Not so keen on riding the wave of change...

[Preface: In this blog, when I say “we,” I should really use the first person. This is a hyper-critical self-analysis, and I don’t want to speak for anyone else. Also, this post is partly inspired by class on Wednesday and partly inspired by Audrey's last blog.]

If I weren’t a journalist, I’d probably hate journalists.

To coin a term my high school mentor once used to describe our breed, we journalists “fancy ourselves mavericks.” We’re tend to think of ourselves as a superior species; we think we’re somehow apart from the masses who read this stuff we package together and sell as the authoritative version of the news.

We worship Woodward and Bernstein. It’s our journalistic wet dream to grab hold of some loose, conspiratorial thread and pull it until we’ve reached an unthinkable climax. Then, of course, we’ll win the Pulitzer.

It’s disgusting, really, when I think about it. A lot of journalism is, no matter how saccharinely you sugar-coat it, egomaniacal. We thrive on competition, and individual competition is fundamentally selfish. We scrap for bylines. We fight. We win. We want to be on top.

While I’m sure the Missourian’s newsroom is probably full of aspiring journalists with well-developed altruism — kids who genuinely pursue news in all its forms because they love it and they want to instill the same kind of love in our readers — you’ll never convince me that the people who tend to be most successful here don’t fall into that “maverick” self-analysis.

That’s why I think the shells project has been so challenging.

If you’re in Advanced Reporting, you’ve likely done well in your Reporting class. You’ve fought. You’ve persevered. You’ve proven that you’re capable of succeeding in a competitive career field undergoing constant evolution. So the “group work” thing might be just a little unnatural.

But journalism is changing. Each day, our coverage grows more and more user-centric. We use graphics, multimedia, sound bytes. We post documents online so that our readers can check them out for themselves instead of twiddling thumbs until we authoritatively break it down for them. The new era of journalism is all about relinquishing power. A real reporter is going to have to learn how to stifle the ego and deliver information quickly, effectively, and selflessly. From an reader perspective, this evolution is fantastic. It’s helping news outlets deliver spin-free, objective coverage. One day, our job will probably be to make it quick and easy for readers to process information instead of processing everything for them.

Here’s my problem: I know, in my gut, that it’s the maverick in me that fuels my passion for journalism. Shells DO stimulate my creativity. I think, if I had the time and energy to devote to one (hello, capstone!) I’d really enjoy and savor the shell production process. However, in the long run, I don’t know if I can survive in the coming age of journalism. I don’t know if I can ever swallow my pride enough to meet the Web-era’s definition of a good reporter.

I got into reporting because I saw it as an effective way to make a passion useful. I love to write, but getting a B.A. in English wasn’t going to pay the bills. A steady job at a paper, I thought, would. Plus, I loved reporting. I loved calling people, stumbling upon leads, synthesizing stuff and coming up with one helluva story.

The way I see journalism heading, I think it’s going to take either every ounce of effort in my body or one massive stroke of luck to make a long-term career out of old-school reporting.

…and I’m starting to wonder if, given the way journalism’s evolving, this is the right career for me.

Maybe it’s time to think about graduate school.


Progress Report:
I’ve talked to folks from four different theaters in different regions of the country that have undergone renovations and restorations in the past five to ten years. Originally, I thought my story was just going to offer a little context for the Missouri Theatre’s restoration, but one source gave me a potentially awesome lead. Without revealing too much, we’ll see where it takes me.
Oh, yeah. I’m done with shells!