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I handed it all in today, and well, I am as always torn between deep foreboding of being ever the jobless wonder dependent on loving men, and being joyfully secure in said dependence.
I fear, of course, the pursuit of musical accomplishment, as it has always failed me before due to severe insecurity. However, I have clearly made great strides and must continue along the good path. Enough said on that topic, for this is the diary of journalism.
I will now reflect on the job I did for such a short time and yet gleaned so much from. I see this reverence for old and experienced journalists is beyond me – N--- is certainly experienced, but still makes glaring typographic and accuracy errors on a regular basis in his copy. Is that carelessness due to old age? Perhaps he would indeed have been mellow and permissive, making the job easier than I made it in my own mind.
But the constant feeling that I am not doing the job right would have irked me constantly. This is the problem with solitary and self-motivated work. I could just choose not to run after a poor grieving mother for comment and tell the boss there had been nobody at the inquest, and maybe get away with it, but my work ethic would clash with such an approach. Meanwhile, harassing somebody who doesn’t want to end up in the papers clashes with my life ethic.
I found myself siding with petty criminals and normal folks in so many cases, but as reporters we must always err on the side of the authority and the law. There is no such thing as calling the status quo into question. And that just proved my suspicions from the very beginning. Over and out!