanced over to where all the cops were sitting and tried to figure out if any of them was my buddy. I thought about walking up there and asking some of them if they knew him, but decided against it. So I sat there and listened intently, trying to figure out how the hell this all worked.
Case after case went up there, and just as Professor had told us, decisions were made fast, and most of it was in legalese. Then, the door opened and in walked a guy in his prison jumpsuit and handcuffs. I think my eyes widened a bit. As the cases went by, it dawned on me that I was sitting in a room full of, well, criminals. I mean, technically, they had broken the law. The people in this room had stolen things, broken into cars, homes. It's not that I was scared. It just hit me that this was a situation I'd never been in before. I mean, these people didn't look like criminals. They just looked like people who'd messed up and done something stupid. That's also when I realized I couldn't be a lawyer. Not that I had ever, ever even considered being a trial lawyer or a criminal prosecutor or anything. I don't have that ability to twist facts, nor am I thick-skinned enough to do things like the lawyers on TV do (and yes, I know, it's television, but someone has to argue all those murder trials in real life, right?) But at least those high profile cases are interesting. These cases, the ones I was witnessing, they're all boring. It seems like such a mundane way to make a living.
Anyways, back to my adventure. About an hour after the session started, the judge decided to take a break and left. For a second I thought, that better not be the end of it, my case wasn't even argued. Then I figured I should go and try to find cop buddy, otherwise I'd have no story. As I walked over toward them, I was trying to figure out how I was going to find my buddy without being really awkward and staring at everyone's name tags. Luckily, I didn't have to worry much, because the first cop I saw was my buddy!
After all the introductions, he sat down and explained me the case. I absorbed all the information and like a good journalist thought of some additional questions to ask him. I was waiting for him to come back over to me, when I realized I was the journalist, this was my story, so I should just go up and ask him for more information. We stepped outside, since court had now gone back into session, and he answered all my questions. It was a bit confusing, since there were three people involved in this particular crime, and everyone's case was handled separately. It was complicated, but interesting at the same time. We went back inside and Cop buddy pointed out both the defendant and the plaintiff.
Knowing Professor had told us we had to try and talk to everyone involved, I asked Cop buddy if it was okay if I tried to talk to them. He replied that was fine, if they were willing to. I realized later that I had sought approval from Cop buddy for a number of things that day. I think I had kind of latched on to him as my connection into this whole different world and as the wise adult in the room. It's weird, I still feel like a kid sometimes. It was almost like I was asking Cop buddy's permission to do all these things, when in reality, I didn't need it.
Anyways, after sitting down and mentally readying myself, I walked over to the plaintiff, introduced myself and asked if I could talk to him after the case. He agreed. One more thing checked off. Now, now came the hard part. I had to talk to the defendant. I knew he wasn't going to comment, and the thought did cross my mind about just writing that he refused to talk to me. But I knew that was absolutely unethical and totally wrong, so I quickly trashed that thought and went back to figuring out just how I was going to build up the courage to talk to this guy. I guess it did help that he was exactly my age, so it wasn't like I was walking up to some burly old criminal man.
And then, for the first time that day, I was nervous. Really nervous. You know what I mean, when you can feel every thump of your heart, when your stomach starts doing backflips in your abdomen. This is the reaction I was expecting this morning, when I couldn't find Cop buddy. Anyways, I knew I had to do it, so I took a deep breath, got up and walked up a couple of rows to where he was sitting. I knelt down beside him, introduced myself, and asked if he had any comment. I could tell by the look on his face that he knew I had to do this, and that I wasn't expecting him to actually say something. He gave me a half little sympathetic smile and replied, "I don't think so." I smiled a sigh of relief in understanding, thanked him and walked back to my seat.
I had done it! I had walked up to him, talked to him, and he was polite! Dealing with police officers is one thing, but dealing with someone who has made probably the biggest mistake of his life and wants to do whatever he can to make it go away is another. He didn't yell at me, he didn't curse, he didn't even give me a dirty look! The world doesn't hate reporters (or maybe the world just doesn't hate me :)
With my newfound confidence, I ask Cop buddy if it would be possible for me to obtain a some of the paperwork so I can check the facts. Another cop took me downstairs, gave me all the information I need and more. I returned to the courtroom in time for my case to be heard, and thankfully by now, the courtroom was pretty empty, given that it was almost two and a half hours since court started. The case went by quickly, but I was able to hear everything and Cop buddy explained me what I didn't get. I stepped outside, spoke to the plaintiff for about 10 minutes, and when I went back in, I saw that the lawyer was still there. This was my chance, the last person on my list I needed to talk to. I ask her for comment, and she sat down with me and explained how she can't really comment at all, you know, case is still open, all that stuff.
I think I said this last week, but I'm really surprised at how helpful people have been. I was expecting people like cops and lawyers to completely blow me off, a) because I'm a journalist and b) I'm not even a real journalist, but a student. Why would they, who have full schedules and important things to do, take out time to talk to me, some kid who's doing her homework assignment. But that's not what I've gotten at all. People are not only willing to answer my questions, but they're willing to explain me how things work, how the media relationship functions. They're actually teaching me, taking time out to explain things to me! If I've learned one thing in the past month, it's that the world really isn't as bad as I thought it was. Or, I'm just the luckiest girl alive.
Needless to say, I walked out of that courtroom absolutely on top of the world. It was noon on Tuesday and the hardest part of my assignment was done. All I had to do was write the article, which was the easy part. I wouldn't have to spend the week glued to my cellphone calling everyone and their mother in pursuit of a story. And not only that, but man was Prof impressed on Wednesday morning when I whipped out all the prized information I'd collected on Tuesday.
Man, there's nothing like writing about a great adventure to lift your mood!
Monday, September 17, 2007
The Old Me is Back
We got our first journalism assignment back in class, a beat memo including contact info, census data and a paragraph on a key issue in our beat. My grade: A MINUS!!!!!! Yeahhh, that's right, on the very first assignment of the hardest course known to man I got a near perfect score.
Okay, I realize that sounds a bit conceited, but if you've been following this whole journalism class saga you'll understand just how excited this makes me. On the paper, my professor wrote, "Terrific - thorough, easy to read, smart." I only made one mistake, got one census number slightly off, and normally that tiny "glitch" as my prof called it would drive me insane. But not today!!!!!!!
As we were having class discussion, Prof brought up the whole O.J. Simpson thing and asked us if we'd want to cover it. I was hoping and praying he wouldn't call on me, since my answer would be a definite no. I don't care if it's O.J. Simpson or Homer Simpson, I don't really want to be covering anything. But I couldn't very well say that, seeing as, well, this is a journalism class and everyone else was gushing over how they'd love to cover such a career-making story. Prof warned us that while it's all high-profile and would put our names on the map, a story like this would consume the next six to nine months of your professional career. "Your life wouldn't be your own," he said. But that's what he loves about journalism, the non-routineness of it. And that's what I hate. I'm the kind of person who needs a schedule, a time to work and a time to go home.
But I finally came up with an answer if he did call on me (which he didn't), and it's that I would rather be a magazine journalist going more in-depth into things and not racing the guy to put something out on the front page. Which is a cop-out answer, but it is kind of true. I mean, I've always said that if I do end up going into journalism, it would most likely be magazine journalism.
But today's happiness comes from more than just grades. We've now got the ever-dreadful court story this week, and Prof has said it's the hardest one of the year. We've got two options. Stake out a court and find a case to do, or wait until Wednesday when Prof will give us a list of cases that have already been ruled on. But we all know I'm not one to wait. I want to get my story done asap, boom boom boom so that I can get my week back.
Enter last week's cop buddy. Turns out, his court case is tomorrow, the day I have absolutely no class. Not only do I have an entire day to dedicate to this story, but I no longer have to walk into that intimidating hall of justice blind and confused. So, I'm now chilling at home, drinking some homemade chai, listening to the pop and crackle of some delicious saag paneer and aloo subzi simmer on the stove. School success, a game plan for the week and a hearty meal. Life is good.
Okay, I realize that sounds a bit conceited, but if you've been following this whole journalism class saga you'll understand just how excited this makes me. On the paper, my professor wrote, "Terrific - thorough, easy to read, smart." I only made one mistake, got one census number slightly off, and normally that tiny "glitch" as my prof called it would drive me insane. But not today!!!!!!!
As we were having class discussion, Prof brought up the whole O.J. Simpson thing and asked us if we'd want to cover it. I was hoping and praying he wouldn't call on me, since my answer would be a definite no. I don't care if it's O.J. Simpson or Homer Simpson, I don't really want to be covering anything. But I couldn't very well say that, seeing as, well, this is a journalism class and everyone else was gushing over how they'd love to cover such a career-making story. Prof warned us that while it's all high-profile and would put our names on the map, a story like this would consume the next six to nine months of your professional career. "Your life wouldn't be your own," he said. But that's what he loves about journalism, the non-routineness of it. And that's what I hate. I'm the kind of person who needs a schedule, a time to work and a time to go home.
But I finally came up with an answer if he did call on me (which he didn't), and it's that I would rather be a magazine journalist going more in-depth into things and not racing the guy to put something out on the front page. Which is a cop-out answer, but it is kind of true. I mean, I've always said that if I do end up going into journalism, it would most likely be magazine journalism.
But today's happiness comes from more than just grades. We've now got the ever-dreadful court story this week, and Prof has said it's the hardest one of the year. We've got two options. Stake out a court and find a case to do, or wait until Wednesday when Prof will give us a list of cases that have already been ruled on. But we all know I'm not one to wait. I want to get my story done asap, boom boom boom so that I can get my week back.
Enter last week's cop buddy. Turns out, his court case is tomorrow, the day I have absolutely no class. Not only do I have an entire day to dedicate to this story, but I no longer have to walk into that intimidating hall of justice blind and confused. So, I'm now chilling at home, drinking some homemade chai, listening to the pop and crackle of some delicious saag paneer and aloo subzi simmer on the stove. School success, a game plan for the week and a hearty meal. Life is good.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Cops Are Friends
Alright, I know you've listened to me go back and forth on my fear of this journalism class for the past two weeks, but I can wholeheartedly assure you that I have once and for all put that issue to rest. I now have absolutely no doubt that not only will I survive this class, but I will not fear it and I will get an A in it and my professor will like me by the end of this semester.
Seriously, my mood today is a 180 degree change from earlier this week. I remember the dread that washed over me when professor assigned the police story, and now I can truthfully say I love the cops! As I wrote earlier, all the police officers I've talked to, while they didn't really give me much information were polite and willing to put up with my random requests, especially given that I'm not even a real journalist requesting info, merely a student doing a class assignment (even if it the assignment is still an article).
But I finally got my crime trend story and the spokesperson I've been dealing with this whole week was more than happy to talk to me about it. It was so funny, I called him yesterday to see if he had any information for me, and he said no but that he might tomorrow. I asked him if it was okay if I called him back, and he was like, "Of course it is! If you want to be successful in this field you've got to be a pest. We don't ever discourage callers, it's our job to talk to you." It was absolutely great. And then today I thanked him for being so helpful and he said I'd make a great journalist and to call back anytime if I ever needed anything.
Then, moving on the the local cop I called to get a comment. He too was happy to talk to me and it turns out he graduated from my university. We started talking about football and were reminiscing about how my high school football team pretty much owned back when I was there. He asked about this journalism class and told me to call him if I ever needed anything and he'd "take care of me" I told him next week I had to do a court story and he was like, well I'm going to court for a vandalism case, you should come. And I was like SCORE! Not only have I finally completed this week's assignment but I've got a major head start on next week's too. And these two are supposed to be the hardest stories of the year.
Yeah, after I hung up with him I was pretty much on cloud nine. Earlier today I interviewed a professor for a story I'm writing and she and I bonded over our shared Indian heritage. It was great. So what have I learned this week? Well, a) Cops are nice. b) Calling people on the phone isn't scary and c) I can do real interviews. And, the best part of all - it's almost the weekend!
Seriously, my mood today is a 180 degree change from earlier this week. I remember the dread that washed over me when professor assigned the police story, and now I can truthfully say I love the cops! As I wrote earlier, all the police officers I've talked to, while they didn't really give me much information were polite and willing to put up with my random requests, especially given that I'm not even a real journalist requesting info, merely a student doing a class assignment (even if it the assignment is still an article).
But I finally got my crime trend story and the spokesperson I've been dealing with this whole week was more than happy to talk to me about it. It was so funny, I called him yesterday to see if he had any information for me, and he said no but that he might tomorrow. I asked him if it was okay if I called him back, and he was like, "Of course it is! If you want to be successful in this field you've got to be a pest. We don't ever discourage callers, it's our job to talk to you." It was absolutely great. And then today I thanked him for being so helpful and he said I'd make a great journalist and to call back anytime if I ever needed anything.
Then, moving on the the local cop I called to get a comment. He too was happy to talk to me and it turns out he graduated from my university. We started talking about football and were reminiscing about how my high school football team pretty much owned back when I was there. He asked about this journalism class and told me to call him if I ever needed anything and he'd "take care of me" I told him next week I had to do a court story and he was like, well I'm going to court for a vandalism case, you should come. And I was like SCORE! Not only have I finally completed this week's assignment but I've got a major head start on next week's too. And these two are supposed to be the hardest stories of the year.
Yeah, after I hung up with him I was pretty much on cloud nine. Earlier today I interviewed a professor for a story I'm writing and she and I bonded over our shared Indian heritage. It was great. So what have I learned this week? Well, a) Cops are nice. b) Calling people on the phone isn't scary and c) I can do real interviews. And, the best part of all - it's almost the weekend!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The 90-day band-aid
Seeing your article up on the internet sure does a lot to make you feel better, even if the editors inserted a factual error that you did not have when you submitted the article. The editor-in-chief said she'd correct it, but it still kinda sucks. But at least, now I really know that I can survive this class.
I was talking to Nancy today about (what else) 320, and she said something brilliant. She said that 320 is like a band aid: you worry and worry about removing it, but the quicker you rip it off, the less it hurts.
Which is exactly what I was telling Mom on my hour long complain-fest last night. The quicker I can get this police story done, the quicker I can regain my sanity again. My professor said this week's assignment is one of the hardest, since the police hardly ever release info to us. But we've got to try, and I've spent the past two days on the phone trying my ass off. And you know what. Everyone I've talked to has been nice, friendly and polite, even if none of them has given me the information I need. But still, it really is not that bad to interview people and I'm not really that terrible at writing down quotes.
It's like my mind is divided in two sections: the rational one knows that this class will teach me how to overcome things I never would without it. I know that I need this class, but then the emotional side of my brain weighs in to completely freak me out. I lay in bed and wonder if I'll be able to get my 10 clips, and if I'll be able to talk to people I need to, and if I'll get an A in this class. The eight or so hours are the only ones I spend without feeling all the work sitting on my head. But even then, the past couple of nights I've had such vivid dreams, the ones that leave you feeling like you didn't get a chance to rest because your mind was working overtime.
But after finally finishing the article on Sunday's falafel event, I realized that I can write a proper article based only on 20 or so minutes of interviewing people. I don't know what I would have done without Supraja there, forcing me to go up to those people and talk to them. I half believe I would have turned around and walked away instead of doing my job and reporting the story.
But seeing as that little time spent interviewing got me enough information to write a 600 word article, imagine how simple it will be to write a 6 paragraph police story for my class. I think my professor is more focused on getting us to go out there and report rather than having us really get the full story. He knows we aren't veteran reporters, we're just students.
Enough talk about 320, now on to a happier note, I got admitted to the university in Spain! Meaning I a) have to go abroad because they now have a 200 euro deposit from me, b) have to put together a cover letter, resume, and clip package for the summer internship I hope to get over there, and c) have to begin the banal bureaucratic procedure of getting a sheaf of papers signed by 5 different departments on campus so I actually can go abroad.
But on an even happier note, I don't think I mentioned this earlier, but there is a light at the end of this very long and arduous tunnel and it comes in the form of NO FINAL EXAMS for me!!!!!! Yup, you read that right - none at all. Zero, zilch, nada. I roll out of here a whole week and a half before everyone else. See, there really is a God somewhere.
I was talking to Nancy today about (what else) 320, and she said something brilliant. She said that 320 is like a band aid: you worry and worry about removing it, but the quicker you rip it off, the less it hurts.
Which is exactly what I was telling Mom on my hour long complain-fest last night. The quicker I can get this police story done, the quicker I can regain my sanity again. My professor said this week's assignment is one of the hardest, since the police hardly ever release info to us. But we've got to try, and I've spent the past two days on the phone trying my ass off. And you know what. Everyone I've talked to has been nice, friendly and polite, even if none of them has given me the information I need. But still, it really is not that bad to interview people and I'm not really that terrible at writing down quotes.
It's like my mind is divided in two sections: the rational one knows that this class will teach me how to overcome things I never would without it. I know that I need this class, but then the emotional side of my brain weighs in to completely freak me out. I lay in bed and wonder if I'll be able to get my 10 clips, and if I'll be able to talk to people I need to, and if I'll get an A in this class. The eight or so hours are the only ones I spend without feeling all the work sitting on my head. But even then, the past couple of nights I've had such vivid dreams, the ones that leave you feeling like you didn't get a chance to rest because your mind was working overtime.
But after finally finishing the article on Sunday's falafel event, I realized that I can write a proper article based only on 20 or so minutes of interviewing people. I don't know what I would have done without Supraja there, forcing me to go up to those people and talk to them. I half believe I would have turned around and walked away instead of doing my job and reporting the story.
But seeing as that little time spent interviewing got me enough information to write a 600 word article, imagine how simple it will be to write a 6 paragraph police story for my class. I think my professor is more focused on getting us to go out there and report rather than having us really get the full story. He knows we aren't veteran reporters, we're just students.
Enough talk about 320, now on to a happier note, I got admitted to the university in Spain! Meaning I a) have to go abroad because they now have a 200 euro deposit from me, b) have to put together a cover letter, resume, and clip package for the summer internship I hope to get over there, and c) have to begin the banal bureaucratic procedure of getting a sheaf of papers signed by 5 different departments on campus so I actually can go abroad.
But on an even happier note, I don't think I mentioned this earlier, but there is a light at the end of this very long and arduous tunnel and it comes in the form of NO FINAL EXAMS for me!!!!!! Yup, you read that right - none at all. Zero, zilch, nada. I roll out of here a whole week and a half before everyone else. See, there really is a God somewhere.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Scare Tactics Not Appreciated
As usual, Mom was right and I have recovered from last night's meltdown and have come to realize that I can handle this semester just as I handled all the rest.
I got my journalism beat today and I'm covering my hometown, which is good because I have contacts from my high school internship with the local councilman. I'm about to email his office to let them know that I'm back, only this time on the other side of the fence. It'll be so nice to go back to the office and see them and I know if I ever need to figure out who to talk to for a story, they'll have just the person for me to contact (which means I'm already a step ahead of everyone else :)
After we got our beats my professor continued to tell us how difficult the class was going to be and advised us to think long and hard about if we will have the time to dedicate to it. I tried not to let anything he was saying register since I don't actually have a choice in taking this class (unless I want to graduate sans journalism degree.)
I don't understand why teachers are so hell-bent on scaring us poor students. In 5th grade it was all about how grown-up we would have to be in middle school. (I mean we were losing recess - if that's not shutting the door on childhood, I don't know what is.) Three years later, it was how independent we'd have to be in high school. Halfway through high school, our AP classes were supposed to take us to the edge intellectually. I eventually learned not to let any of that talk scare me, since everything had proven to be much better than the teachers made it out to be.
I did, however, take heed my senior year of high school when we'd complain and our teachers would tell us that this work was nothing compared to what was waiting to greet us in college. But although they were right in that our grades comprise of only three or four assignments and the only homework we get is reading, I've once again prevailed and have made better grades than I did even in high school. So why is it that I'm so worried that this class will be any different?
I tend to do this type of thing irrationally freak out at certain things. Mom keeps telling me not to underestimate myself, and I really wish I could stop. This whole getting scared easily thing will do nothing to help me in the future.
But, little did I know that something as mundane as opening my email would put me in a much better mood. This afternoon, I got unbelievably excited when I opened up my inbox, and right there was a reply from that individual I've been trying to get a comment for the article from for the past few days. He responded just in time for me to add his comments into my article and submit it on deadline. Seriously, when I opened that email I was insanely overjoyed. (I'll admit there was a little celebratory jumping up and down involved.) Finally, my article was complete! And I know that despite all the fear and dread that came with writing this article, it'll all be worth it when I open up the newspaper and see my byline and my words printed on the page.
P.S. Forgot to mention this earlier, but we had the assignment meeting for the monthly newspaper I'm co-editor-in-chief of, and it went really well. We had a good size group show up and they all took articles. Ok, so now I can stop worrying about whether we'll actually have a newspaper to put out in October.
I got my journalism beat today and I'm covering my hometown, which is good because I have contacts from my high school internship with the local councilman. I'm about to email his office to let them know that I'm back, only this time on the other side of the fence. It'll be so nice to go back to the office and see them and I know if I ever need to figure out who to talk to for a story, they'll have just the person for me to contact (which means I'm already a step ahead of everyone else :)
After we got our beats my professor continued to tell us how difficult the class was going to be and advised us to think long and hard about if we will have the time to dedicate to it. I tried not to let anything he was saying register since I don't actually have a choice in taking this class (unless I want to graduate sans journalism degree.)
I don't understand why teachers are so hell-bent on scaring us poor students. In 5th grade it was all about how grown-up we would have to be in middle school. (I mean we were losing recess - if that's not shutting the door on childhood, I don't know what is.) Three years later, it was how independent we'd have to be in high school. Halfway through high school, our AP classes were supposed to take us to the edge intellectually. I eventually learned not to let any of that talk scare me, since everything had proven to be much better than the teachers made it out to be.
I did, however, take heed my senior year of high school when we'd complain and our teachers would tell us that this work was nothing compared to what was waiting to greet us in college. But although they were right in that our grades comprise of only three or four assignments and the only homework we get is reading, I've once again prevailed and have made better grades than I did even in high school. So why is it that I'm so worried that this class will be any different?
I tend to do this type of thing irrationally freak out at certain things. Mom keeps telling me not to underestimate myself, and I really wish I could stop. This whole getting scared easily thing will do nothing to help me in the future.
But, little did I know that something as mundane as opening my email would put me in a much better mood. This afternoon, I got unbelievably excited when I opened up my inbox, and right there was a reply from that individual I've been trying to get a comment for the article from for the past few days. He responded just in time for me to add his comments into my article and submit it on deadline. Seriously, when I opened that email I was insanely overjoyed. (I'll admit there was a little celebratory jumping up and down involved.) Finally, my article was complete! And I know that despite all the fear and dread that came with writing this article, it'll all be worth it when I open up the newspaper and see my byline and my words printed on the page.
P.S. Forgot to mention this earlier, but we had the assignment meeting for the monthly newspaper I'm co-editor-in-chief of, and it went really well. We had a good size group show up and they all took articles. Ok, so now I can stop worrying about whether we'll actually have a newspaper to put out in October.
So this is what a meltdown feels like
Everything was going just fine until it hit crunch time for the article. I was finally feeling okay about the semester, I'd spent the long weekend productively getting ahead on all my work, my article was coming along nicely and then wham, my source doesn't call back. By the time I got back to the apartment it was almost 9 p.m. and still no email response from him. I frantically called Megan to see if it was okay if I didn't find that one tidbit of information, and she assured me that that piece of information wasn't as important as I thought it was, and that my article was going to be okay.
But the anxiety persisted, swelling like a thundercloud inside my chest. It took an hour and 20 minute long phone call with Mom to help calm me down and realize that much of this anxiety is probably due to the fact that I haven't really dived into the semester yet. I've got no assignments or grades to base anything off of, so therefore I'm still deathly afraid of everything. It's weird, I've never felt so much anxiety over school before. Sure, I've always been slightly apprehensive looking at the workload in front of me at the beginning of each semester, but it never really seemed like more than I could handle. But this semester, well, let me put it this way. In the middle of ranting to my mom I got so anxious I swear to God I really felt like my heart was going to give out. I felt like my insides were going to explode and wanted nothing more than to crawl into the empty space under my bed and not come out until December.
Seriously though, I need to go to bed, especially seeing as I need to be up bright and early at 6:20 in the morning and prepare to select my beat...aka the bane of my existence for the next four months.
But the anxiety persisted, swelling like a thundercloud inside my chest. It took an hour and 20 minute long phone call with Mom to help calm me down and realize that much of this anxiety is probably due to the fact that I haven't really dived into the semester yet. I've got no assignments or grades to base anything off of, so therefore I'm still deathly afraid of everything. It's weird, I've never felt so much anxiety over school before. Sure, I've always been slightly apprehensive looking at the workload in front of me at the beginning of each semester, but it never really seemed like more than I could handle. But this semester, well, let me put it this way. In the middle of ranting to my mom I got so anxious I swear to God I really felt like my heart was going to give out. I felt like my insides were going to explode and wanted nothing more than to crawl into the empty space under my bed and not come out until December.
Seriously though, I need to go to bed, especially seeing as I need to be up bright and early at 6:20 in the morning and prepare to select my beat...aka the bane of my existence for the next four months.
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