I read recently that, despite a huge, ridiculous, almost criminal amount of sackings within our industry, the number of people signing up for journalism degrees rises by 24 per cent.
I have no idea what these wannabe journalists are being told, but surely they must read the three main web sites devoted to journalism. Redundancies, closures, gloom, doom and crap campaigns.
Surely they must realise the chances of getting a job have gone from fat chance to virtually fuck all.
So why do they still come?
Fuck knows. I can only think that either the NCTJ needs to keep making cash or we have another bunch of new journos who fail to pay attention to the outside world.
Read some shit about journalism jobs you mongs!
Showing posts with label reporters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reporters. Show all posts
Friday, 27 February 2009
Old skool/new skool
The old guys - and I am starting to become one - have rose tinted glasses. They were just as lazy, just as sneaky, just as unmotivated, as the young 'uns. In fact, more so. Don't forget these guys (I use the omnisexual version of the word) didn't have a web edition. A lot of them didn't have mobiles. No internet. No extra pressures. No money - admittedly, but only one real job. Write for the newspaper.
They also didn't have the same attitude to lunchtime drinking- or in some cases early morning drinking - as your bosses do now. Rolling in pissed as a fart after lunch (or not rolling in at all) was the norm.
Five decent stories a week, a few down pages, nibs and done. Week's work, roll on the weekend.
Except this doesn't really tell the whole story.
Without the web, without mobiles, without email, journalism changes.
No google alerts for every paper or media outlet that mentions your patch; no emails from charities, companies, sources, spies, press offices or pundits. No way of getting a steer from the desk on a job on your moby. No ability to ping pics from other areas by email. No real way of searching cuttings except for a trip to your own (or more likely) the local reference library.
You relied on three things - ring ins (unlikely) walk-ins (yeah, right) or contacts.
Contacts are king and something young reporters don't yet comprehend. This biz ain't what you know, it's who you know. The more contacts you have the more stories you will get. Full stop.
Someone gets run over? You know a man, who knows a guy, who knows the cousin. A murder? You find his best friend through a pub landlord you know. A guy wins £100k on the lottery? With enough good contacts you will find him/her and hopefully they will end up being a right criminal scrote.
Build up, cultivate and cherish your contacts. Never give them up easy, keep them tight, keep them secret. A good contact can last you a career - they get promotions too. A good PC can become a sublime DCI in a few short years. Councillors become MPs, become government ministers, teachers become heads, soldiers become colonels.
Build a relationship, burn only your bad ones and contacts become a journos greatest asset.
Old skool.
They also didn't have the same attitude to lunchtime drinking- or in some cases early morning drinking - as your bosses do now. Rolling in pissed as a fart after lunch (or not rolling in at all) was the norm.
Five decent stories a week, a few down pages, nibs and done. Week's work, roll on the weekend.
Except this doesn't really tell the whole story.
Without the web, without mobiles, without email, journalism changes.
No google alerts for every paper or media outlet that mentions your patch; no emails from charities, companies, sources, spies, press offices or pundits. No way of getting a steer from the desk on a job on your moby. No ability to ping pics from other areas by email. No real way of searching cuttings except for a trip to your own (or more likely) the local reference library.
You relied on three things - ring ins (unlikely) walk-ins (yeah, right) or contacts.
Contacts are king and something young reporters don't yet comprehend. This biz ain't what you know, it's who you know. The more contacts you have the more stories you will get. Full stop.
Someone gets run over? You know a man, who knows a guy, who knows the cousin. A murder? You find his best friend through a pub landlord you know. A guy wins £100k on the lottery? With enough good contacts you will find him/her and hopefully they will end up being a right criminal scrote.
Build up, cultivate and cherish your contacts. Never give them up easy, keep them tight, keep them secret. A good contact can last you a career - they get promotions too. A good PC can become a sublime DCI in a few short years. Councillors become MPs, become government ministers, teachers become heads, soldiers become colonels.
Build a relationship, burn only your bad ones and contacts become a journos greatest asset.
Old skool.
Blog-a-doodle-doo
I have been meaning to write this blog for some time.
Me, I am a jobbing hack, front line news man, boss and bitch and bully for some 20 years. I have worked on locals, regional dailies, nationals, agencies and for myself.
No ages (below 40) no names (call me Blunt) no pack drill (UK based).
Now I am back on the locals - a medium I have always had great respect for. The true coal face of truth, the place where nationals come for their tales.
I won't name the paper but we have a newsy patch and we cover many stories the nationals chase.
We have competition as well - another two papers in fact - something unheard of in many areas.
I have a great, committed staff of both juniors and experienced reporters. We work hard, we believe truly in what we do and the responsibility and powers we hold. I love my job but things ain't right in the world of news.
I want to use this blog to vent my spleen, to become my online therapist, my new best friend. A cathartic mix of bile, venom and hate. A written rant of disjointed drivel.
Just exactly the sort of great traditions the hack's night out were based on.
I hope you find something worth reading in here.
If you don't - fuck ya.
Me, I am a jobbing hack, front line news man, boss and bitch and bully for some 20 years. I have worked on locals, regional dailies, nationals, agencies and for myself.
No ages (below 40) no names (call me Blunt) no pack drill (UK based).
Now I am back on the locals - a medium I have always had great respect for. The true coal face of truth, the place where nationals come for their tales.
I won't name the paper but we have a newsy patch and we cover many stories the nationals chase.
We have competition as well - another two papers in fact - something unheard of in many areas.
I have a great, committed staff of both juniors and experienced reporters. We work hard, we believe truly in what we do and the responsibility and powers we hold. I love my job but things ain't right in the world of news.
I want to use this blog to vent my spleen, to become my online therapist, my new best friend. A cathartic mix of bile, venom and hate. A written rant of disjointed drivel.
Just exactly the sort of great traditions the hack's night out were based on.
I hope you find something worth reading in here.
If you don't - fuck ya.
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