As with many of my stories, it begins with a book.
I have three primary indicators of a good read:
One – After purchasing it, you immediately start reading the book on the ride home (this sign is further enhanced if you’re driving).
Two – You stay up late reading it even when you’re sleep-deprived and need to get up early in the morning.
Three – After finishing it, you feel compelled to re-read certain sections that you previously enjoyed.
There are other markers of a good book, of course. They include solid characterization, killer dialog, wonderful metaphors that you can’t help stealing and trying to insert into casual conversation (“Don’t go all ‘Walrus and the Carpenter’ on me with your talk of ‘shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.’”).
But if you find yourself enraptured in a book and you simply race through the pages hoping that it won’t end, you’ve got something special. In comparison, I have a lot of slow, tawdry assigned readings that seemed to stretch on forever (and that was only the online summary. Stupid Sartre. “‘Hell is other people?’ No, it’s reading you on a Friday night because you have a review session Saturday morning!”
Sorry, bad flashback… Where was I going… other than insane… Oh yeah!
On one of my family’s recent antique runs, I found a first edition copy of Linda Ellerbee’s “And So it Goes – Adventures in Television” for $1. In my opinion, this was a killer find.
It’s one of my favorite books on journalism, primarily because it’s by a person who isn’t afraid to poke fun at how silly the practice can get. Instead of pontificating about morals, the public trust, and viewer-content demands, the book is merely a collection of simple stories, often illustrating what not to do while covering a story.
Election coverage bungles, editorial politics, and crazed close encounters with pachyderms – all come up at one point or another. I recognize the framework of many of the situations. While I may not have experienced the craziness of playing in the big-leagues, I am familiar with the agony of arranging words and images, the politician who is trying to be Machiavellian but comes off more as one of the lesser Marx brothers (like Zeppo), and the editor who gives you an outrageous assignment with no appearance of irony (“So, for the curfew story, my editor wants me to look for minors after midnight? Do I need to put aside bail money?”).
When I first read this book back in high school, I took comfort in the fact a person could have an off-kilter voice and still make it big. Of course, I naively ignored the number of times her programs were cancelled with no warning, but then dreamers are rarely troubled by such outbreaks of truth.
It was due to this book’s influence that I seriously considered going into television. I had a good time working in video broadcasting the first year it premiered at my high school, and was originally unencumbered by rules or guidelines (which we quickly discovered). I had fun playing prepping anchors for interviews or doing background research or holding the camera steady while my friends went on a riff, but my best contributions was in the editing bays trying to match pictures to commentary. I never was as good at graphics or rendering 3-d credits, but I thought I had an eye and ear for matching a killer quote with the perfect image.
That ultimately caused me trouble my first year in college. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what journalism sequence to apply for, the options being news(paper) editorial, magazine, broadcast, and advertising.
Discounting advertising was easy, leaving me three choices. Finally, after much soul-searching and introspection, I dropped magazine, leaving me with the unlikely pairing of
newspaper or broadcast
Word eventually beat visuals, though I’d still lend an occasional hand in the on-campus production studio when called.
I enjoyed re-discovering the book because it reminded me of some of the reasons why I got interested in telling stories for a living. With all the in-built distractions in the process, I sometimes forget what I’m want to accomplish. I want to shine a light on what’s happening in our world and challenge people to think about it.
It’s a simple dream, but one that I think is important.
While I was re-reading this book, I got a call back from one of the papers I’d spammed. This was followed by more calls and requests for more information about myself.
Just when I was about ready to wind things down and start looking for jobs in another direction (“Where’d I put that flyer on what to do with an English degree?”), I find reason to keep chasing the dream a little bit farther.
I actually have some prospects now. It may all lead to nothing, but even a tea cup of water is appreciated after a long crawl through the desert.
The refreshment was nice and also a cue that I shouldn’t stop now. I need to keep sending out packets in all directions. So far, the postmarks remain exclusively in North America, a fact that probably lets my mother sleep better at night (though the Dollar to Russian Rouble exchange rate continues to be lucrative).
After knocking on countless doors, I now hear people talking about letting me in. I don’t know if more invitations will be forthcoming, or even if I’d enter if the door is opened, but it is interesting to note that my present chapter on journalism hasn’t come to an end yet.
And so it goes.
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Caleb Michael said...