Writing and Reporting

     When I first entered Room 144, journalistic writing and I mixed similarly to oil and water.  Almost every assignment was inevitably rewritten, and those that weren't were often returned with comments that smacked of the same sentiment: this is Honors "J," not Honors Creative Writing.

     Whenever I was in control of the pen or keyboard, LQTQ format, AP style, and the execution of my beloved Oxford comma felt all too much like a betrayal-- not just to poetry, out of which I carved my comfort zone, but my very voice as a storyteller.  I struggled to find the "me" in my work.

     Losing that struggle was singlehandedly the most important experience in my growth as a journalist.

     Because as a reporter, it is incredibly romantic to view one's self as the conductor, the front-seat driver propelling the quotes, transitions, and "heart" of the story to success.  That view is what initially makes journalism attractive-- and who wouldn't want to imagine themselves a "Sacha-Pfeiffer-turned-Rachel-McAdams" type, chasing down The Boston Globe's biggest headline?

     In reality, journalists don't even ride shotgun-- we're cramped in the backseat, shifting beneath the weight of a source's intimate details and holistic message.  To write under those conditions with the intention of bringing one's own voice to the surface, rather than the voice of the source, would obviously feel like drowning.

     In that case, it's good to be oil: separate and impartial.

     

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