dying industries

My girlfriend and I are both entering into "dying industries," or so she tells me. (This has the potential to become a great contest, re: my industry will last longer than yours.)

Really, they are the same industry split into specialties, with discrete distinctions that, beyond targeted experience and expertise, could easily be seen as singular. We both love — and study — writing and the print industry: me journalism, her publishing/editing. Often times I feel more pragmatic about the industry's difficulties. I'm trying to make myself flexible, dedicated and as open as possible to change. My girlfriend usually expresses her hatred for publishing's grim-reapers — Google Books, Amazon, and the Kindle — while bemoaning the trend away from ornately designed book covers and to generic omni-devices (though she loves her iPhone). But she's doing things to diversify as well — any novelty turned to advantage once school ends.

Yet, I don't feel like I'm entering a dying industry. The same doom-preaching chorus relaying the trials of the industry today (my j-school professors at ASU) now sits in a completely new university building, filled with the latest technology and creative minds. If there was ever a place to innovate and save the bottom line, it would be there. And while I've seen countless "goodbye-and-good-luck" e-mails at work, their authors usually seem poised to carry on elsewhere. So many mind-blowing projects are emerging from web designers, journalists and innovators, why has so much fear promulgated? The fear comes from economic uncertainty. Corporations and organizations have lost their Earth-turning profits, and thus, the industry is dying.

But what is an "industry," and why am I entering it in the first place? I'm not discounting the need for profits, but pushing past monetary motivations to the real spirit of why we do what we do — love for what we do — breeds a lot of optimism in me. If "industry" requires profits, perhaps I don't need it. I've no stock holders to appease, no board to satisfy. Halfway through college and embroiled in your-future discussions, concepts like "the industry" seem an unnecessary middleman to my main concern: me and doing what I love. Instead of singing odes to a dying industry, we should be consciously carving out our own space in, not an industry, but a living, however and with whomever we can.

live on the Web

My personal website went online yesterday!


I've been working on it for a while and think it turned out pretty nicely, considering it's the first time I've ever worked on web-page design. The learning curve wasn't that bad; it just took a lot of time to assemble all the pieces. It also helped that my roommate is a computer wizard, able to swiftly conjure answers to all my problems.

Now I'm just working on my project website, which is a collaboration between myself and three other journalists from the Cronkite School. It's coming together nicely, but I just couldn't muster the will to work on it today—too much web design lately. Luckily, it's not due until next week, so we have plenty of time. It's pretty incredibly what you can create with the right software and an eye for creativity. Our site may be entered into some journalism contests, so we're giving it our all.

when you give a journalist design tools...

As part of my Online Media class for school, I've been designing websites from scratch and learning about web design. The whole thing is way more interesting than I thought -- and I thought it would be interesting.

I'm still not done, of course. But soon I should have a website promoting me as a professional journalist and a site I collaborated on with three other classmates to present a journalistic story/issue. It's the way of the future: cyber-self-publication, and I couldn't be more excited about it. I have uncompromising control over my content, from story to presentation. Yes, it's labor intensive, but the end product is completely mine -- exactly what I want it to be.

It's almost detrimental to my mental focus. I've spent hours tweaking simple aesthetics. Just when I think I've come to a breaking point, I notice something that should be fixed or improved upon. It's incredibly addictive, and I'm probably spending too much time on it. Luckily, I'm only marginally concerned about finals this semester or this could have been a problem.

It's been a lot of fun designing the website. It's thrilling in an unexpected way. Using Photoshop and Dreamweaver simplifies all the details and makes it way too easy to create a professional looking website. It has been a real eye-opener to the potential the web provides journalists, and a convincing reason not to lose hope in the face of crumbling media giants.

I will definitely be posting/linking to my site once it's complete.

it's always about 'life,' even when it's not

At this time in my life, I'm interacting constantly with stories and language.

My studies, my job, my leisure -- all reading, writing, and communication. I spend so much of my time communicating that I've taken to shutting everything off while communting via light rail, simply emptying my mind and entering a zen-like state devoid of all communication, even thought -- the act of communicating with myself.

So, I find it interesting when, introspectively, I notice a peculiarity in my habits. One transition has been my interest in stories. Reporting and journalism drives so hard at finding interesting stories -- scoops that attract readers and clicks -- that I think some part of me rebels.

In my free time, I've become attracted to books and articles about more mundane, yet perceptively charming subjects. While my writing focuses on action, my reading trends toward the idiosyncrasies of unremarkable feeling and the slightly absurdist views -- authors like Jonathan Safran Foer, Milan Kundera, Tao Lin, or Dave Eggers. Mostly young and awash in waves of uncertainty, like me, they speak to uncommon, yet more genuine viewpoints on life. They provide for me a welcome counterpoint to the ridgidly factual, distinctly real focus of journalism.

Life always seems to align in dichotomies with the conscious and subconscious trying to balance the two. Like reporting, it's important to get both sides.

always the journalist, even on vacation

I don't usually preview events in my blog, but this is a sweet exception.

I'm headed to New York City tomorrow! It's all pretty exciting, and I anticipate being exceedingly busy while I'm there. I'll be spending a ton of time with my girlfriend—my reason for going—and just generally enjoying my spring break. However, interesting occurrences always beget interesting blog posts, so look for those soon-ly.

This will be my first time ever in the city. I'm eager to experience it for myself and stop referencing my friends' experiences or the media "Big Apple." While I'll no doubt do touristy things, my girlfriend also has a list of "underground" or "local-only" things to show me. I'll probably end up sharing them with the world via blog. Because that's what journalists do, right?

the best party ever, sources say

My opinion ran on Monday this week, but I was just too busy to blog until...NOW!

I'm finding it harder to have pure, theoretical opinions; that is, to talk abstractly about an issue. No doubt, I've developed the lazy imagination of a reporter.

While reporting takes a ton of time and effort, the reporter him/herself doesn't need to contribute much. Most good, well-reported stories will write themselves after skimming through your notes, assembling the strongest quote and outlining the narrative progression. The most difficult part—and any journalist can attest to this, regardless of whether they agree with anything else I'm saying—is coming up with a lede (the first sentence or paragraph, designed to capture the reader's attention). Ledes are often the biggest test of a writer's skill. If you've done enough good reporting, the rest of the story should come easily.

That's why writing opinions can, at times, be challenging. I'm lucky; I'm usually present for enough exciting/controversial events and issues that I can use my reporting skills in writing my opinions. However, I can't imagine being an opinion writer trapped in an office building or other such non-inspirational setting. At times, I struggle with this in school already. When classes start slicing into my time, and I'm stuck studying instead of going to events or lectures etc., coming up with an idea can be excruciating.

It creates a definite conflict between performing my job as a journalist and still keeping up with academia, but, right now, I feel like I'm getting the best of both worlds, a good balance between class time and adventure.

It really is incredible how much I've experience being a journalist; my world has expanded so much. Over the past two years, I have developed a gigantic list of contacts from all over Phoenix. They are the people I've contacted at one time or another for an article. My friend Joe and I joked yesterday that I should have a "thanks-for-helping-me-with-an-article-at-some-point" party, where everyone who has ever contributed to my work gets to meet and talk. It would be a big party—lucky I have contacts in the food business.

cock fights and cop fights

Breaking news continues throw exciting days my way.

I hadn't been at work for more than 30 minutes this afternoon before reports came in from the Arizona Humane Society of a major cock-fighting bust. My editor dispatched me to South Phoenix to grab the story.

I rarely venture into South Phoenix, and today served as a good reminder why -- it's crazy down there. I arrived at the cock-fighting house and took all the information available form the PIO officer. Three men detained by a group of police sat in the house's backyard, pestered by the continual barking of a nearby dog. I called back the information to the newsroom and stood in the shade of a Humane Society truck, out of the heat, to wait. The PIO, a very amiable guy, told me Humane Society officals were busy euthanizing the mistreated animals and an interview wouldn't be available for a while. Poor animals; some people are just sick.

I was begining to relax in the 80-degree, winter day when two officers sprinted past me. They tore down the street to their police car and gunned it past me, into the neighborhood. At the time, I was relaying more information back to the newsroom and my partner even commented on the rawrrrrrr of the car's engine. That was the first sign.

Soon after, I spotted a police helicopter making tight circles not more than two blocks to the south -- definitely odd. The PIO then drove off without talking to me. I desided to follow him since nothing was happening and sighted flashing lights in the distance.

Police swarmed the area. Residents stood outside, watching me suspiciously. No one knew quite what was going on, but it had something to do with South Mountain High School. Students loitered everywhere and it took a long time to locate the PIO on scene, the same guy from earlier.

He recognized me and waved me over, miles more friendly than his other police co-workers. The scene was still chaotic, but he filled me in: a group of seven to 12 students had assaulted a police officer after he tried to break up a confrontation.

While police tried to control the scene -- and the growning group of media reporter assembling for the story -- residents heckled the officers. They accused police of arresting their friends and family without charge, making an exaggerated show of it. It was a bad situation and I tried to stay out of the middle while still listening in.

I reported back frequently with the newsroom, gathering quotes and information. Luck had favored me by placing the two most imporant stories of the night so close together. Things settled down after about an hour and I headed back.

Crossing the Salt River into South Phoenix, you get the sense of being in another place entirely. The neighborhoods is run-down -- unpainted stucco, "bank owned" signs in broken windows, a "capture cam" guarding the entry to a housing development. That espoused with what I witnessed today doesn't make a good impression. I'm just lucky all of this happened during the afternoon, not at night.

the shadow of Watergate

Leonard Downie Jr., former executive editor of The Washington Post, will join the Cronkite School staff next fall so it comes as no surprise that the dean, et al., are promoting him as much as possible.

Downie lead the paper to many successes and took part in the most historic years of American journalism: the Watergate years. The romanticized notions of reporting that flowed from The Washington Post's Watergate coverage inspired millions of college grads to enter reporting, starting j-schools at nearly every university in the country. Since then—and for many reasons—the public's opinion of journalists has soured a bit, but there's no question Downie knows exactly what made journalism great.

A side note—
As I was heading into the Cronkite School, I heard two guys dressed in sports apparel comment on a nearby lecture poster hung on the street column outside:
"Hey, that actor guy, Leonard Downie Jr., is speaking. He wrote some kind of book or something."
"Yeah?"

Right. I guess the name resemblance IS striking. I couldn't help snicker.

It's not surprising that a prominent figure in journalism would have no recognition. Journalists, particularly editors, fade into the background of their stories. Most journalism doctrines applaud this; still, the moment was a bit sad—that any man so good at his job could be disregarded.

However, the scene differed inside. About 40 people came out, a fair number of them students. Downie talked about his new book, a work of fiction, which took my interest considering fiction is generally not a journalist's forte.

I have another of his books, The News About the News, which he spoke about on a separate occasion, and found it pretty straight forward. In a journalistic tone—that is, factual and dry—Downie explains a series of award-winning stories his staff worked on during his time as editor. I haven't finished it.

There's no doubt Downie would make an excellent addition to the faculty here, however. He's definitely sharp, tactfully deflecting a questioner who seemed hell-bent on blaming all newspapers for the war in Iraq.

He also understands—as anyone who has worked in a newsroom does—the pressures and responsibilities of the journalist, but can explain them without sounding self-righteous, a rare ability in j-professors. I hope I get a chance to study under him.

when hell breaks loose

The way I see it, 46 people were lucky tonight.

Forty-five of them were children from West Valley Middle School, who all avoided major injuries after their bus driver lost control of the bus (for reasons unknown) and went for a wild, half-mile ride, hitting 12 other vehicles and injuring 26 people.

The final person was me, who got sent out to cover the story.

When I first got the page, it sounded pretty inconsequential: "PhoenixFD Medical Response 67th Ave / McDowell."

That was it. I thought, "That's vague," and shrugged my shoulders, more focused on my editor's critiques of a police story.

Then the next page came in: "PhoenixFD MED This will involve a school bus."

That triggered my editor. Instantly, his tired eyes widened.

"Oh no. This could be big," he said, rubbing his face with his hands.

I could hear both the terrible anticipation of a story involving injury to children and the lust for a big-time story in his voice. It's something we all share: a lust for stories.

Nothing can compare to the stress of driving to a scene in rush-hour traffic. I needed to get there as quickly as possible, but grid-lock had other plans. It took about 25 minutes to get to into the area and another 30 minutes to navigate my way through displaced traffic--the accident ran a gauntlet of nearly half a mile and police closed a good two miles of major road.

Even when I got to the scene, it was still chaos. Police and fire officers patrolled the perimeter of yellow police tape and news media of all kinds--television with large vans and cameras, radio with hand-held recorders, and me with my notebook--ran around talking to PIOs.
This is what I saw when I got to the scene:



The bus looked bad, but apparently other cars looked worse.

It took a long time to straighten out the facts; PIOs came up with new numbers for injuries, vehicles, and children involved every couple of minutes. I spent a good two hours there, among the police and other media workers, calling in facts and quotes as I collected them.

J-school can't compare to getting out in the field; that's where you learn real journalism.