I read an article in the Times today about the whole concept of "following your passion." The secret formula to success in the States has always appeared to be as simple as pursuing one's passion - and "the money/the rest will follow."
To be perfectly honest, I've long subscribed to this mentality - I mean, quite possibly every other entry in my journals has been about trying to find and embrace my passions with the hope of actually carving out a viable, fulfilling career path from them.
Simple, no?
What the article argued, however, is that sometimes (read: most times) the formula is not so easy. And not in a practical, logical kind of way either, as in making the decision to leave a full-time job to free fall into the uncertain abyss of "entrepreneurship," "freelancing," or that catch-all Generation Y phrase, "discovering myself."
No, the kind of difficulty many people encounter with this kind of mentality is more basic than that. They simply don't know what their passions are.
Because truth be told, not everyone springs from the womb knowing what they've been put on God's Green Earth to do.
Most people struggle to figure out what they truly want, and that's okay. It felt oddly relieving to read the piece, knowing that my uncertainties as of late haven't had anything (well, not as much anyway) to do with being able to recognize the next steps.
They've come from realizing that those steps aren't even yet formed because, well, how can you select building blocks if you don't have a rough sketch of what you're building? We're talking the difference between constructing a bridge and a skyscraper, really.
I've always thought that I've led such a blessed live. And I do. A loving family, great friends, and the relative freedom to live on my own terms. I'm working as an editor in New York City, getting paid to write, the thing I love.
The thing I love.
It sounds like living the dream - when in reality I sometimes wonder if maybe I'm just snoozing.
The author's argument was that for those who don't have a defined passion in life and feel frustrated that they're somehow missing something by not having an established goal, sometimes the best thing is to build skills and grow passion that way, the same way you might coax an avocado seed to sprout.
Sure, I'm passionate about writing, but it's always been more about storytelling, the unsolicited thoughts that turn into words, phrases, sentences, stories as they travel from my noggin down to my fingertips.
It's always been about the quality of thought, the satisfaction of learning and doing and being a part of the process while maintaining enough of a distance to be objective. Be a perpetual observer, eavesdropper, dreamer.
Romanticized, maybe, but this is what writing has always been to me, and what - by extension - journalism has always been to me.
Being able to construct sentences and transfer my emotions to another human being without having ever met them, know how they look or think or feel - that is powerful. That has been what I pride myself in being able to do as a writer.
So now the real question is this: how/where can I develop my skill set to become the kind of writer that can claim writing as my passion? I believe it's a talent that can (and will) be learned and I'm more sure now more than ever (just after writing this, oddly enough) that I know what I need to do to take that next step.
Then, maybe, the rest will follow.
Showing posts with label journalism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journalism. Show all posts
05 October 2012
06 March 2012
Detachment
Just screened an incredibly gritty film "Detachment," with Adrien Brody and Christina Hendricks, for a piece I'm writing for the Daily News. A few quotes jumped out and struck a chord with me.
"To deliberately believe in lies while knowing they're false - that's doublespeak." This is also why we read, to cultivate our own beliefs.
"It is easy to be callous. It takes courage and character to care."
"Do you see me?"
"Some days, we have limited space for others."
"No one wants to think about the struggle it takes to be somebody."
"We guide our young so they don't become insignificant."
10 December 2011
Day, shift
How do you describe what it feels like to rejoin society, to reconstruct what was formerly habit into routine into lifestyle? At times I feel like I haven't left the conventional daytime work hours at all, but at the same time - so much has happened in this past year that it's impossible to discount the memories.
It's kinda like this. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain in the pitch dark is terrifying when you can't identify what's around you. Your brain panics and it feels as though your imagination will run wild for miles into a million different directions. And you're literally just stuck.
It's hard to even tentatively move any which way because you don't know what the rules of this place that you occupy are - what if living in that space defies some law of physics? What do you reach toward when you're without direction?
Having an odd schedule, I often felt a mild variation of that. Working on a different timetable from the rest of the world was like being in the dark, with barely recognizable figures, reaching out into pitch black spaces. It's difficult to gauge where you are relative to everything, get a sense of rank or placement, when you are bound to one spot.
A starting point.
From there on, however, wherever you move to, it'd still be uncertain. But at least you'd know that it was okay to move. It didn't matter which way, but you could...MOVE.
This past year, whether of my own volition or because it really was the case, I've felt caught. Stuck. Immobile. And frustrated because I questioned whether I was the one who was creating and contributing to my own mental block without realizing it.
The thing is, if you can define the root of a problem as either internal or external, you can do something about it. But if you balance on the precipice of "it's you, not me," then you don't know the rules. And then you don't know how to react.
People say to react to how you feel. I say it's more important to feel how you act.
Really feel it.
Absorb all the consequences of what it means and why you did it and what will propel you to do it again.
This past year has truly been unlike anything I have ever been through before. I was at times lonely, frustrated, self-conscious, prideful, stubborn, jealous, possessive. I think I saw myself at some pretty low points, but I also think that forced me to venture out and feel my way back toward a semblance of a self-created path.
And though I'm treading lightly, at least I'm moving.
How bout them directions?
Just last year, a few weeks into my new schedule at the time, I wrote about how it felt to be living in opposition to the mainstream, to have my own bubble of New York life. And rereading it now, the sentences still ring true.
Solitude will be my best learning tool.
It's easy to get lost in New York City. But last night/this morning, as I glanced over my shoulder at bedroom lights flickering on in high rises as I crossed the bridge, people starting the day just as I was about to end it, I felt found. Their dawn is my dusk. My reality is only, really, in my head. And I was very much aware that I was coming home -- on my own terms.
It's easy to get lost in New York City. But last night/this morning, as I glanced over my shoulder at bedroom lights flickering on in high rises as I crossed the bridge, people starting the day just as I was about to end it, I felt found. Their dawn is my dusk. My reality is only, really, in my head. And I was very much aware that I was coming home -- on my own terms.
Here's to personal realities, and redefining them over and over again.
26 February 2011
The Ego of Journalism
Are true artists those who forgo ego altogether and just seek to inspire and influence other people's ways of thinking or is that just too idealistic, as art is at its essence tied to that person's self? The beauty of art and writing and any form of creative expression is not just that it exists, but that its creation is so intricately tied up with its creator's point of view.
What do you lose by giving up claims on your own work?
Being a journalist in this day and age is a constant uphill battle, and I don't say this in a "woe is me" sort of way, though I know it can come off as such. Rather, it's a time when ego and aggregate and production are all amorphous terms trying to describe this network formerly known as the news.
Part of creativity, admittedly, is ego, the ability to claim your work as your own without being too proud or pretentious, to demand a byline while still understanding that that's not the point at the end of the day.
But isn't this the debate that's raging on in corner offices all throughout the city? How do you keep up with the business-side demands of an industry that runs on timeliness, competition and "winning" while still producing quality content that people are willing to pay for? What's obvious, and what's annoying to said executives, is that quality takes time. Taste takes time.
If you want instant, quick-fixes, you have Twitter. You have typos. You have news feeds. You have questionable sources and shoddy reporting. You get email interviews, not in-person, shoe-leather investigations.
The ease with which everyone is able to find information and regurgitate it for all to see these days makes journalism a lesser-regarded form of art, and I think this is just so unfortunate. When people make off-handed comments about how "anyone" with a computer, an Internet connection and two thoughts in their head can become a journalist, I'm pretty insulted.
The truth is, the days when journalists only knew how to write and report and edit are over. Storytelling isn't so much the focus any more so much as it is a certain kind of afterthought, or so it feels like sometimes. Nowadays, being a journalist is more about competition, hits and clicks, the number of papers sold each morning. It's about "winning" but not in the classical way - it's not so much who's the best, who has the most depth, as it is just the most mentions, retweets, page views - numbers that are the driving force behind the industry, but also, really arbitrary.
What is quality journalism? And can the craft survive in a world that is quickly rendering it a trade?
What do you lose by giving up claims on your own work?
Being a journalist in this day and age is a constant uphill battle, and I don't say this in a "woe is me" sort of way, though I know it can come off as such. Rather, it's a time when ego and aggregate and production are all amorphous terms trying to describe this network formerly known as the news.
Part of creativity, admittedly, is ego, the ability to claim your work as your own without being too proud or pretentious, to demand a byline while still understanding that that's not the point at the end of the day.
But isn't this the debate that's raging on in corner offices all throughout the city? How do you keep up with the business-side demands of an industry that runs on timeliness, competition and "winning" while still producing quality content that people are willing to pay for? What's obvious, and what's annoying to said executives, is that quality takes time. Taste takes time.
If you want instant, quick-fixes, you have Twitter. You have typos. You have news feeds. You have questionable sources and shoddy reporting. You get email interviews, not in-person, shoe-leather investigations.
The ease with which everyone is able to find information and regurgitate it for all to see these days makes journalism a lesser-regarded form of art, and I think this is just so unfortunate. When people make off-handed comments about how "anyone" with a computer, an Internet connection and two thoughts in their head can become a journalist, I'm pretty insulted.
The truth is, the days when journalists only knew how to write and report and edit are over. Storytelling isn't so much the focus any more so much as it is a certain kind of afterthought, or so it feels like sometimes. Nowadays, being a journalist is more about competition, hits and clicks, the number of papers sold each morning. It's about "winning" but not in the classical way - it's not so much who's the best, who has the most depth, as it is just the most mentions, retweets, page views - numbers that are the driving force behind the industry, but also, really arbitrary.
What is quality journalism? And can the craft survive in a world that is quickly rendering it a trade?
22 June 2010
Self-promotion
Part of my "job," if you will, for this next month and a half, is to really rediscover my voice as a writer. Easier said than done, right? I've been sorting through old clips and pieces in order to compile them into one easy-access site for future reference, and I think doing this has brought about several conclusions.
First, I have a long way to go to get to the point I want to be at (story of life, right?). And the first step on this unpredictable path toward voice is practice. I'm going to try to push myself to write and produce more than I have before, take a more active role in the process.
Second, the reason why finding my voice is so important is so that I can better communicate my ideas; what good are thoughts if you can't share them and bounce them off others? What use is a concept that isn't brought into fruition? A thought is a thought is a thought if you never do anything about it.
Third, and perhaps most important of all -- this break in the past month has caused me to reevaluate a lot of things, chief among them, what skill set I can bring to the table. I admire so much people who've created for themselves an entire library of "Things I can do" and am just now starting to realize that I've spent too much time on the bookshelves and not enough time on the books themselves. I'm preparing but not doing, and while luck favors the prepared mind, I want to be sure I can take that next step once luck comes a-courtin'.
All this to say -- I'll be updating a lot more regularly from now on, and keeping my word too. Count on it!
P.S. -- If you can spare a moment, several of my pieces for The Avocado Jungle. Thoughts, in ordered format.
First, I have a long way to go to get to the point I want to be at (story of life, right?). And the first step on this unpredictable path toward voice is practice. I'm going to try to push myself to write and produce more than I have before, take a more active role in the process.
Second, the reason why finding my voice is so important is so that I can better communicate my ideas; what good are thoughts if you can't share them and bounce them off others? What use is a concept that isn't brought into fruition? A thought is a thought is a thought if you never do anything about it.
Third, and perhaps most important of all -- this break in the past month has caused me to reevaluate a lot of things, chief among them, what skill set I can bring to the table. I admire so much people who've created for themselves an entire library of "Things I can do" and am just now starting to realize that I've spent too much time on the bookshelves and not enough time on the books themselves. I'm preparing but not doing, and while luck favors the prepared mind, I want to be sure I can take that next step once luck comes a-courtin'.
All this to say -- I'll be updating a lot more regularly from now on, and keeping my word too. Count on it!
P.S. -- If you can spare a moment, several of my pieces for The Avocado Jungle. Thoughts, in ordered format.
17 April 2010
Underground
And another! I swear, I'm just posting these for easy reference later on down the line but MAN does this bring back memories.
Underground bars, please.
Underground bars, please.
Anger management
Hilarious. Am going through all my clips to compile for my site (ETA TBD), and found this online.
It's been a while, but I do miss the days of snagging empty offices instead of having my own as an intern at LAMag. Whenever a writer would return unexpectedly to the office, I'd be given the polite nod and be expected to grab all my stuff and slink back into the hallway to find another empty office to occupy.
Classy.
It's been a while, but I do miss the days of snagging empty offices instead of having my own as an intern at LAMag. Whenever a writer would return unexpectedly to the office, I'd be given the polite nod and be expected to grab all my stuff and slink back into the hallway to find another empty office to occupy.
Classy.
02 April 2010
23 February 2010
Olympic fervor
I love love love watching the Olympics. There is so much passion and so many narratives packed into each sporting event, and the stakes are always high. The underachieving kid who opened up through skiing, the skater whose win will justify her coach's losses, the athlete who will champion on just two days after her mother's death -- there is something so human and relatable about the people who compete. Nations band together to support their athletes, but even if the competition is fierce, the general sense of goodwill is ever-present.
Watching the Games also makes me a little bit wistful, though. The reason why kids love athletes and look up to them so much, George Clooney's character said once upon a time, is because they went after their dreams.
The reason why athletes are so revered in society is because they're doing what most college grads working in cubicles can only dream of doing -- they made their hobby the main event. They train for 48-hours weeks. Stretching, sprinting, skating -- that's their job. How incredible does that sound?
In running into people from all different backgrounds in New York, working in a myriad of fields, I feel so fortunate to be able to respond immediately when people ask "Do you like what you do?"
I do.
I think being surrounded by journalists and writers all the time can blur my concept of what it means to do what you love. Journalists may have chosen their profession for a number of reasons, but money wasn't likely one of them. This automatically means that the vast majority of journalists aren't at their job just to "pay the bills" -- they must (and usually do) get a great deal of joy from their work.
It sure isn't on par with Olympic athletes, but working in the journalism field is a little bit like making it into that small demographic of dream-catchers. You put up with the instability, the long hours and the insane projects because you love every minute of it, and realize that living your dream is a most indescribable rush. Then you spend the rest of your life trying to tell others (by means of stories, written or told) how amazing and exhausting your job is.
It's a pretty great narrative.
Watching the Games also makes me a little bit wistful, though. The reason why kids love athletes and look up to them so much, George Clooney's character said once upon a time, is because they went after their dreams.
The reason why athletes are so revered in society is because they're doing what most college grads working in cubicles can only dream of doing -- they made their hobby the main event. They train for 48-hours weeks. Stretching, sprinting, skating -- that's their job. How incredible does that sound?
In running into people from all different backgrounds in New York, working in a myriad of fields, I feel so fortunate to be able to respond immediately when people ask "Do you like what you do?"
I do.
I think being surrounded by journalists and writers all the time can blur my concept of what it means to do what you love. Journalists may have chosen their profession for a number of reasons, but money wasn't likely one of them. This automatically means that the vast majority of journalists aren't at their job just to "pay the bills" -- they must (and usually do) get a great deal of joy from their work.
It sure isn't on par with Olympic athletes, but working in the journalism field is a little bit like making it into that small demographic of dream-catchers. You put up with the instability, the long hours and the insane projects because you love every minute of it, and realize that living your dream is a most indescribable rush. Then you spend the rest of your life trying to tell others (by means of stories, written or told) how amazing and exhausting your job is.
It's a pretty great narrative.
14 February 2010
Plans, A-Zed
Having a Plan B is more harmful than helpful in the long run. True or false? I've been thinking a bit about this, and about whether my conclusions to this query are even valid given that I'm coming from a (largely) unrealistic mindset, one wherein I have the privilege of having a "rich man's troubles."
By this, I mean that having the option to pursue something I want to do in life is a luxury. I realize this all too well. Not everyone is blessed with the opportunity of choice. For most of the world, it's sink or swim. If you don't like what you're doing, tough noogies because someone has to make money to support the household, and your happiness comes secondary after security.
But in the grand scope of things, does having a back-up plan actually harm you, regardless of whether or not it's practical? Having a back-up to anything is like subconsciously telling yourself that the first option won't work out. Why would you need a second choice if the first one is the right one?
Choice, I think, can seriously hinder our ability to adapt (and I can't tell yet if this is a good or bad thing...am currently trying to think through it). Our Plan A is always going to be that dream, that almost-out-of-reach goal that we strive to attain. It's our Plan A because it's what we would want in a perfect world, be it a career, a relationship, or a life path, and moreover, it's that thrill of the chase that makes it a Plan A. Our Plan B is always something that we're willing to settle for, that we agree upon with a "Well, that wouldn't be so bad."
And not to say that this is necessarily a bad thing, but realistically speaking (ha!), this is like saying that you didn't have the persistence, the passion or the patience to see Plan A all the way through. You opted to take an easier path and will likely spend your energy justifying it to yourself. Having options means never having to change and adapt, and if life isn't about changing or adapting, then what is it about?
Learning is never supposed to happen in comfort. Plan B represents stability, safety and sometimes...stagnation. Growing up and being in your 20s is about pursuing Plan A. I remember that line from "Up in the Air," when Clooney's Ryan Bingham told his firee (guy he was firing, I'm sure that's a word somehow...) that the reason why kids admire athletes so much is because they followed their dreams. There's a dignity and a drama to that.
When people tell me to be "realistic" or ask about whether or not my job is "real," I never know how to respond. I am being realistic. So were and are all the people who have been able to create their own definitions of reality. If you don't like something, change it. And to me, having a "real" job is not tied to the definition of clocking in and clocking out as per "standard." A "real" job doesn't have to be one that you're miserable at -- I think the idea that someone would actually like going into work is counterintuitive to most; it was also considered abnormal to "like" homework, wasn't it?
But in moving to New York, I meet people who love their work just as often as I meet those who detest it. And to me, I know which group I want to fall into. The goal was never to settle into something comfortable. The goal was always to learn and live fully every day. Maybe this is naive, but that's my Plan A.
And I don't know or really care to have a Plan B past that.
By this, I mean that having the option to pursue something I want to do in life is a luxury. I realize this all too well. Not everyone is blessed with the opportunity of choice. For most of the world, it's sink or swim. If you don't like what you're doing, tough noogies because someone has to make money to support the household, and your happiness comes secondary after security.
But in the grand scope of things, does having a back-up plan actually harm you, regardless of whether or not it's practical? Having a back-up to anything is like subconsciously telling yourself that the first option won't work out. Why would you need a second choice if the first one is the right one?
Choice, I think, can seriously hinder our ability to adapt (and I can't tell yet if this is a good or bad thing...am currently trying to think through it). Our Plan A is always going to be that dream, that almost-out-of-reach goal that we strive to attain. It's our Plan A because it's what we would want in a perfect world, be it a career, a relationship, or a life path, and moreover, it's that thrill of the chase that makes it a Plan A. Our Plan B is always something that we're willing to settle for, that we agree upon with a "Well, that wouldn't be so bad."
And not to say that this is necessarily a bad thing, but realistically speaking (ha!), this is like saying that you didn't have the persistence, the passion or the patience to see Plan A all the way through. You opted to take an easier path and will likely spend your energy justifying it to yourself. Having options means never having to change and adapt, and if life isn't about changing or adapting, then what is it about?
Learning is never supposed to happen in comfort. Plan B represents stability, safety and sometimes...stagnation. Growing up and being in your 20s is about pursuing Plan A. I remember that line from "Up in the Air," when Clooney's Ryan Bingham told his firee (guy he was firing, I'm sure that's a word somehow...) that the reason why kids admire athletes so much is because they followed their dreams. There's a dignity and a drama to that.
When people tell me to be "realistic" or ask about whether or not my job is "real," I never know how to respond. I am being realistic. So were and are all the people who have been able to create their own definitions of reality. If you don't like something, change it. And to me, having a "real" job is not tied to the definition of clocking in and clocking out as per "standard." A "real" job doesn't have to be one that you're miserable at -- I think the idea that someone would actually like going into work is counterintuitive to most; it was also considered abnormal to "like" homework, wasn't it?
But in moving to New York, I meet people who love their work just as often as I meet those who detest it. And to me, I know which group I want to fall into. The goal was never to settle into something comfortable. The goal was always to learn and live fully every day. Maybe this is naive, but that's my Plan A.
And I don't know or really care to have a Plan B past that.
15 January 2010
13 January 2010
Why she writes
So. I don't even remember how or why I came across this, but I somehow ended up enraptured by this Joan Didion piece titled "Why I Write" while at work today. I've read bits of it before, but never the piece in its entirety.
I've been thinking a lot lately about WHY I want to pursue journalism (especially in this financial, and let's face it, social, climate), because my answer used to be pretty basic. Because I love to meet new people, and I love to write. I feel more comfortable expressing myself through writing than speaking. I'm not a math whiz, and my desire to have a standard 9-5 is negligible at best.
But those aren't good enough reasons, really. I'm still trying to figure out a more solid answer, but until then, these are the bits that really gave me pause:
"During the years when I was an undergraduate at Berkeley I tried, with a kind of hopeless late-adolescent energy, to buy some temporary visa into the world of ideas, to forge for myself a mind that could deal with the abstract. In short I tried to think. I failed. My attention veered inexorably back to the specific, to the tangible, to what was generally considered, by everyone I knew then and for that matter have known since, the peripheral."
"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want to what I fear."
"Grammar is a piano I play by ear, since I seem to have been out of school the year the rules were mentioned. All i know of grammar is its infinite power. To shift the structure of a sentence alters the meaning of that sentence, as definitely and inflexibly as the position of a camera alters the meaning ofthe object being photographed. Many people know about camera angles now, but not so many know about sentences. The arrangement of words matters, and the arrangement you want can be found in the picture in your mind. The picture dictates the arrangement. The picture dictates whether this will be a sentence with or without clauses, a sentence that ends hard or a dying-fall sentence, long or short, active or passive. The picture tells you how to arrange words and the arrangement of the words tells you, or tells me, what's going on in the picture Nota bene:
It tells you.
You don't tell it."
"Who was this narrator? Why was this narrator telling me this story? Let me tell you one thing about why writers write: had I known the answer to any of these questions I would never have needed to write a novel."
I've been thinking a lot lately about WHY I want to pursue journalism (especially in this financial, and let's face it, social, climate), because my answer used to be pretty basic. Because I love to meet new people, and I love to write. I feel more comfortable expressing myself through writing than speaking. I'm not a math whiz, and my desire to have a standard 9-5 is negligible at best.
But those aren't good enough reasons, really. I'm still trying to figure out a more solid answer, but until then, these are the bits that really gave me pause:
"During the years when I was an undergraduate at Berkeley I tried, with a kind of hopeless late-adolescent energy, to buy some temporary visa into the world of ideas, to forge for myself a mind that could deal with the abstract. In short I tried to think. I failed. My attention veered inexorably back to the specific, to the tangible, to what was generally considered, by everyone I knew then and for that matter have known since, the peripheral."
"I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want to what I fear."
"Grammar is a piano I play by ear, since I seem to have been out of school the year the rules were mentioned. All i know of grammar is its infinite power. To shift the structure of a sentence alters the meaning of that sentence, as definitely and inflexibly as the position of a camera alters the meaning ofthe object being photographed. Many people know about camera angles now, but not so many know about sentences. The arrangement of words matters, and the arrangement you want can be found in the picture in your mind. The picture dictates the arrangement. The picture dictates whether this will be a sentence with or without clauses, a sentence that ends hard or a dying-fall sentence, long or short, active or passive. The picture tells you how to arrange words and the arrangement of the words tells you, or tells me, what's going on in the picture Nota bene:
It tells you.
You don't tell it."
"Who was this narrator? Why was this narrator telling me this story? Let me tell you one thing about why writers write: had I known the answer to any of these questions I would never have needed to write a novel."
26 September 2009
Lessons from New Haven
If there's one thing to be said about journalism and New York and settling into your 20s, it's that every day is a test of your comfort zone. Be it venturing into a different part of town or approaching new faces, your role as a West Coast transplant in an East Coast environment consists of always toe-ing the line between the familiar and the unfamiliar, pushing boundaries all the while. This is the time and the place to learn by trial and error, after all.
This I figured out quickly in New Haven.
When I left the city to report this past weekend (already a week ago!), I knew that I would have to bring my A-game. Working on my own (save for the two other reporters who were equally busy on their own wild goose chases) meant channeling any and all of my past experiences as a student journalist and, well, as a human being, into trying to interview reluctant sources.
I thought that 22 years of life would bring with them a certain amount of intuition, but after spending three and a half days trying to get hesitant students to speak with me, I realized that intuition or not, I'm still in an industry wherein my livelihood depends upon the whims of others.
My livelihood. Depends. Upon the whims. Of others.
Whether or not I get a story doesn't come down to an algorithm or a certain number of hours put into a given project. Whether or not I'm able to deliver a final, quality product to my editor depends upon how good I am at convincing sources that what they know is worthy of public knowledge.
I have to not only get other people to talk, I have to know just how to speak myself.
And it's a dangerous balance to find, isn't it? Journalists have that reputation of backstabbing and manipulating for the sake of a juicy story, and it's one that, though an exaggeration, is definitely based on a certain amount of truth.
With an editor at your back urging you to file your latest findings, it's often hard to admit that you've turned up nothing. That you've spent days gently talking to sources and trying to cultivate a relationship so that they will trust you enough to talk - all for naught. When push comes to shove, I can see now how easy it is to just grasp at a few small leads and blow them out of proportion, sensationalize what little bit of news there is to be had.
Reporting in New Haven last weekend was a learning experience. The frustration I felt in trying to convince sources to speak to me, knocking on doors and making phone calls, visiting organizations and juggling emails, was nothing compared to the fear and uneasiness felt by an entire community following the brutal on-campus murder. In speaking with members of the neighboring areas, I became absorbed in their concerns, their wary attitudes, their adamant stance against imposing journalists.
I was hooked.
I trolled news sites and watched the news from my hotel room into the late hours of the night, trying to find some way to understand the crime, the people, the story that was unraveling nervously for the public to see.
And what I found in all my research, and through days of speaking with community members, was that autonomy and respect are the two things that every person demands. Deprive people of either and they don't want to open up.
I never used to be good at talking to people, and I still work on it constantly. I grew up ultra quiet, always fading into backgrounds and opting to observe rather than partake. That phrase, "think before you speak"? I think I just never progressed from one stage to the next.
So I can understand the comfort it must be to stay silent. Many of the people I spoke with didn't want to go into details because they were afraid they might be wrong. Others thought it best to steer clear of the story altogether. They were all still processing the horrific events in their head, and to have the media show up and try to pry open their mouths to speak was - abrasive, to say the least.
When I fell into journalism during freshman year of college, I was pushed quite rudely out of my comfort zone. One part of the trade is listening and watching. The other part, the part I needed so badly to learn, was to speak, to initiate, to project. And goodness knows that once I started, I just couldn't stop - now I can rattle on for hours, and sometimes I talk to strangers just to test myself (not heeding those childhood warnings, I suppose), to see if I can still talk to and relate to people at random.
A part of me went into New Haven a little too confident that I would be able to speak to the people that no one else could get to, because I assumed that I had honed speaking to strangers to a tee.
What I hadn't counted on was that training and intuition aside, what I didn't have was experience - crucial on all counts. While nothing previous could have fully prepared me for the tiring nature of the 24-hour reporting, a few more life experiences definitely would have shown me just where I could push and where I should back off.
This is the stuff they just can't teach you in the classroom, and the reason I can't wait to keep learning. Each time I expand my comfort zone it means I have to push that much harder to break free of it.
This I figured out quickly in New Haven.
When I left the city to report this past weekend (already a week ago!), I knew that I would have to bring my A-game. Working on my own (save for the two other reporters who were equally busy on their own wild goose chases) meant channeling any and all of my past experiences as a student journalist and, well, as a human being, into trying to interview reluctant sources.
I thought that 22 years of life would bring with them a certain amount of intuition, but after spending three and a half days trying to get hesitant students to speak with me, I realized that intuition or not, I'm still in an industry wherein my livelihood depends upon the whims of others.
My livelihood. Depends. Upon the whims. Of others.
Whether or not I get a story doesn't come down to an algorithm or a certain number of hours put into a given project. Whether or not I'm able to deliver a final, quality product to my editor depends upon how good I am at convincing sources that what they know is worthy of public knowledge.
I have to not only get other people to talk, I have to know just how to speak myself.
And it's a dangerous balance to find, isn't it? Journalists have that reputation of backstabbing and manipulating for the sake of a juicy story, and it's one that, though an exaggeration, is definitely based on a certain amount of truth.
With an editor at your back urging you to file your latest findings, it's often hard to admit that you've turned up nothing. That you've spent days gently talking to sources and trying to cultivate a relationship so that they will trust you enough to talk - all for naught. When push comes to shove, I can see now how easy it is to just grasp at a few small leads and blow them out of proportion, sensationalize what little bit of news there is to be had.
Reporting in New Haven last weekend was a learning experience. The frustration I felt in trying to convince sources to speak to me, knocking on doors and making phone calls, visiting organizations and juggling emails, was nothing compared to the fear and uneasiness felt by an entire community following the brutal on-campus murder. In speaking with members of the neighboring areas, I became absorbed in their concerns, their wary attitudes, their adamant stance against imposing journalists.
I was hooked.
I trolled news sites and watched the news from my hotel room into the late hours of the night, trying to find some way to understand the crime, the people, the story that was unraveling nervously for the public to see.
And what I found in all my research, and through days of speaking with community members, was that autonomy and respect are the two things that every person demands. Deprive people of either and they don't want to open up.
I never used to be good at talking to people, and I still work on it constantly. I grew up ultra quiet, always fading into backgrounds and opting to observe rather than partake. That phrase, "think before you speak"? I think I just never progressed from one stage to the next.
So I can understand the comfort it must be to stay silent. Many of the people I spoke with didn't want to go into details because they were afraid they might be wrong. Others thought it best to steer clear of the story altogether. They were all still processing the horrific events in their head, and to have the media show up and try to pry open their mouths to speak was - abrasive, to say the least.
When I fell into journalism during freshman year of college, I was pushed quite rudely out of my comfort zone. One part of the trade is listening and watching. The other part, the part I needed so badly to learn, was to speak, to initiate, to project. And goodness knows that once I started, I just couldn't stop - now I can rattle on for hours, and sometimes I talk to strangers just to test myself (not heeding those childhood warnings, I suppose), to see if I can still talk to and relate to people at random.
A part of me went into New Haven a little too confident that I would be able to speak to the people that no one else could get to, because I assumed that I had honed speaking to strangers to a tee.
What I hadn't counted on was that training and intuition aside, what I didn't have was experience - crucial on all counts. While nothing previous could have fully prepared me for the tiring nature of the 24-hour reporting, a few more life experiences definitely would have shown me just where I could push and where I should back off.
This is the stuff they just can't teach you in the classroom, and the reason I can't wait to keep learning. Each time I expand my comfort zone it means I have to push that much harder to break free of it.
18 September 2009
08 September 2009
Musical chairs
Sometimes I feel like I'm playing musical chairs with my life. I made a comment to a friend the other day that my life is just one continuous stream of side notes. There's a continuous trek toward a somewhere and a something, but the vast majority of my experiences thus far have been detours, and part of me wonders when and if I'll be on a clear path anytime soon.
I mean, I'm fine either way if I will or if I won't, but some days I just wish I knew. Because it would be a lot more convenient that way.
I say musical chairs because at present, I'm balancing a few things simultaneously, and my efforts and attention seem to move pretty consistently through each project, though they can never cover all bases simultaneously. I'm still working at People (thank goodness), but am job-hunting and freelancing on the side, as well as editing for an online publication and studying for the GRE. I'm working on starting a magazine (which is a stop-and-go process), and trying to compile all my clips into a comprehensive personal site and business card.
Needless to say, days are long but weeks are fast.
It's like this immense, weighty guessing game. Round and round and round I go, where I'll stop, nobody knows. I'm trying to prepare for every possible situation at once and have a foot semi-firmly planted in different options should the opportunities arise, but it's pretty dang tiring.
Graduate school? I'd love to get a masters in education somewhere down the line, but don't know that I'm in the right mindset for that just now. The GRE is a preparation for it, though.
Working at People? It would be SUCH a fantastic opportunity, and I love working there so much, but I know that the way the economy and the industry is, I can't put all my eggs in one basket.
Freelancing? It's a tough lifestyle, and something I always saw as more of a supplement than a full-time investment. I've got ideas, but it's a hard sell getting publications to want and need them at just the right time.
Applying to other publications? Honing my skills at my present job means I focus all my attention on that, and am usually too tired to think about applications or interviews otherwise. It's a necessary thing, though, and so I'm working on it.
Creating a magazine? This is the ultimate dream, but because there aren't instant results, it's obviously slower to take flight. When there are so many other things that seem to take precedence over this "personal project," it's easy to lose site of the ultimate goal, which would be really creating something with all my heart.
There are so many paths to take, so many chairs to edge around. Because when the music stops, I want to be sure to get a seat - which one is irrelevant.
This might sound strange, but in this case, I just don't want to be left the last one standing.
I mean, I'm fine either way if I will or if I won't, but some days I just wish I knew. Because it would be a lot more convenient that way.
I say musical chairs because at present, I'm balancing a few things simultaneously, and my efforts and attention seem to move pretty consistently through each project, though they can never cover all bases simultaneously. I'm still working at People (thank goodness), but am job-hunting and freelancing on the side, as well as editing for an online publication and studying for the GRE. I'm working on starting a magazine (which is a stop-and-go process), and trying to compile all my clips into a comprehensive personal site and business card.
Needless to say, days are long but weeks are fast.
It's like this immense, weighty guessing game. Round and round and round I go, where I'll stop, nobody knows. I'm trying to prepare for every possible situation at once and have a foot semi-firmly planted in different options should the opportunities arise, but it's pretty dang tiring.
Graduate school? I'd love to get a masters in education somewhere down the line, but don't know that I'm in the right mindset for that just now. The GRE is a preparation for it, though.
Working at People? It would be SUCH a fantastic opportunity, and I love working there so much, but I know that the way the economy and the industry is, I can't put all my eggs in one basket.
Freelancing? It's a tough lifestyle, and something I always saw as more of a supplement than a full-time investment. I've got ideas, but it's a hard sell getting publications to want and need them at just the right time.
Applying to other publications? Honing my skills at my present job means I focus all my attention on that, and am usually too tired to think about applications or interviews otherwise. It's a necessary thing, though, and so I'm working on it.
Creating a magazine? This is the ultimate dream, but because there aren't instant results, it's obviously slower to take flight. When there are so many other things that seem to take precedence over this "personal project," it's easy to lose site of the ultimate goal, which would be really creating something with all my heart.
There are so many paths to take, so many chairs to edge around. Because when the music stops, I want to be sure to get a seat - which one is irrelevant.
This might sound strange, but in this case, I just don't want to be left the last one standing.
15 August 2009
Why journalism?
Given the current economic climate and the state of the publishing industry, I feel like this question is being addressed in an increasingly urgent manner - by not only its consumers but also its creators. Why spend money on print material in the form of newspapers and magazines when you can just as readily (and more inexpensively) access the NYTimes online or surf your favorite specialty blog? What's the point of having a profession dedicated to a written report of the news when people are becoming their own news aggregators via Twitter and Facebook?
What's the big necessity of quality journalism these days anyways? Who cares?
I've been thinking a lot about this for a while (as I'm sure every recent J-school grad has been), and I hope I don't sound too naive or dramatic when I insist that journalists are as necessary to society as, say, politicians. Or doctors and lawyers. Or engineers and celebrities (yes, the latter are necessary too...usually).
These past few weeks, I've been working on several projects that require me to dig deep into the archives of People and unearth some articles of prominent American figures and other huge news events. And there's definitely something to be said about holding a hard copy of a 1979 magazine, poring over the pages in search of the one detail in the presidential interview that could make or break a major news story now.
There's such a sense of history and weightiness to having a solid product that just can't be replicated by shoveling through piles of e-magazines and archived digital files. When things are written for magazines or newspapers, they're out there for good. There's a sense of credibility to the words that writers use when they put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) that can't be undermined by a few strokes of the "delete" key and completely changed (or deleted) online.
And seriously, this is literally news in the making. It's a huge responsibility and a huge thrill to think that the decisions made around the table at each morning meeting - what will go on the cover, what stories and photos to run - these are the decisions that will help to shape a generation and a culture.
I realize that I'm not saving lives. Or creating energy-saving household goods. Or impacting society in a way that is deemed "heroic" - but at the end of the day, I spread knowledge, and that's the best way I know to contribute using what skills I've acquired over the years. And I know that writing, from an outsider's perspective, isn't really a "career path" to take; it's more of a hobby. But I've discovered in my four years at USC, and again now as a reporter for People, that honing the craft and being able to relate otherwise untouchable subjects in a clear, honest way to readers is something that's rewarding in and of itself, paycheck aside.
In questioning the future of journalism, and to a more selfish extent, my own future with journalism, I talked to a lot of seasoned editors and writers to get their take on starting out anew at this point in time. And the thing is that they were optimistic, encouraging about the possibilities I would come across in this ever-changing journalism landscape.
Being a part of the transition means helping to shape where journalism is going, and helping to shape journalism means helping to create the boundaries and safeguards that dictate where society flows down the line too.
Call it power-tripping or realistic revelation, but either way, it's a good way to go.
Another thing that journalism vets always emphasize is this:
There's no reason to do journalism and stick with it if not for the passion.
There's not a whole lot of money to be had, save for a select few who have paid their dues and worked their way up. The hours are insane - news doesn't sleep when normal people do. It's easy to fall victim to the workaholic syndrome because stories and reliance on other people can so inexplicably take precedence over your social life and family life. Really, if you take the genuine passion of conveying a human story, an emotion or a reaction out of the journalism equation, the picture looks pretty dang grim.
So when people ask me, "Why journalism?" I really take it to heart and think about why I'm investing so much in an industry that seems to return so little.
And the truth is that the same way completing a study or watching a class graduate is rewarding for scientists and teachers, respectively, being able to constantly learn and grow as a person "for a career" is more a return than I could have ever asked for.
Despite everything that's shifting and changing in society right now, none of it would matter if it weren't documented. And I don't mean in a quick Tweet or a few Facebook photo albums. I mean in publications that have continued to reinvent themselves and fight against critics who say that the new wave of "journalism" is all user-based and unmanageable. When you look back 20 , 30, 40 years from now and want to remember what happened when Obama won the presidency, you'll look to old Tweets and status updates and blogs to see individual reactions, sure.
But it's up to journalists to capture the mood of an entire nation and society at a specific moment in time.
...and that's why, journalism.
What's the big necessity of quality journalism these days anyways? Who cares?
I've been thinking a lot about this for a while (as I'm sure every recent J-school grad has been), and I hope I don't sound too naive or dramatic when I insist that journalists are as necessary to society as, say, politicians. Or doctors and lawyers. Or engineers and celebrities (yes, the latter are necessary too...usually).
These past few weeks, I've been working on several projects that require me to dig deep into the archives of People and unearth some articles of prominent American figures and other huge news events. And there's definitely something to be said about holding a hard copy of a 1979 magazine, poring over the pages in search of the one detail in the presidential interview that could make or break a major news story now.
There's such a sense of history and weightiness to having a solid product that just can't be replicated by shoveling through piles of e-magazines and archived digital files. When things are written for magazines or newspapers, they're out there for good. There's a sense of credibility to the words that writers use when they put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) that can't be undermined by a few strokes of the "delete" key and completely changed (or deleted) online.
And seriously, this is literally news in the making. It's a huge responsibility and a huge thrill to think that the decisions made around the table at each morning meeting - what will go on the cover, what stories and photos to run - these are the decisions that will help to shape a generation and a culture.
I realize that I'm not saving lives. Or creating energy-saving household goods. Or impacting society in a way that is deemed "heroic" - but at the end of the day, I spread knowledge, and that's the best way I know to contribute using what skills I've acquired over the years. And I know that writing, from an outsider's perspective, isn't really a "career path" to take; it's more of a hobby. But I've discovered in my four years at USC, and again now as a reporter for People, that honing the craft and being able to relate otherwise untouchable subjects in a clear, honest way to readers is something that's rewarding in and of itself, paycheck aside.
In questioning the future of journalism, and to a more selfish extent, my own future with journalism, I talked to a lot of seasoned editors and writers to get their take on starting out anew at this point in time. And the thing is that they were optimistic, encouraging about the possibilities I would come across in this ever-changing journalism landscape.
Being a part of the transition means helping to shape where journalism is going, and helping to shape journalism means helping to create the boundaries and safeguards that dictate where society flows down the line too.
Call it power-tripping or realistic revelation, but either way, it's a good way to go.
Another thing that journalism vets always emphasize is this:
There's no reason to do journalism and stick with it if not for the passion.
There's not a whole lot of money to be had, save for a select few who have paid their dues and worked their way up. The hours are insane - news doesn't sleep when normal people do. It's easy to fall victim to the workaholic syndrome because stories and reliance on other people can so inexplicably take precedence over your social life and family life. Really, if you take the genuine passion of conveying a human story, an emotion or a reaction out of the journalism equation, the picture looks pretty dang grim.
So when people ask me, "Why journalism?" I really take it to heart and think about why I'm investing so much in an industry that seems to return so little.
And the truth is that the same way completing a study or watching a class graduate is rewarding for scientists and teachers, respectively, being able to constantly learn and grow as a person "for a career" is more a return than I could have ever asked for.
Despite everything that's shifting and changing in society right now, none of it would matter if it weren't documented. And I don't mean in a quick Tweet or a few Facebook photo albums. I mean in publications that have continued to reinvent themselves and fight against critics who say that the new wave of "journalism" is all user-based and unmanageable. When you look back 20 , 30, 40 years from now and want to remember what happened when Obama won the presidency, you'll look to old Tweets and status updates and blogs to see individual reactions, sure.
But it's up to journalists to capture the mood of an entire nation and society at a specific moment in time.
...and that's why, journalism.
17 July 2009
The short of it.
And in the end, validation of this kind is so surreal that (and this is cheesy) my heart can't stop smiling.
21 June 2009
The importance of entertainment
Truth be told, just a brief two weeks ago, prior to starting my internship at People, I recognized the importance of entertainment in people's lives, but never found the time to subscribe to the daily ins and outs of celebrities and their lives. I'm a movie and music junkie, though, and thus am always looking to find the next big film or the latest on-the-rise artist. But I think there should still be that distinction between an artist and his work, to some extent. Delving into the lives of famous persons is interesting at best, invasive at worst.
Now, however, knowing the most minute details about a given celebrity has become my job - what they're wearing, who they're talking to, what they're eating. And this has brought me to really try to see the big picture as to why the public is so fascinated with these relatively unattainable, unrealistic lives that the stars lead. I was on set for a Robert Pattinson film just this past Friday, and was taken aback by how much his devout 11- and 12-year-old fans knew about his personal life. Everything these girls knew was part of a packaged image that the media had sold to them in the form of movies, interviews, posters and books.
At that age, you don't question a whole lot of what the media feeds you.
And it's a frightening thought, that each of these famous people have become such ... commodities. Franchises of their own name. They pretty much own their looks and mannerisms (if even that much) and sell off their talent and oftentimes, voices (both figuratively and literally, in the case of musical artists) in exchange for fame and consequential money. It's mind-boggling that people can give so much of their own humanity, whether or not by choice, so that they might gain some sort of fame in the long run.
It reminds me of the great quote from "The Talented Mr. Ripley":
I'd rather be a fake somebody than a real nobody.
I understand that people want to leave their mark on the world, and ultimately, to be recognized for what they've done. The same way that some people are passionate about saving lives or writing books, these individuals just happen to be passionate about entertaining others and adding a little bit of fun and drama to others' lives. It's just unfortunate that the people who are in entertainment for the craft are overshadowed by the drama queens and kings who find debauchery off-camera just as profitable as drama onscreen.
It's an interesting balance to strike, and what I appreciate about people in the business of talking about the business of people (aka, the magazine People, har har) is that they understand that talking about celebrities' lives is about as important as talking about the distant cousin who eloped for the fifth time last weekend: it makes for interesting discussion, but she's still human. To exploit information or try to itemize the person beyond what work the publicist has already done to do so would be wrong.
Because when people care more about things like whether or not Lindsay Lohan stole jewelry from a photo shoot than what's going on with nuclear arms in North Korea, I think it shows not just a break in reality, but also a NEED for this break from reality.
All this to say that celebrity culture and the people who love it will always be interesting. Whether or not it's relevant to our lives that Lindsay Lohan might have stolen jewelry from a photo shoot is debatable, but it's not wrong to know about it. I'm still trying to find a way to wrap my head around the idea of "celebrity news," but I guess a little extra information and a few extra blogs in the morning couldn't hurt, right?
Because really, as easy as it would be to dismiss entertainment as fluff, I can see how just knowing what's going on in the celebrity realm is instrumental to some people's days, to their lives. And so long as people care, I will learn to know the ins and outs of that ephemeral, glittery world, har har.
Now, however, knowing the most minute details about a given celebrity has become my job - what they're wearing, who they're talking to, what they're eating. And this has brought me to really try to see the big picture as to why the public is so fascinated with these relatively unattainable, unrealistic lives that the stars lead. I was on set for a Robert Pattinson film just this past Friday, and was taken aback by how much his devout 11- and 12-year-old fans knew about his personal life. Everything these girls knew was part of a packaged image that the media had sold to them in the form of movies, interviews, posters and books.
At that age, you don't question a whole lot of what the media feeds you.
And it's a frightening thought, that each of these famous people have become such ... commodities. Franchises of their own name. They pretty much own their looks and mannerisms (if even that much) and sell off their talent and oftentimes, voices (both figuratively and literally, in the case of musical artists) in exchange for fame and consequential money. It's mind-boggling that people can give so much of their own humanity, whether or not by choice, so that they might gain some sort of fame in the long run.
It reminds me of the great quote from "The Talented Mr. Ripley":
I'd rather be a fake somebody than a real nobody.
I understand that people want to leave their mark on the world, and ultimately, to be recognized for what they've done. The same way that some people are passionate about saving lives or writing books, these individuals just happen to be passionate about entertaining others and adding a little bit of fun and drama to others' lives. It's just unfortunate that the people who are in entertainment for the craft are overshadowed by the drama queens and kings who find debauchery off-camera just as profitable as drama onscreen.
It's an interesting balance to strike, and what I appreciate about people in the business of talking about the business of people (aka, the magazine People, har har) is that they understand that talking about celebrities' lives is about as important as talking about the distant cousin who eloped for the fifth time last weekend: it makes for interesting discussion, but she's still human. To exploit information or try to itemize the person beyond what work the publicist has already done to do so would be wrong.
Because when people care more about things like whether or not Lindsay Lohan stole jewelry from a photo shoot than what's going on with nuclear arms in North Korea, I think it shows not just a break in reality, but also a NEED for this break from reality.
All this to say that celebrity culture and the people who love it will always be interesting. Whether or not it's relevant to our lives that Lindsay Lohan might have stolen jewelry from a photo shoot is debatable, but it's not wrong to know about it. I'm still trying to find a way to wrap my head around the idea of "celebrity news," but I guess a little extra information and a few extra blogs in the morning couldn't hurt, right?
Because really, as easy as it would be to dismiss entertainment as fluff, I can see how just knowing what's going on in the celebrity realm is instrumental to some people's days, to their lives. And so long as people care, I will learn to know the ins and outs of that ephemeral, glittery world, har har.
17 June 2009
I love love love.
Today was such a good day that I just don't know how the rest of the week will top it.
I know these blog posts seem to be nothing but positives, but honestly, things just keep better each day. It's a little bit ridiculous.
Life, I am humbled. Just when I thought you had peaked, you surprise me yet again.
I know these blog posts seem to be nothing but positives, but honestly, things just keep better each day. It's a little bit ridiculous.
Life, I am humbled. Just when I thought you had peaked, you surprise me yet again.
31 May 2009
Just something I thought was necessary to copy in its entirety. Originally published in the San Francisco Chronicle - good insight into the changing journalism industry the way journalists (and those who care about journalism) should view it.
Welcome to a dying industry, journalism grads
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The dean gave me some very strict instructions about what to say today. No whining and no crying at the podium. No wringing of hands or gnashing of teeth. Be upbeat, be optimistic, he said - adding that it wouldn't hurt to throw in a few tips about how to apply for food stamps.
So let's get the worst out of the way right up front: You are going to be trying to carve out a career in the worst economic downturn since the Great Depression. You are furthermore going to be trying to do so within what appears to be a dying industry. You have abundant skills and talents - it's just not clear that anyone wants to pay you for them.
Well, you are not alone.
How do you think it feels to be an autoworker right now? And I've spent time with plenty of laidoff paper mill workers, construction workers and miners. They've got skills; they've got experience. They just don't have jobs.
So let me be the first to say this to you: Welcome to the American working class.
You won't get rich, unless of course you develop a sideline in blackmail or bank robbery. You'll be living some of the problems you report on - the struggle for health insurance, for child care, for affordable housing. You might never have a cleaning lady. In fact, you might be one. I can't tell you how many writers I know who have moonlighted as cleaning ladies or waitresses. And you know what? They were good writers. And good cleaning ladies too, which is no small thing.
Let me tell you about my own career, which I think is relevant, not because I'm representative or exemplary in any way, but because I've seen some real ups and downs in this business.
I didn't start out to be a freelance writer or a journalist, but after a number of false starts and digressions, I discovered that's what I really loved doing. In about 1980, I was a single mother of two small children, and my work quota was four articles or columns a month. I did my research at the public library. I bought my clothes at Kmart or consignment stores. The kids did not get any special lessons or, when the time came, SAT prep courses.
Then came the fat times, in the '90s, which I realize now were an anomaly in the history of journalism. The industry was booming; editors would take me out for three-course lunches in Manhattan. I'll never forget one of those lunches: It was with the top editor of Esquire, and I was trying to pitch him a story on poverty. He looked increasingly bored as we got through the field greens with goat cheese, the tuna carpaccio and so forth - until we finally got to the death-by-chocolate dessert, and he finally said, "OK, do your thing on poverty - but make it upscale."
It was still an uphill struggle to write what I cared about, but at least I was getting generously paid - up to $10 a word by Time magazine. Imagine that - $10 a word. Most Americans would be happy to make $10 an hour.
Then, bit by bit, it all began to fall apart. The news weeklies: Time let me go in 1997. The book publishing industry was in tatters by 2005. And then the newspapers began to shrink within my hands or actually disappear. I was beginning to feel a certain kinship with blacksmiths and elevator operators when the recession hit in 2008, and every single income stream I had began to dry up.
But it was the recession, of course, that saved me from self-pity. I began to get sick and tired of the typical media recession story - which was about rich people having to cut back on the hours they spend with their personal trainers. All right, I realize those are man-bites-dog stories compared to a story about a laid-off roofer being evicted from his trailer home. But it seemed to me that the recession had absolutely eliminated the poor and the working class from the media consciousness. Once again, they had disappeared from sight.
So a couple of weeks ago, I pitched a certain well-known newspaper a series of reported essays on precisely this topic. They took it - but at about only one-quarter of what they had paid me for writing columns five years ago, barely enough to cover expenses. That bothered me. But then I had a kind of epiphany and realized: I've got to do this anyway. I'm on a mission, and I'll do whatever it takes.
Which brings me back to the subject of journalism as a profession. We are not part of an elite. We are part of the working class, which is exactly how journalists have seen themselves through most of American history - as working stiffs. We can be underpaid, we can be jerked around, we can be laid off arbitrarily - just like any autoworker or mechanic or hotel housekeeper or flight attendant.
But there is this difference: A laid-off autoworker doesn't go into his or her garage and assemble cars by hand. But we - journalists - we can't stop doing what we do.
As long as there is a story to be told, an injustice to be exposed, a mystery to be solved, we will find a way to do it. A recession won't stop us. A dying industry won't stop us. Even poverty won't stop us because we are all on a mission here. That's the meaning of your journalism degree. Do not consider it a certificate promising some sort of entitlement. Consider it a license to fight.
In the '70s, it was gonzo journalism. For us right now, it's guerrilla journalism, and we will not be stopped.
******
Journalist Barbara Ehrenreich is the author of "This Land is Their Land: Reports From a Divided Nation" (Holt Paperbacks, April 2009). She delivered this commencement address to the UC Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism class of 2009 on May 16. Contact us at forum@sfchronicle.com.
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