Newshound Eats Newshound: Behind the Scenes in the Information Factory

(Editor's Note: You may choose to read the first paragraph of this story in this column, or you may choose to read it in the graphic* that accompanies this story to the right.)

by Hilary Crowe

Clips. Journalism, as I am quickly realizing, is a cut-throat career, and clips are to be the bane of my existence. My kryptonite, my Achilles' heel, whatever fancy metaphors there are for that little interjection in an already heady lifestyle that could burn everything to a crisp – my mind, my relationships, my GPA, and at times, my passion for writing. As a well-respected journalism professor at American University has said, in an eerily casual, common-knowledge manner, “You can take all the journalism classes you want, but if you aren’t getting bylines, you aren’t getting hired.” In other words, if you want college to be “the best time of your life,” (i.e. stress free and “Frisbee-on-the-quad-at-noon, dude!”) and still have a job opportunity ready with your diploma, journalism probably isn’t the major for you.

I’m not going to turn this into another gripe session about not conforming to industry and social concepts of success. I will, however, lament the bureaucratic wash one must endure to become, quite simply, a translator and commentator of events and entertainment. It seems to me, based on observations along with peer and insider advice, that journalism has become less about writing ability and more about schmoozing and appeasing the right people. It’s all about connections. Just because someone else got that job or internship you were dying to land, it might not mean that they are anymore or less qualified than you are. While some may take solace in that, I cringe.

I’ve never been too great at “selling myself,” the almost pornographic euphemism for beating a potential employer over the head with reasons why they need you. I’m humble, what can I say. I spent all last night working on a résumé, only to have it ripped apart and sewn back together by a helpful career adviser. So, at least I’m taking baby steps in the right direction.

I can say “Woe is my life!” all I want, but in the end, if I so desire a diploma and a job come May 2010, I’ll have to follow industry protocol. But pair this unease with the constant fear of those journalists who remember Woodward and Bernstein before Watergate: that print journalism is eking out its death rattle. While the validity of such rumors is disputed, I am not discouraged. Well, I’m interested in writing for magazines, and those will never go out of style, I say. Too bad they’re not interested in me. Yet.

I knew this career’s cannibalistic tendencies, the newshound-eat-newshound atmosphere in the newsroom, and I’ve decided it’s the only career path for me. If nothing else, it makes me appreciate the effort that’s gone into even the tiniest sidebar buried deep within The New York Times. As for now, until I can claim five square inches of my own in that prime real-estate for bylines, I’ll keep trying to break out, find an in, and climb to the top. I just hope I won’t hit rock bottom first.

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