Fair Warning

There are lots of new -- and long -- posts to read below, all dated today. Nearly all are edited versions of the neighborhood stories I've done so far in RWI. I'm still hoping to catch up on regular blog entries, but I figured I'd post these first. . . .

Catching Up

I'm not on deadline this weekend (hooray!). Between that and the fact that we got to turn the clocks back an hour, I finally had a chance to go back through my RWI neighborhood stories and incorporate at least some of the edits suggested by Prof. Padwe and our adjunct instructor, Brent ("The Terminator") Cunningham. I spent the morning sending revised versions to a bunch of my sources, nerve-racking though it was.

I'll post them here, too, shortly, but first I thought I'd give you a sense of why it was anxiety-provoking to send my stories out into the world (or, at least, into a few random people's e-mailboxes). I'm 12 weeks into this life- and mind-altering experience known as j-school, and I'm still struggling to assimilate everything I'm learning and doing. The pace is so relentless that the opportunities to reflect on and process the experience are exceedingly rare, and that means I am nearly always somewhat off-kilter.

Some of it is just the challenge of juggling multiple deadlines, but mostly it's the challenge of trying to do a job that is so much harder than I possibly could have imagined. Truth-seeking (reporting) and truth-telling (writing) are two very different crafts -- maybe even arts -- and mastering them, if that's even possible, will be a career-long endeavor. At this point, the learning curve still feels nearly vertical, despite the occasional small victories.

I wrote about this feeling -- that I'm not yet a journalist -- in a paper for Critical Issues in Journalism that I turned in about 10 days ago. Here it is:

Am I a Journalist?

In our very first Critical Issues class, we tackled the existential question of whether those of us in the master’s program at Columbia are in fact journalists. We talked about the fact that journalists aren’t licensed or regulated and that, therefore, they are a population that defines themselves. Then Professor Wald gave us his definition of a journalist: one who does regular work intended for publication for a general audience. And even though our current work is unedited, and therefore not “core journalism,” Professor Wald included us in his definition. “You are journalists because you attempt the truth,” he said. “If you achieve it, you’re good journalists.”

As much as I like the elegance of Professor Wald’s reasoning, and as much as I would like to call myself a journalist, somehow I just can’t. I couldn’t then, just six weeks into the semester, and I can’t now, with another month of the program under my belt. Perhaps that’s because I’ve come to journalism relatively late, at 38. (The reasons for the midlife shift would require an entirely different existential inquiry.) I had another career before I arrived at Columbia, and I know what it means to have achieved some mastery in one’s profession. I can say with great certainty that I have not yet done that in journalism.

I have the business cards that say “Reporter,” the press pass (which I’ve never flashed), and a stockpile of spiral-bound reporter’s notebooks, but I don’t have the instincts or the skills of a journalist. Every day, I struggle to synthesize and assimilate all that I’m learning, in the classroom and on my beat. I am a neophyte, and this, it seems, is my probationary period. I am grateful for it.

I’m still figuring out how to write a lede and a nut graph, how to invert the pyramid, how to take notes without crippling my writing hand or missing great quotes, and how to meet a deadline and get a full night’s sleep in the same 24-hour period. I’m still developing my eye and my ear, and I’m still deconstructing AP style.

Calling myself a journalist today would be like putting on a white lab coat and calling myself a doctor. It might fool other people, but I know the truth: I’m a student. A good student, perhaps. A diligent student for sure. A promising student, I hope. But a student nonetheless. I may not need a license to practice journalism, but I do need a solid grounding in journalistic principles and practices, and I don’t have that yet. I’m working on it, very assiduously, and I know that I am making progress, but the finish line is not yet in sight.

This is why, when I talk to sources, I always identify myself as a student right away. I’m not ready to hold myself out as anything more at this point, and I don’t think it would be honest to do so. I have a readership of one at the moment (two if you count my adjunct professor in RWI), and while I hope that number will grow considerably, it’s probably about right for the time being. With every story I file and every one I read in the newspaper, I wonder at how I will bridge the divide between the two. How do professional journalists build their stories so quickly, so thoroughly? How do they write them so compellingly? How do they chase down, and then confirm, every last fact with a deadline staring them down? These are all lessons I have yet to learn.

In class, Professor Wald said that the health of our democracy is guaranteed by the fact that anyone can be a journalist. I am heartened by the notion that I can be a journalist, that waiting until I was 38 to start down this path didn’t disqualify me at the gate. Still, I know that I am not yet a journalist. I haven’t earned the title. And knowing that means that once I do, I will value and respect it all the more.

In the meantime, I am focused on finding my way in this world. I read, I write, I report, and I think. I file my stories week after week. I pitch ideas, I track down sources, I cut words, and I polish sentences. And slowly, over time, I learn what it means, and what it takes, to be a journalist.

Good Night, and Good Luck Staying Awake

I was all proud of myself for making all three deadlines this week without having to pull a single all-nighter.

Then I got cocky.

I thought that I could go to my classes today, then visit some pals at my old job, and -- drumroll, please -- actually see a movie with Zach. Which would be the first movie I'd been out to see since school began 11 WEEKS AGO.

So I went and visited my pals in midtown and then hustled down to Union Square to meet Zach at the movie theater to see "Good Night, and Good Luck" -- George Clooney's film about Edward R. Murrow. (I'd have seen it anyway, but the journalism connection made it that much more compelling.)

Somehow the combination of the black-and-white film, the unhurried pace, and the many shots of smoke swirling from the tips of cigarettes just lulled me right to sleep.

More than once.

I cannot TELL you how frustrated and disappointed I was to miss key sections of what I'm pretty sure is a fine film, which, I hasten to add, started at, um, 6:30PM. I think most toddlers would be able to make it through a fairly short film at that hour, but I, the aforementioned thirty-EIGHT-year-old, was completely unable to manage it. <sigh>

Two Down, One to Go

Finished my teacher profile with time to spare and with a full night's sleep behind me. (Where "full night" has been redefined since classes started to mean at least five consecutive hours. In this case, it was about six.) Of course, I can tell you all the things that are wrong with it -- mainly a lack of obvious sources and physical descriptions (of the teacher and her classroom) -- but overall, I think it's halfway decent as a narrative. We'll see what the master has to say next week.

That's two deadlines down for the week, with one to go. I have to write a paper (basically a column on pretty much any subject) for my Critical Issues class. It's due tomorrow.

On the boards for the rest of the day:

• head up to school and hand in hard copies of my story (I sent them via e-mail for deadline-beating purposes);


• finish the interminable case I have to read for tomorrow's Law class;


• do the reading for tomorrow's Critical Issues class;


• write the Critical Issues paper;


• start reporing on my next story, which is a housing piece (I'm supposed to find a dilapidated building to write about);


• talk to my alumni mentor for the first time; and


• possibly have dinner with my folks, if the stars align.

No problem.

Today's Quiz

Here it is:

1. How many provinces would have to vote "no" in Iraq to defeat the proposed Constitution?


2. Harold Pinter


3. Joseph Wilson IV


4. Apple Computers


5. Which NYC union received a 17% wage increase last week?


6. Romania


7. For what Roche drug does Senator Chuck Schumer want to end the patent?


8. Angela Merkel


9. In one of the greatest musicological discoveries of all time, a librarian in a seminary in Philadelphia found the 80-page manuscript of a composition by which composer?


10. Which city's diocese hid the abuse of children for 75 years?


11. Nalchik, Russia

I predicted four of the above (#2, #4, #8, and #10).

Progress

My latest RWI story is due tomorrow at 8AM, and I am very pleased to report that I finished it more than 12 hours in advance (and well before my bedtime). Hooray!

Of course, I spent practically all weekend working on it, but still. . . .

And I think I'm in good shape for the next story, which is a profile of a public-school teacher. I've already interviewed the teacher once and gotten some good quotes about her from the school principal (both while reporting my last story, which had to do with test scores). We're scheduled to talk again on Tuesday, and then I'll just need to get a couple of other sources to interview on Wednesday.

Hmm.

Why do I think it is a mistake to have used the word "just" in reference to reporting?

Remember Trigonometry?

When you took trig (if you took it) back in high school (or, I guess, in college), you probably learned about asymptotes. On the graph of a curve, an asymptote is a straight line that almost -- but never quite -- touches the curve. It's sort of an aspirational goal that the curve will never reach.

Why I am I telling you about asymptotes?

Because I've been thinking about them a lot lately. These days, the asymptote in my life is the state of not being behind. You know, not being surrounded by mounds of unread newspapers, unopened mail, and unreported and unwritten stories. The state in which you get your hair cut when it needs it -- not a month later. In which you return calls and e-mail messages within hours (or even days) rather than weeks. In which you watch The Daily Show daily, not in mini-marathons masquerading as weekend study breaks.

I worked flat out this weekend, except for a couple of hours with my family on Saturday night (and the odd mini-marathon as noted above). I finished the law reading (finally), read about 170 pages for my Profiles class and wrote up comments, wrote a query letter plus four additional story ideas (also for Profiles), wrote up three story ideas for RWI (as we are required to do each week), and did the reading for our RWI seminar. I did not get to read ANY of the newspaper (i.e. prepare for the news quiz) or open my mail or return calls or e-mail messages. (Don't even ask about going to the gym.) Or, while we're at it, do squat on my education stories.

No matter how hard I tried, Sunday night still rolled around with me not having reached the asymptote.

It's just out there, taunting me.

The End of a Long Week

I read diligently the whole way to school this morning and still had 30 dense pages left to go when I arrived. The one down side of having been called on a couple of weeks ago in the Law class is that I'm pretty sure I'm off the hook for the rest of the semester (OK, that's the up side), which takes away a big incentive to do the reading in advance (that would be the down side). And once you are behind on the Law reading (like everything else at the J-school), it takes a Herculean effort to catch up. Fortunately, we don't have class next week (not sure why), so I have the equivalent of a bye week to get back on track. By the way, attendance is hovering around 50% these days. Maybe people are out reporting. Or just sleeping off happy-hour hangovers. Or just afraid they'll be called on. It's their loss, really -- it's a great class, even if it is a lot of work.

My grandmother's funeral was at 1PM this afternoon, so I skipped the Critical Issues class. Today's guest speaker was Brian Williams (the new NBC anchor). I'm sure I'll get a full report in RWI on Monday.

Out of Sorts

I spent most of yesterday with my parents, helping my mom with funeral arrangements, notifications, etc. She and Zach and I spent a couple of hours at the nursing home where my grandmother had been living, packing up her things. I think we were all on auto-pilot.

It was a weird day, not only for the obvious reasons but also because it was still Rosh Hashanah, and we would typically have been at services. It was hard to know what to do -- what was appropriate to do -- under the circumstances and on the holiday that we were suddenly not really observing.

Today, Zach and I supervised the movers who transferred my grandmother's furniture from the nursing home to a storage unit, and then I went to my last New Media class. There seemed to be no reason not to go, and I knew it would be a relief to have the class behind me. We finished our websites right in time for the server to go down, so there was nothing to do but go home early. This was a couple of hours after Mayor Bloomberg held a press conference to announce a specific terrorist threat against the NYC subway system. It was such a surreal day already that I don't think the news really fazed me. Still, at Zach's and my mom's behest, I took a cab home from school. (That's $32 with tip, for those who don't have a sense of the distance between Columbia's Morningside Heights campus and our home in Brooklyn.)

I was determined to finish the reading for tomorrow's Law class but fell asleep in the attempt. I am losing count of all the things I am behind on at this point.

For Grandma

My maternal grandmother, Ida Fuchs, passed away very early this morning, in the midst of Rosh Hashanah. She was 96 years old and had been in failing health for about 6 months, but it was still a shock, of course.

She was a great lady -- salutatorian (albeit rightful valedictorian) of her high-school class, on the basketball team (this was in the 1920s, mind you), a voracious reader, and an expert knitter and seamstress. She made a lot of my clothes when I was a little girl, and knitted lots of gorgeous sweaters for me over the years. She helped me learn to knit, too, although I never matched her prodigious skill or output.

She was married to my grandfather, Michael (aka Mickey), for an improbable 72 years and missed him every day since his death in 2001. He would have turned 100 last month.

So I am sad today, but also grateful to have had her in my life this long.

Just Another Manic Monday

I think I slept for about two and a half hours this morning.

Note to self: I am 38 years old. Thirty-EIGHT. One might need less sleep as one gets older, but I'm pretty sure you'd have to be about 143 to only need two and a half hours total per night. And though I might feel 143 sometimes (like, say, now), I'm not quite there yet.

But back to today's recap. . . .

I managed to get through the news quiz with only one complete blank out of 11. (We usually have only 10, but Prof. Padwe took pity on us today and decided to go with Olympic-style scoring -- he gave us an extra question so that we could count our best 10 of 11.) Here's the list for those of you playing at home:

1. Valery Lozada


2. Clarence Norman


3. Karen Hughes


4. William Bennet


5. Ronnie Earle


6. Roy Blunt


7. Throgs Neck Bridge


8. Richard Codey


9. Douglas Forrester


10. GAO


11. Tom DeLay

Today's drill was to write a narrative based on some of the 911 tapes from 9/11 that were released by the Fire Department. We were supposed to transport ourselves back in time to January 2002 and write the story from that vantage point. Oh, and because of a collating error, we only got two of the four pages at first, then had to incorporate the other two later on. I had my usual problem of coming in under the word count.

We then had an abbreviated seminar in which Prof. Padwe very reluctantly extended the deadlines on our next two assignments. The first is on the recently released test-score results among 4th- and 8th-graders in the city's public schools, and the second is a teacher profile. Although I am still perilously behind on the assignment, I did succeed in setting up an interview with the principal of the elementary school I plan to cover for the first story. I'm supposed to meet him at 7:30AM on Friday. (I have class until 9:30PM on Thursday and then again at 9:00AM on Friday, but no prob. . . .)

The highlight of the day was lunch with John Bennet, a senior editor at The New Yorker and my Art of the Profile professor. We met at his office and had lunch at the swanky Condé Nast cafeteria. He's a really colorful character -- very quotable, even if some of his language is unprintable. Anyway, we talked about all manner of things, and I mentioned that I might be interested in editing at some point. (This is actually true -- I was not sucking up.) And then the coolest thing happened -- he offered to give me a sample editing assignment FROM THE MAGAZINE. We went upstairs to his office, and, after a tour of the place, he handed me a 36-page piece and told me to edit it. And, he said, I could do a couple of these sample assignments in lieu of the next short profile assignment. Woo-hoo!!!! (Of course, I have zero time to do this. But that is not the point!)

Then I high-tailed it back to Columbia to finish my profile. Did I mention that it's of a very cool jazz vibraphonist? And did I mention that Bennet (again, he prohibited us from calling him Prof. Bennet) is a total jazz aficionado who owns virtually every jazz album ever recorded? How about the fact that I know next to nothing about music in general and jazz in particular? Not the very best set of circumstances. No, not at all.

And, of course, I continued to struggle with the profile. I finished it, and I filed it on time, but it really wasn't very good at all. My only solace is that Bennet told me over lunch that for our final profile (3,000 words), we can revise one of the short (800- to 1,000-word) pieces we've done. So I'm probably going to revise this one and hope that I can redeem it in longer form. . . .

Pain

It's 1:55AM. I have written 463 words of the 800- to 1,000-word profile that's due in my Art of the Profile class tomorrow night. I'm not going to the class, mind you, because Rosh Hashanah starts tomorrow night. I am, however, having lunch with the professor tomorrow -- it just so happens to be my turn -- so I really want to have it done by then. This is looking less and less likely, since I need to leave the house in less than 5 hours in order to make it to school tomorrow in time for my RWI drill. And did I mention that I'm not particularly prepared for our news quiz? Or that I've only done half of the assigned reading for the Profiles class? This wouldn't be a big deal except that we are expected to turn in comments on what we've read. Oh, and it goes without saying that I'm also behind on our next RWI assignment.

On the positive side:

Zach went out and bought me a desk yesterday and then very ably put it together while I was up at school, meeting with my master's advisor for the first time and trying to ge less behind on the RWI assignment. This should make a huge difference in recovering from my repetitive-strain injury.

I made a lot of progress today, with Zach's help, in building my personal website for my New Media Skills class. It's due this week, and I had just about nothing done on it until today. I will post a link as soon as it is ready for prime time (or late night, as the case may be).

(This one's for Zach) The Redskins won in overtime, giving them a 3-0 start for the season. The last time they had a 3-0 start (a long, long time ago), they went to the Superbowl (and won!).

On the negative side:

I am exquisitely screwed.