The writer's version of hindsight is rewrite.
So this is what I wish I'd told the
Pulliam interns about journalism
success. This is an improved, written version of a speech I recently
gave to the 16 interns working at
The Arizona Republic this summer, who represent some of the best minds coming out of the nation's journalism schools. (There are
10 other Pulliam fellows interning at
The Indianapolis Star this summer, as well.)
I was invited to speak with them because of my title: syndicated
columnist. A good job in journalism, yes. And it does help pay the
mortgage.
But it is not how I define success.
Success in journalism comes much as it does in life. It is earned in the day-to-day practice of this craft.
One great story, one prize-winning piece, does not make a career.
I suspect the recent graduates were primed to hear grandiose stories of
massive public corruption uncovered. Perhaps they awaited accounts of
being in the presence of presidents, sports heroes and famous
newsmakers of the day. Or maybe they wanted a harried tale of reporting
from some foreign land, amidst a war or mass devastation caused by the
forces of nature.
I could tell them about meeting presidents -- of several countries.
I haven't been to a war. But I did talk about the morbid aftermath of
Hurricane Mitch in Honduras. And, like many journalists, I've been able
to help right some wrongs.
I once helped get an elderly indigenous woman from Mexico out of a Kansas
mental hospital, where she'd been misdiagnosed and locked up for 12
years. A Mexico City-based playwright used my stories to create a
theatrical version of the tale, now performed internationally.
That's a story (or, rather, a series of stories) for which I am proud.
Stories like that make for chatty cocktail encounters. They've even won
me some awards. But they are not substantial enough to keep me content
in this profession.
Satisfaction with journalism comes slowly: paragraph by paragraph, word by rechecked word.
I'd guess many, if not all, of the interns possess the baseline skills
necessary for success. I did at their age, although it took me another
two decades to realize it, to hone the attributes through countless
stories and interviews.
A few days before my talk with the Pulliam interns,
The Kansas City
Star had a celebration. Staffers who had been with the paper five, 10, 20,
25 -- even 30 -- years were recognized during an afternoon newsroom reception.
My name was read at the 20-year mark.
How did so many years pass so quickly? I graduated from college on a Saturday. The following Monday I began work at the
Star.
The rapid passage of the years is partly due to the fact that my career
has suited me well. I'm not unlike the girl I was even before my time at the
Star, writing for my high school's newspaper.
I can still see myself working on one of my first large stories: a
feature about a school for emotionally troubled children in our district. I wrote it while sitting atop my white bedspread,
surrounded by notepads, a typewriter and a tape recorder. I'd replay
and replay the tape, meticulously transcribing the comments of the
therapists, the teachers and the children. I agonized about attempting
to capture in words the hardships the children had suffered: traumas
with labels like sexual abuse, suicide attempts, self-mutilation and
drug addiction.
Fifteen years later, I'd suffer the same sort of writer's angst as I worked on
a series about immigrants. Capturing the experiences of the refugees, whom I would meet
as they stepped off the airplane, was the hardest task of all.
Middle-class, well-educated, I had always had a roof over my head. How
could I possibly explain all that they had suffered? But, as I had done in high
school, I checked and re-checked facts, re-interviewed a few of my subjects, and
second-guessed every observation and word choice.
Today, I still like to fact-check every line of a column after it is
laid out on the page. Last week, I nervously browsed the "sent" files of my
computer, late at night, double-checking words and spellings in a
column I had e-mailed hours earlier to syndicate editors.
As unglamorous as it sounds, this is
it.
Success is rechecking the spelling of a name -- for the third time --
in a story that will run as a brief, and never see the front page.
Success is having your work noted for how you intend it. I want to be
fair. I want to be accurate. I want to consistently offer an
interesting perspective.
I recently found a manila folder stuffed with old letters and cards,
tucked into a filing cabinet at home. The notes offered simple thanks
from readers and people I'd written about.
One note was an e-mail from a woman who said she had followed my work
since meeting me fresh out of college. As a young reporter, I had been
assigned to cover a school board she served on in a small suburban
district.
She said she had watched my career progress. She kindly noted
that I covered topics "with depth, objectivity, and integrity." She
added this thought too: "qualities, I might add, which were evident
early in your career when you covered our board."
Pulliam interns, and all young journalists: Nourish and hone
the skills you already possess, the ones that guided you when you chose
journalism as a career. The effort will lead to a daily accumulation of
gains, compoundable into many satisfying years.
Thank you for a fine column. But, I wonder if...
