I would grope for the nearest open grave if I had no newspaper to work for, no need to search for (and sometimes find) the winged word that just fits, no keen wonder over what each unfolding day may bring.
— Bob Considine (1906-1975), journalist and author
I didn’t always feel this way about journalism. For me, it was an acquired taste — an affinity I built through years of working toward what it turns out I was meant to do.
In high school, I was That Kid — you know, the one who always breezed through spelling tests and absently circled mistakes on notes passed to me in class. The one whose classmates hated her and whose English teachers loved her.
During my first week at the University of Arizona, I saw an ad in the school paper seeking copy editors. For the first time, it occurred to me that my annoying skill could be put to good use.
I aced the editing test and became the only non-J major to work on The Daily Wildcat. For my junior and senior years, I was the copy desk chief. Yet I never took a single journalism class. Why? Because the primary prerequisite for the 200-level editing course (or any other J course, for that matter) was J-101: Basic Reporting. I had zero desire to be a reporter. With my social anxiety, I couldn’t imagine being forced to call people I didn’t know and ask questions they didn’t want to answer. Nope. I wanted to be an editor — period.
I was a linguistics/anthropology major, and I enjoyed those classes, but I never did finish my degree. I learned pretty much everything I needed in that student newsroom — not only about teamwork and fact-checking and Associated Press style, but also things like how to cut-and-paste waxed strips of text onto a cardboard page in even columns using an X-Acto knife and a pica pole. (That metal ruler remains a prized possession today. In addition to its continued usefulness as a straightedge and a measuring stick, it’s a terrific back-scratcher.)
Those years of experience are what got me my first real-world newspaper job. Through the decades, I’ve polished innumerable articles, managed hundreds of special sections, even written a few things here and there. I’ve also designed thousands upon thousands of pages — first pencil-drawing layouts for paste-up artists to follow, then using a clunky proprietary program that allowed me to send complete story blocks to paste-up, then doing it all electronically with the advent of Quark Xpress and later InDesign.
Despite making my career in journalism, I’ve often said I’m more of a word person than a news person. Along those same lines, I’ve also considered myself a decent writer, but not a reporter. These things are still largely true; I’d much rather write columns and feature stories than hard news, for pretty much the same reasons I had in college. And now that I’m in my 50s, I’ve found a place where I can do it all: editing, page design, special sections and, finally, writing.
But as print news devolves toward what appears to be its inevitable extinction, Bob Considine’s words ring all too true for folks like me — those who are still in it for the pure joy of storytelling, or simply being trusted purveyors of truth, rather than concocting sensationalist crap to draw web hits.
Considine himself didn’t live to see what the industry has become. I intend to carry his torch as long as I can in spite of it.
I won’t be groping for an open grave anytime soon. Bring it on.
Kat Bryant is lifestyle editor of The Daily World. She hopes print journalism outlasts her, because she has no desire to outlast it. Reach her at kbryant@thedailyworld.com or on Facebook at Kat Bryant-DailyWorld.
