reporter's notebook
http://www.rsf.org/article.php3?id_article=19099
three reporters killed in one day. it's so hard to report even in a small town where there's absolutely no danger and one of the most difficult things is getting people from the high school to return your calls and having people not say "hello" to you at the post office. People who can dig and write and truly do it for the common good and the "people's right to know" are so brave. that sacrifice and not quitting when it's dangerous or hard - admirable, so heroic... because it is so easy to just quit or back down or change the wording just so to appease others.
listening to http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6188147 while cleaning this morning and felt that stir again... that excitement of witnessing something, asking the right questions and putting together information in a way that recreates and preserves and shares that experience and those people with others who couldn't be there or can't meet those people. But I know now that that's at least in part a fantasy.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
Sometimes I liked being a reporter for all the wrong reasons, I think. I loved that little reporter's notebook, I loved having a press card in my wallet and going somewhere and instantly having the doors opened and people greeting you. I loved being able to squeeze through to the front of a crowd to take a picture or observe. I loved the challenge of getting the right picture, of asking the right question, of finding the right sentence or two in someone's words that poetically summarizes their view, of circulating and asking, asking, asking, of taking notes of all the details (even if 80 percent of them didn't end up in the story). Sometimes it was so much fun. I'm not that competitive, but sometimes on those occasions where there was another reporter or photographer, I loved trying to ask a better, more insightful question, to find that angle for the picture that was better.
It's a shot of adrenaline right now, even thinking about it.
It is such important work, though, and I don't think I'm serious enough about it and the responsibilities that come with carrying that card, to really go all the way. But I still think my dream job is to be a features reporter for a larger newspaper. One of the most inspiring things in my professional life was going to that writers' workshop, and talking to reporters who had won Pulitzers and were feature writers for large metro dailies, and finding that they weren't that different than me - sort of quiet and unassuming and not all that articulate. Just people who noticed things and felt things and asked questions and presented what they learned as honestly and with as much feeling as they could. And to feel like you belong among people who are doing exactly what you want to do - that is a little piece of heaven.
three reporters killed in one day. it's so hard to report even in a small town where there's absolutely no danger and one of the most difficult things is getting people from the high school to return your calls and having people not say "hello" to you at the post office. People who can dig and write and truly do it for the common good and the "people's right to know" are so brave. that sacrifice and not quitting when it's dangerous or hard - admirable, so heroic... because it is so easy to just quit or back down or change the wording just so to appease others.
listening to http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6188147 while cleaning this morning and felt that stir again... that excitement of witnessing something, asking the right questions and putting together information in a way that recreates and preserves and shares that experience and those people with others who couldn't be there or can't meet those people. But I know now that that's at least in part a fantasy.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
Sometimes I liked being a reporter for all the wrong reasons, I think. I loved that little reporter's notebook, I loved having a press card in my wallet and going somewhere and instantly having the doors opened and people greeting you. I loved being able to squeeze through to the front of a crowd to take a picture or observe. I loved the challenge of getting the right picture, of asking the right question, of finding the right sentence or two in someone's words that poetically summarizes their view, of circulating and asking, asking, asking, of taking notes of all the details (even if 80 percent of them didn't end up in the story). Sometimes it was so much fun. I'm not that competitive, but sometimes on those occasions where there was another reporter or photographer, I loved trying to ask a better, more insightful question, to find that angle for the picture that was better.
It's a shot of adrenaline right now, even thinking about it.
It is such important work, though, and I don't think I'm serious enough about it and the responsibilities that come with carrying that card, to really go all the way. But I still think my dream job is to be a features reporter for a larger newspaper. One of the most inspiring things in my professional life was going to that writers' workshop, and talking to reporters who had won Pulitzers and were feature writers for large metro dailies, and finding that they weren't that different than me - sort of quiet and unassuming and not all that articulate. Just people who noticed things and felt things and asked questions and presented what they learned as honestly and with as much feeling as they could. And to feel like you belong among people who are doing exactly what you want to do - that is a little piece of heaven.
posted by kathy at 11:43 AM
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