I am positive Edward R. Murrow never answered his phone either.
Now that I am doing film reviews for The Mercury on a semi-regular weekly basis, I suppose I need to begin Taking Journalism Seriously. Except I’ve never considered myself to be a journalist. And other than that year and a half in the Journalism Department at the University of Oregon, I’ve never really considered journalism as a career.
My grandmother, who payed my tuition and my rent and sometimes payed my tuition and rent even though I wasn’t enrolled in school per se, scoffed at the idea of my ever becoming what she referred to as a “reporter”. I was too shy and too scared to talk to people and I don’t follow through on things and I never answer my phone and how can a person who doesn’t answer her phone become a reporter?
And I thought, “She’s right. I’ll never be good at anything. I guess I’ll just eat lunch. Again.”
So I switched majors, read a lot of Edith Wharton at a lot of different universities and never graduated, probably because in order to receive my diploma I had to talk to someone behind a desk in an office and that - for reasons obvious only to myself and shut- ins - scares the shit out of me.
So here I am, fifteen years later, thirty thousand dollars in debt to various lending institutions located somewhere in the middle states, and beginning a career in journalism. I just can’t seem to do things in their correct linear order. It’s like I have to circle around and around something until I get dizzy and then sort of fall into it by accident like a five year old. I have the career arc of a mildly retarded child.
I know I’m being hard on myself but that is what I do. It makes me feel safe, like I have boundaries that keep me in one place. Forever.
So now that I’m committed to a life without defined precepts and thank God for email because I still will not answer the phone, I have to start “pitching stories” to “people behind desks in offices” who might “say no” to me and “send me spiralling into depression and shame and substance abuse”. I’m feeling a little daunted. And flummoxed. And other suffixes.
My new friend Melissa Lion is really good at pitching stories and also talking to people behind desks in offices so I’m just going to copy everything she does until it starts to feel natural for me. You know, like how people learn to have sex by watching porn or how deep sea fisherman learn to work with the rod and the reel by listening to Billy Joel songs. Like that, only with more whiskey.
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16 comments
What does it say about me that after reading this, all I really want to do is start calling you like 30 times day. Just to see if I can get you to answer.
Can I copy any emailed tips that Melissa sends you?
And when you forward the emails for me to copy, can you send some Makers as an attachment?
thanks.
Hey! I graduated from the UofO Journalism department.. and look at me now!
Yeah, I just recently graduated from SOU with a degree in Theatre and I dug a ditch last Thursday in order to help pay my utilities. A really big ditch. But hey, who couldn’t have seen that one coming?
Oh please! Art History.. as I’ve thoroughly demonstrated with my measly salary…. is where all the money is at bitches =)
I have a Master’s degree in English that I’m still paying for and will for all eternity even though I don’t use it. At. All.
I think degrees should have a return policy. You can just go to the bursar’s office and be all like “I have this MA I’m not using. I’d like to return it in exchange for something a little more interesting…like ceramics or basket weaving.”
I feel your pain. And by that I mean I feel my pain. But it sounds similar in some ways to your pain, so we’ll go with it.
The only reason I’m managing to actually get paid occasionally to write is because I’ve only ever communicated with the publisher by e-mail and over the course of about 25 stories I’ve only made one phone call for a source. I am the worst journalist ever (well except for [insert Fox News joke here]). Not a good joke-writer, either.
I learned how to parent by watching Mommy Dearest.
Thanks for the shout out. I do whatever my friend V says, so now you need to find a pretty, funny, nice girl who you’ll show the ropes.
I don’t know what you all you English/Journalism majors are complaining about. There’s a HUGE market for people with your backgrounds. Why, some of the best drinks I’ve ever had were mixed by English majors.
So i used to work for wamu investments and somehow managed to make it a year without shooting myself in the throat, and am pretty sure i made it the whole time without making a single phone call. i would wait for a voicemail, and then if they left one i would email my answer. i dont like talking to people either, even if i like the people. That is also why i am the fastest text messager of all time.
Cant relate on the college part though, never went. i figure i would save myself the eventual disinterest and keep myself out of the hole. I love when my friends (and by friends i mean people i saw in highschool but had no interest in talking to)come home and ask me where i am going to school, and as soon as i say “I dont go to school…” they get a pity look on their face and pat me on the head. Its ok because they will work for me one day, while they are living their parent’s basement. But atleast they have that degree. Until they burn it for warmth.
DAVE: Gonna dig that ditch!
(Oraaaaaange)
Kristen.. where oh where can I find this bursar’s office??? that would be heaven.
Direct them to this blog and you’re a shoo-in. Seriously, I’d read anything with your name on it just by virtue of what I’ve read here.
I know exactly what you mean. Maybe that’s why we have the same bed spread.
I completely understand the not wanting to interact with people. I lost count of the number of times I changed my major to avoid group projects aka FORCED INTERACTION with other people. The thought of it makes me want to curl up in a fetal position under my desk.
Personally, I think it’s totally normal to not want to talk to people. I’m a “journalist,” or at least I pretend to be one, and I feel the same way. The real weirdos are people who enjoy it. I hate hate HATE when people call me and say something totally stupid that can be said in an email. And the worst is when people call to “follow up on an email.” That infuriates me.
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