War Arrow wrote: .... into it for yourself at some level, you start to notice the historical equivalent of lazy journalism.
I would like to stick up for the so-called 'lazy journalist'.
Most journalists, unless they're specialists, have to know a lot about very little at all, as their remit covers a very wide area. So if you're a General Features Writer on a Sunday rag, as I was, here's what it's like.
You come in on Tuesday morning to a conference with the editor where he or she decides that this week, you are going to write about why the honey bees are dying.
You have no knowledge of any kind of bees, let alone honey ones, except when they try to sting you. Now, overnight, you have to become an expert in honey bees and what makes them tick and what makes them different biologically to ordinary common-or-garden bees and then you have to find out why people think they are dying.
The only people that would really know are bee-keepers. So between Wednesday and Thursday, you have to track down at least two or three bee-keepers who are prepared to be quoted and photographed and also a spokesman for the government body in charge of bees (in this country, Defra). When they or their secretaries try to fob you off because their diary is too full, you have to fall to your knees and beg them to speak to you.
By Thursday, if you're lucky, you've arranged with the picture desk to send one of the photographers to take all the photos of everyone that you've cajoled into speaking to you. Sometimes you have to go with them, as they're not always very intelliigent about getting the photo in context with the story. Then you have to come back and write the sodding story, usually with all hell breaking loose around you in the news room for one reason or another - usually to do with alcohol and sex.
You have to get it written, though, as it has to go to the drink-sodden subs bench by close of play that day, so that they can sub it and then send it to the Editor for Friday.
On Friday, they start laying out the pages and you have to keep a beady eye on the picture desk and the art desk to make sure they don't run a picture of a common-or-garden bee, or that the drunken subs haven't cut the main point of your story, or put a headline on it that's doesn't work.
Then the Editor calls you in, and tells you that you've got to go Newcastle immediately. Some WAG has just been jilted by her footballer boyfriend and she may turn up at the match. If she does, you have to persuade her to talk to you in time for the late editions (i.e. five o'clock).
You go. ...but she doesn't turn up, of course.
So you get back on the train and finally arrive home somewhere around midnight ... but hey, at least you can look forward to a nice, leisurely weekend and staying in bed late with the Sunday papers.
So there you are, all tucked up with your coffee and croissants ... and then you open your own paper ... to find that your story about the honey bees has been cut. Then you pick up the rival rag and immediately see, splashed across the front page, that that Newcastle WAG has spilled her guts to them.
Thus is the life of a General Features Writer - it's not laziness.. it's just the sheer impossibility and craziness of the task...well, that and the drink!
