I watched intently as David Carr, journalist of New York
Times fame, glowered across the table.
The interview was not going well.
The source was blathering pre-fabbed corporate talking points in place
of real answers to Carr’s questions, and it was clear even from my vantage
point at the far end of the table that Carr was having none of it.
“I don’t do corporate portraiture!” Carr said, slamming a
fist on the table.
I applauded inwardly.
No matter that my spot at the conference was a treadmill in my living
room and my attendance courtesy of Netflix in the heat of last winter’sdocumentary fest; I took a lot away from that meeting.
Because the truth was that over the past two years, my
writing life had devolved into little more than corporate portraiture, writing
for a hyper-local business publication and the fact had been troubling me
greatly at the time of the meeting, for so many reasons.
First—and least important—the money was not enticing. I say least important because it’s fair to
say that this blog stands in testament to the fact that I’ll write all day, for
free, if I have something I need to say.
Which brings me to the second point: my assignments were
becoming increasingly difficult for me to care about. I began dreading the monthly email from my
editor, detailing which banker, accountant, or CPA I was tasked to
profile. And since I was clearly not
enjoying the writing, in light of point number one, why did I persist in
turning out these who-are-the-people-in-your-neighborhood pieces that served as
little more than PR for firms I didn’t even know if I supported or believed in?
Because, simply and sadly, it was all I had going. I’d become lazy in my writing, resting on
decaying laurels of limited merit, failing to invite risk into my sleepy little
writing world. In short, I had lost my
edge.
Things began to change after the meeting. First, I vowed to somehow slide the phrase “I
don’t do corporate portraiture” into my next interview, which happened to be
with a lawyer.
At this point, I was operating within a maxim I’d embraced
as an art teacher, which basically stated that if I was ever feeling bored, the
problem was with me. The guideline
proved invariably true, as no job on earth is more action-packed and exciting
as that of an art teacher. Chances are,
your own job is rooted in a deep-seated intrinsic passion. Returning to those
basic ideals is a worthy pursuit, and should happen often.
True to my word, I let Council X recite his Party Line for
about 30 seconds before I cut in.
“Council X,” I said, summoning up a Carr-esque firmness I had never used
in the duration of my tenure at Hyper-Local Times, “I don’t do corporate
portraiture. Tell me who you are as a
person. Tell me why you chose this
path. Why, Council X, are you a lawyer?”
Now, getting to the personal, story-behind-the-story is not
a new idea for me. On the contrary, I am
known in some circles as possessing a knack for behind-the-scenes
reportage. However, insisting on it up
front, in lieu of listening to the “pitch,” and later wading through reams of
scrawled notes in search of the real story—that was kind of new, and I liked
it.
Mostly, I liked it because I had a better time, and, I think
Council X did, too. See, Council X is a
seasoned man and, accordingly, has a lot of stories. For instance, I learned that the pristine lawn
at my university—thick and lush, with a manicure rivaling what even the
swankiest of salons can do for digits—used to be a pig farm. Plump sow of all sizes and persuasions used
to roll through a muddy muck, the remnants of which must still lie beneath the
Chem-lawn upper crust of campus earth. I
learned that the people I know today as the Who’s Who movers and shakers of our
urban burb were Council X’s childhood playmates and high school peers.
In short, Council X and I talked a lot about foundations,
and values, and community, and very little about civil code and criminal
cases.
I went home and wrote a heartfelt piece entitled “Decency on
the Docket;” a few weeks later I received a thoughtful, handwritten note from
Council X, thanking me for the story.
But as nice as all that was, I can not truthfully say that
fixing my angst was a simple matter of stepping up my game.
Indeed, it wasn’t too long before I gave notice to my editor
at Hyper Local Times that I would be leaving to pursue my studies as an MFA
candidate, which has now replaced Hyper Local Times as The Only Thing I Have
Going.
But I accepted one last writing assignment (and well nigh a
dozen photo shoots, but that is a different story), and it just so happened to
turn into a real story. Or maybe I
turned it into a real story. It’s hard
to say at this point.
What I do know is that my last story at Hyper Local Times
made me feel like a reporter again, at least a little bit.
I was assigned a piece designed to highlight an upcoming
fund raising walk for breast cancer research, as it was late August and my
swan’s song was to be the October cover story. But my editor—who is really an amazing
business woman in her own right, not to mention a fabulous human being—gave me
a couple great leads that allowed me to just run with the assignment.
First, I spoke with the organizers of the walk who happened
three strong, vibrant survivors who happened to be good friends, each with very
different and somewhat shocking stories—each, in their own way deviating from
the typical breast cancer scenario (if there really is such a thing). I was also given access to an oncologist—a
breast cancer specialist, which I realized begged for a bold approach. So I did some research, in the form of an
online survey, in hopes of finding themes that average women—my facebook
friends, your facebook friends, random tweeps, etc. would ask if they had access
to a specialist. My blood was
circulating, my heart was pounding—for the first time in a long time, I was on
assignment in a way that had nothing to do with corporate portraiture.
What resulted was a piece of reporting that challenged me as
a writer and a woman, particularly as a woman with
hypochondria/ocd/anxiety. It made me
think: about the uncertainty and beauty of life, the power
of attitude, breast cancer, and my future in non-corporate, nonfiction portraiture.
All of which will be discussed right here, tomorrow. I hope you will join me.
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