I wasn’t even twenty-five years old and I was working for the New York Daily News. All of my friends and family called me their “big-time reporter.” Except at that moment, I was the big-time New York reporter crying in a bathroom stall, thinking, “I hate this.” If this was what it’s like at the “top,” why had I worked so hard to get here?
It was a weird thought because I was living my dream. I had been living and breathing journalism since high school; I loved writing, telling stories, and talking to different people. I found joy in writing for my high school’s barely-there newspaper. I worked myself ragged as a writer and sports editor of NYU’s student paper, but I loved every minute of it. Sometimes I still can’t believe I did all of that for free, yet when I got the chance to do it for a top paper for a good salary, I didn’t want to do it at all.
Was it because of the newsrooms I had worked in or the people I had worked with? Yes and no. I’ve worked in three newsrooms in different parts of the country. Each had their own personality, but all of them tried to fight the future. It’s enough for me to understand why newspapers are dying.
During my post-grad internship at The News and Observer in North Carolina, I pitched a story about Facebook privacy concerns. I spent an hour explaining Facebook to my assigning editor, who still couldn’t wrap his head around it and treated the story like intern busywork that should never see newsprint. After I left, my final draft was turned into the millionth “Facebook is popular” trend story, six months before the Facebook privacy backlash began in 2005.
After that, I spent two and a half years working for the Chattanooga Times Free Press, a newspaper that was trying to catch up with the Internet. Reporters were required to blog, though some of the reporters had trouble understanding what a blog was in the first place, confusing posts with print articles on the Web site. Colleagues and I tried to rebel against the weekly post requirement. We had the freedom to write how and what we wanted, but they controlled when? Wasn’t that against the point of blogging? At least this newspaper’s editors understood the importance of their Web site and tried the best they could, even if they were a few years behind. Reporters blogged, we recorded audio and video, but, most of all, complained—a lot.
At the Daily News, a photographer made a slideshow to go with one of my stories. My supervisor proudly circulated the link around the section, but his boss had a very simple response to the multimedia effort: “Why?” Yet this same person also suggested I create a Google Alert with my name to see if blogs picked up any of my stories, as if it would be an honor and a reward. I found it odd that one of the largest newspapers in the country needed the reassurance of bloggers. After all, everyone at the paper acted like they were unaffected by falling circulation numbers, saying that this is New York and newspapers can’t possibly be dying here because people always have read papers and thus always will. Reporters and photographers mention the paper’s circulation rank at least three times a day in conversation to each other, sources, recent hires, and anyone who dare cross them.
But that mantra won’t stop the numbers from falling, the layoffs from coming, the readers from preferring the Internet, and the ads from not selling. The people at the paper kept telling me how everyone wanted to be in my position. After six weeks, I didn’t want to be there anymore. Three months later, I’ve been laid off from a temp receptionist job and my job search has stalled as the economy crumbles. All I can do now is read blogs in my pajamas all day, but I’m thankful for the chance to be a reader again and see what all the fuss is about.