We are journalists. We are proud of what we do. We are tired of bad press about the press. We are trying to be "team players." We are terrified of more layoffs and paycuts. We would like to produce quality work without 'obamasux99' posting some non-sequitur rant at the end of it. We complain because we want things to be better. We would like some respect, plz. We are journalists.

15th November 2011

Photo with 15 notes

I have traced blood stains on concrete to visualize the motions of a killer. I have seen police pull a duffel bag filled with body parts out of the Hudson River. I have watched parents bury their children. My mother calls me every day to make sure I’m OK. She worries about the doors I knock on, the convicts I talk to, the strangers who invite me into their homes. She fears my press badge won’t protect me when it matters. Once, I asked the President of the United States a question; he didn’t answer. I have been kicked out of more hospitals, funeral homes and apartment buildings than I would like to count. I have cried behind the wheel of my dented 10-year-old car and used notebook paper to collect my tears. I write ideas on napkins, addresses on my palms. I love the smell of newsprint on my fingertips. I am terrified of of being wrong. I have been called a vulture, a mouthpiece, a stenographer. I go to work every day because I know I am none of these. I am a truth seeker, a story teller, a human being. I pray my words make a difference. I live and breathe this ethereal thing called truth. I don’t know how to do this any other way. I am a newspaper reporter.

I have traced blood stains on concrete to visualize the motions of a killer. I have seen police pull a duffel bag filled with body parts out of the Hudson River. I have watched parents bury their children. My mother calls me every day to make sure I’m OK. She worries about the doors I knock on, the convicts I talk to, the strangers who invite me into their homes. She fears my press badge won’t protect me when it matters. Once, I asked the President of the United States a question; he didn’t answer. I have been kicked out of more hospitals, funeral homes and apartment buildings than I would like to count. I have cried behind the wheel of my dented 10-year-old car and used notebook paper to collect my tears. I write ideas on napkins, addresses on my palms. I love the smell of newsprint on my fingertips. I am terrified of of being wrong. I have been called a vulture, a mouthpiece, a stenographer. I go to work every day because I know I am none of these. I am a truth seeker, a story teller, a human being. I pray my words make a difference. I live and breathe this ethereal thing called truth. I don’t know how to do this any other way.

I am a newspaper reporter.

  1. sourshoulders reblogged this from wearejournalists and added:
    i especially like this one
  2. rkb reblogged this from wearejournalists
  3. verdeviento reblogged this from wearejournalists
  4. michaelrkingjr reblogged this from wearejournalists and added:
    DBK pride.
  5. avrabel reblogged this from wearejournalists and added:
    I think this is my favorite entry so far.
  6. Marissa submitted this to wearejournalists