Journalism’s Joker of the Pack

Journalism is a scary place.

After amonths of fretting I have scored myself a place on a Journalism course at a reputed institute. The interview was hellish and I managed to muddle through just-about without crying or storming out. I didn’t even flicker my annoyance or distress. I wonder if this is how all journalists feel as they rarely admit to any emotional reaction to a story… My only real memory of a less-than-divorced-from-humanity newsreading was the memorable BBC broadcast of Tony Blair’s speech following the death of Princess Dianna. The BBC newsreader’s voice wobbles when he reitterates the compassion for Dianna the British public had that Tony concludes in his speech.

I hope that journalists have a sensitive, squishy core much like a juicy fondant rather than a chocolate-coated hazelnut. I am a cancerian and have always used my sensitivity as one of my strengths and not as a weakness, so why is it I am so hell-bent on plunging myself into an industry where sensitivity is the Kryptonite of all qualities.

It often gets me to thinking that my journalism career thusfar has been relatively comfortable. I review art shows which isn’t gritty in the slightest. I get pissy after an interview if at a Private View the artist was more interested in his/her wine than me. So will this mean I am yet to prove myself? I stated through gritted teeth when my hardened, nicotine-tinged interviewer challenged me that “I am much more thick skinned than you give me credit.” This is true, I stood my ground and it is upon this that I was awarded my place however I got home and sobbed because it got me to thinking that maybe I’m just not cut out for knocking on freshly widowed womens’ doors and asking them for their take on the incident six hours prior.

I am a monster. Or I am about to become one.

Oooooh dear.

So I am not going to abandon my studies. Writing is what I want to do and the best way to get a head start I can see is by hitting the ground running with a qualification in Journalism – I am looking into documentary-making, PR and art-writing as my fallback options to take if I can see serious therapy on the horizon.

It makes me worry. I don’t want to live a life where I cannot be honest and I don’t want to live a life surrounded by bastards. I want to write and make people laugh and entertain and encourage. I don’t want to change myself and alienate myself from the things I thrive on. Or maybe a sensitive journalist is what the indusrty needs… maybe it means I’ll get stuck making the tea rather than hitting the streets with the photographer. Hmmm.

I shall postulate some more.

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