Reporting

No sense in the senseless, but a necessary job

The verdict in the Boston Marathon Bombing was rendered today.

I wonder why we put such events in capital letters. Does it help us learn from them? Or does it just amplify their awful glory? (If I were still a reporter, I’d explore that question.)

I wonder if a jury verdict really resolves anything, for anyone – the accused, the victims, the aggrieved. Does it provide what modern society calls “closure?” Does it mete out whatever it is we think of as justice? Or is it more about revenge? (I’d explore those questions, too, without any expectation of a definitive answer, but hoping the questions would prompt deeper thinking, and maybe better answers for the future. I hold on to a shred of idealism that way.)

But tonight I’m thinking of the late Monday afternoon almost two years ago, just a few hours after the bombings. I was rushing to my writing class at the Missouri School of Journalism. A young man followed – chased – me down the hall.

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Everything you need to know you can learn from five basic beats

Everything you need to know you can learn from five basic beats

Note, with love, to my soon-to-graduate Baby Js:

It’s that time of year when you can no longer ignore the Real World rushing your way. Funny how it always seems to catch you by surprise. Of course, Christmas and Mother’s Day always seem to catch newsrooms by surprise, and I get tripped up every March by the looming tax-filing deadline. So I’ll cut you some slack.

The hustlers among you already have locked in summer internships or first jobs. But that thin thread of security doesn’t ease your larger anxiety: What do you need to do to succeed? Or perhaps better put, how do you get to do what you really want to do, and do it as soon as possible?

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What postcards can teach writers

What postcards can teach writers

A friend sent this Washington Post story today about the dwindling popularity of postcards. Just one more tradition being disrupted, eclipsed, overrun ~ pick your victor verb ~ by digital convenience and social media ubiquity.

I note it here because postcards have always held a special place in my life. If I were a collector, postcards would be high on my list. Not for the initial image, but for the act of sending and receiving, and the magic of storytelling involved in that action.

When I send students off into the world or reporters on assignment, the one thing I ask is that they send me a postcard. I’m always delighted when one actually arrives. I love seeing the images they choose, being introduced to their handwriting (a rare thing these days) and being enchanted by the mini-story they’ve chosen to tell me.

Because that’s another huge value of postcards. They are the perfect venue for practicing the craft ~ and purpose ~ of storytelling.

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Trekkie Ethics, with a Vulcan hand salute

Today, I raise a Vulcan hand salute to Leonard Nimoy. To the unparalleled character he developed as Star Trek’s Mr. Spock, and to the even more creative man who played that, and other, roles, on screen and off. In tribute, and without apology, I offer a touchstone: “Trekkie Ethics.” It might not pass muster with the more serious scholars of either journalism or ethics, but it leans on their wisdom, and has served me well. – in work and in life.

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Lessons from the back of the sled

Out of my inbox…

Brendan Meyer came into my orbit his last year at Mizzou. Charming. Creative. Cocky. And a bit caught up in the notion of where he wanted to be instead of the steps along the road to getting there.

He graduated from the J-school last year with limitless ambitions and dreams (ESPN! Sports Illustrated!), limited experience and limited traction. But he took butt-kicking pretty well, from me and others at the School of J.

It seems his tires have caught — that traction thing — and, in the parlance of where he is now, he is finding the cattle beneath his hat.

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Out of my inbox

Out of my inbox

I cringe when I think of the practical wisdom buried in years of disorganized and deleted email exchanges.

I’ll send up a flare when I’m struggling with a deadline project and get quick help back from some generous soul who knows stuff I don’t. That’s a whole lot of souls.

Or I’ll get a ping from a student, journalist or first-time Thanksgiving dinner cook desperate for some career or craft counsel. The pleas pile up my inbox. I scan, reply best I can, hit SEND – then move on. As Jed Bartlett would say, “What’s next?”

Incoming, Outgoing. And over time, a trove of lost treasure.

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Learning to teach, teaching to learn

The University (in the capital-U sense) wants my “teaching philosophy.” Reasons for that request are happy, which isn’t always the case with a cap-U request. But happy doesn’t get the work done. So…

First: Thank God and Whoever Else had more important things to attend to while I taught at Missouri for 15 years without figuring that bit out.

Second: Even greater thanks, with apologies, to the students on the receiving end of me figuring it out as I go. And a deep bow to the Missouri Method – learn by doing – which doesn’t end with students.

Third: I have to write something. Cue anxiety, procrastination, much abuse of the F-word, coffee and wine.

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