Omigod I did the coolest thing!

Okay, there are two things when you daydream about becoming a journalist that go through your mind.
The first is the day you get to yell "stop the presses". For the record, that will never happen. Not unless you work in the print room and you get your hand caught in the rollers. Even then, you'll be dead before you get the word "presses" out.
The second is something I got to do today.
I spent the day hanging around the Children's Court. (That's not the cool thing... hang on... be patient).
And when sentencing was complete... I got to phone my story in from the field.
I swear to God, it was so cool. They have people called copy-takers who actually do this for a living. They're just a voice at the end of the phone waiting for journos to call them so they can clack away on our command. Fuck that was fun.

I haven't fucked up and I couldn't be happier

Okay, so it has been a week. Long enough to gauge basically whether you think you're going to be happy somewhere.
And I think I'm going to be happy.
I'm starting to come to grips with how things work. I'm being given good stories to cover now, rather than just the guttershite that no one else will touch (I'm bound to get bullshit tomorrow, I've just jinxed myself), and people keep coming up to me and saying I'm doing well.
Now unless that is the same as in football where they offer the coach their full support and then (in time honoured tradition) the coach is sacked inside a week, I think I'm doing okay. Today big David H - who is something of a legend - told me he was impressed with the run I was getting and the actual COS (not the fill-in last week) met me enthusiastically when I waltzed in (50 minutes early, as usual).
Anyway, I wasn't expecting encouragement so I was glad of it and it made me feel good is the point I'm making... rather than in any way bragging. Just so we're clear.
Okay, so some of the stories they try to get up - do get up - are a bit on the whacked side, but the point is I'm having fun despite them.
And I'm learning a lot and my style is developing and I'm even interviewing more thoroughly and harder than I ever have before. (The first bit of advice I was given was, "You'll be used to pumping out a lot of copy. You don't have to do that here but you will have to be thorough. Ask everything. If I ask you a question about something I expect you to know the answer already". Fair warning, really).
It's good for me. It's a challenge and I'm enjoying it. (Even when the challenge for the day is combining rainfall figures in farming communities with wildflowers. Yes. I did it, too).
What's more I get the impression they need more people, so if any of y'all think you want to give it a go too, then I totally encourage you to send the Ed your CV.

Fuck. You. All.

I hate you all.
I have just learned that all my friends... including my boyfriend... are in league with something called Facebook.
Apparently MySpace - which you all refused to get - is passe and Facebook is the new black.
Well fuck. You. All.
How long has this little dalliance been going on? And how is it not one of you fuckers managed to:
a) mention it
b) invite me to join
c) die. die. die?
One of you could probably have said something. Or am I being extricated from my circle of friends now? Hmm?
I know what this is. You're all just jealous because I saw Harry Potter nude.

Sunday, too far away

I had to work today. I haven't worked on a Sunday since my time with Nova (in earnest) came to an end. It was, obviously, my first Sunday at the big paper. I have to say, I loved it. There are fewer people around and a slightly informal atmosphere, you get given heaps of stories to do and there are fewer interruptions. Massive drawback is, people are much harder to get hold of and the contact book is surprisingly out-of-date. Thank God I took copies of my old CNG contact book! Who would have thought it would be so helpful?! I'm bloody reliant on it.
But my stories are getting a good run in tomorrow's paper. At least two of them are, at any rate. I believe they are the page three lead and the page three pic story. Of course, that is always subject to change.
Now... only two more days of work before I get another day off!

Two bylines, one Saturday paper

So I got two stories in today's paper. One of which I am very proud of. The other, however, looks ridiculous even to me. I'll leave you to work out which one is which.
But the one I broke my foot for... and ruined a pair of jeans for... the one the angle changed three times for... that story... the disjointed one which reads like a desperate bid to make something stand-up which doesn't actually stand-up... the one where no-one is actually saying the things my article attacks the Minister for... that article... that article... could... well... be... an... absolute... piece... of... shite.
Possibly.
I'm just saying.

Harry Potter and the Dreary Hallows (this is not a spoiler)

Okay, so it wasn't really dreary. I did enjoy it. I ploughed through it enthusiastically.
It was a page-turner, but not in the good way. I'd invested so much energy in the characters I just wanted to know whether they lived or died and whether everything added up in the end.
And I think everything was pretty well explained by JK and the way it was explained was also nicely clever. I make no complaints on that front.
I just thought that, for most of the book, pretty much nothing happens.
Then the last 100 or so pages I actually found quite a ripping read.
Except for the epilogue, which I thought was... well... suburban, actually.
I'd comment more but I refuse to print a spoiler.
Except for one thing... can anyone tell me, was that fucking baby in the ethereal Kings Cross Station a metaphor for something because I just totally missed it? I kept waiting for its significance to pop up and it didn't.

I failed

Today didn't quite go according to plan. Not only did my story fall through, so did I - literally - and I think I've broken my foot.
I am in severe pain and am hobbling like a lame sparrow.
The angle of the story changed three times and has now been held for Saturday because Alannah didn't get back to me in time. As I sat there waiting for the call, watching the deadline sail past, I couldn't help but think how ironic all our plaintiff cries at Community were: "She wouldn't do this to the West". She does.
So kudos to her on the egalitarian treatment. I must admit I did enjoy it when she said "of course the real story is (insert actually a very good point here) but you won't print that". I had to stop myself from finishing her sentence with Stuart's hilarious Alannah anecdote punchline: "I look forward to reading that somewhere between the polocrosse results and the hockey".
By that time I was actually in blistering pain. You see, I jumped a fence today and landed very badly indeed. I have possibly sprained my ankle or broken something vitally important to human functioning... in my foot... and I think I'm going to die, so bad is the pain.
Amazingly, I have to face the story again tomorrow... and try and find an angle that sticks, is truthful, and is in the paper's style. I'm beginning to realise that isn't very easy to do.

Not so bad, actually

I think sending a new reporter to stand outside Centrelink to voxpop "dole bludgers" (and get their photos) is the newspaper equivalent of the old left-handed spanner thing on building sites.
The "let's chuck the new boy a completely fucking stupid mission and see what he does" approach to managing new staff.
Well, as predicted my intro was rewritten to suit the headline desired, but I think people could read from the disjointed story that it wasn't my work. The opening two pars don't really match the rest of the yarn. But it went page three again... so I'm doing okay still.
Today was much more exciting: I got to write a lead. Not page three, obviously, but page 13 will be good enough for me if the story is 40cms. It was fun. I enjoyed my mission today.
Tomorrow's task has already been entrusted to me. They're sending the new boy undercover. Sort of. And I'm thoroughly excited.
This may not be so bad after all. I can handle occasional bad day if the rest of the time is as fun as today.

Ooooooohh-kay then... already a sell-out

Wow. Today was not fun. Not at all. I wrote as much as I could within my own conscience and values and ethics... but I'm not sure what is going to make it to print. I have little faith that my softly-softly approach (which would spare the participants in my story some needless shame and derision) will be what goes to print.
I stalked people - not just any people, disadvantaged people - on the street today. I was as nice as possible to them, but I'm afraid I won their trust (and took their photos to print alongside the story) under false pretenses. My brief was basically to find "bludgers", find out why they were not working and then get their photo. Not the easiest thing in the world to achieve in any case. I was on the street for five hours. It was a very long day indeed. And the task was such that quitting went through my mind. I used to do the work that helped these sort of people. Now I was getting all Today Tonight 'on their ass'.
To say I was uncomfortable is an understatement. As I wrote my story, knowing it would be re-written and unrecognisable, I could have cried. Still have a lump in my throat right now, actually.
That's a lump of guilt people. Horrible guilt.
How long does it take someone to sell-out when they go to "Herdsman"?
A bit over a day.
And while I won't be quitting, I think I might try to shuffle myself somewhere with a little bit less... of the above. Like online. Or Arts. Or copy boy.

PS, Kate: If I'm smoking cigars with the officers, then the officers are taking pot-shots at the POWs for kicks.

Schweet... day one out of the way

This is going to mean a wholesale lifestyle change. Part of me doesn't like that but the rest of me knows how lucky I am to have been given this opportunity and I don't want to waste it.
It was day one at my new job today and I was over-awed by the building and the people and the facilities (I mean they have a gym, with trainers, a full-on canteen with cheap food and a dry-cleaning service).
I was in training for the morning learning a system not unlike the one we used at Community but just different enough to be a little confusing. It felt funny to write a story without any Alun Jones comments ficking up on the screen.
I wrote my first story this afternoon and had to book a pic to go with it. I must say whilst I was dutifully shown the gym and the dry cleaning service, a few important things were not actually explained:
a) the roster, and when I'm on it
b) where the toilets are
c) how to book a photographer
d) how to book a car and a phone
e) where my stories come from
f) when deadline is
g) who I tell when I've written my story
h) that other people are writing other stories on the same subject matter, and that I ONLY need to worry about my angle in the story
i) who the hell all my colleagues are
I'm sure there are more. I spent the afternoon in a bit of daze. Would you believe when a story was finally chucked at me to do (at about 3.30pm) they said "you have 15minutes to find a someone who's really pissed-off about this and we need a pic booked... I suggest you get the Yellow Pages and start phoning".
Jesus.
Welcome.
But I achieved what I was asked to achieve and, I believe, the story is going on page three. Those of you reading this Tuesday morning might like to check and see if I have a byline. Or indeed, if the story is even there.
I like the rush, but I feel a little isolated down my end with the new people. Looking forward to moving closer to the main news desks as soon as I get the chance (someone is retiring and I'm taking her desk). Looking forward to getting stuck in to whatever they ask me to do next, having learned a few things from today's blind experience and knowing how better to handle it. Looking forward to breaking some serious news, not that it is expected in my first six months, apparently. Looking forward to becoming comfortable, becoming part of the furniture.
Hoping I don't lose the rest of my life though. I think there are going to be life/work balance issues.

Omigod this is hilarious!

I googled my byline this evening (I refuse to consider it googling my own name. If I call it googling my byline then it somehow seems legitimate and not at all egotistical).
And I was somewhat surprised to find an article I did when I was at the Guardian made it into an ECU student's essay.
The journalist among you will love this.

La Veillée des Abysses was billed as a “mesmerising fusion of nouveau cirque, dance and theatre” (The UWA Perth International Arts Festival, 2006a). In another example of the way that the Abyss has been framed for a public audience can be found in Dan Hatch’s locally written article advertisement for the performance. Hatch (2006, p. 26) describes La Veillée des Abysses as “the ultimate performing arts experience”.

Stop. I think we all know that came off a press release. Either that or I was using it in reference to the show combining several major arts disciplines. So I was surprised to find the analysis thus...

However, it seems that this is more likely an attempt to pitch the performance to a ticket buying public, rather than a confirmation that the performance is unsurpassed. Nevertheless, this claim contributes to an interpretation of the abyss by
drawing a line between the abyss and the idea of ultimate art and so this positioning of La Veillée des Abysses begs the question as to what the abyss has to do with the realisation of ultimate art, as to how it might be seen or not be
seen to live up to this kind of presumption.

What?

Hatch (2006, p. 26) paraphrases Thiérrée’s assertion that “the performance was not tied by a narrative thread, but was simply an experience”. It is also worth considering, in this case, whether either a reference to the abyss or even to the presumed absence of narrative thread legitimizes his framing of La Veillée des Abysses. Is it precisely an absence of narrative thread, this lack and void, which somehow catapults it to the height of creative expression and thereby maintaining a misunderstanding that creative practice is a metonym for aimless and perceivably inconsequential self-expression? Is Hatch (2006, p. 26), by entitling his brief discussion of La Veillée des Abysses, as “Say What? – Ultimate art experience, but no narrative thread or message”, suggesting that the best art is art that the viewer doesn’t have to think about? Is ultimate art ignorant?

No. You are ignorant you fuckwit. I interviewed a guy for five minutes and whacked the stuff he said together with some garbled crap from a press release. I'm not fucking Jack Kerouac I probably wrote 40 stories that week and that was one of them. A rather inconsequential we-need-to-fill-the-arts-pages-oh-look-the-festival-is-on piece. And, by the way, not one i titled myself, but rather one, like every single other story in the paper, that was given a headline by our sub-editors. (And up to their usual level of inventiveness, I might add.

I found this matter of narrative interesting especially in light of the ideas regarding the abyss and narrative that I raised in previous discussions, specifically those relating to the use of the Abyss for the interpretation of natural environments. There, I argued that representations of the abyss offer narratives that may in turn inform the individual’s negotiation of
indeterminacy and of the unfamiliar. I wondered what might possibly be informed by a production that claims to possess no narrative thread, whether this is a strategy designed to disorient the viewer and, in turn, encourage the individual’s independent negotiation of indeterminacy. Then, La Veillée des Abysses may be approached with the suggestion that it is a lesson on the potential for life-narrative.

Can I suggest the only abyss is you, you mirthless, joyless, talentless schmuck? I can't believe you think your lecturer is buying this shit. You're quoting a community newspaper for fucksake.

In order to tackle this issue I refer to Thiérrée’s explanation: “I never go into a narrative because it reduces my range and I feel limited ... It is also my talent, I prefer to think of it as a journey. Before you tell a story you have to figure out what you want to say and I’m never sure what I want to say” (cited in Hatch, 2006, p. 26). Taking this information on board it can seem that Thiérrée’s art does not come from a place of thoughtlessness but, more accurately, from his negotiation of the sensation of indeterminacy. The role of the abyss in La Veillée des Abysses can begin to be thought of as an appropriate cultural reference point for the articulation of sensations of indeterminacy. However much Thiérrée claims that La Veillée des Abysses does not possess an identifiable narrative thread I would continue to argue that it does.

Yes, let me stop you there. You make two fundamental mistakes. Firstly, it is not my job to engage in an argument with this dude, just to interpret his Manglish and print what he said. Secondly, you so totally confuse me with someone who gives a shit.

It goes on and on, but I will spare you any more. Suffice to say, I am only concerned that this standard of work is being produced by our university students. I mean this came from a 120 page document. Sadly, not author is quoted. Otherwise I'd put their name here, so that when they google their name, they can read my diatribe about their gobshite essay.

End of an era

Today was my last deadline day at the Hills Gazette. I've just seen my last edition of a Community News publication hung and put to bed.
It's the end of a more than two-year long affair with this company and the end of a career in weekly newspapers that started at the turn of the millennium.
I'd like to be sad. I'm not, but I'd like to be. I'm a little too ready to go on this next big adventure.
Don't get me wrong, I love weekly papers. I actually also love CNG, of a fashion. I've certainly made amazing friends here who will continue to be my friends. I will miss being a part of the inner-circle, the CNG family and all the camaraderie that comes with it. And I in no way devalue for a second the brilliant work of weekly journalists everywhere in breaking news and keeping the community informed on the issues that matter most.
No, I'm just ready for a change and a challenge. I'm excited about it. I cannot wait for Monday when I can turn-up to my first big day at The West, all be-suited, and learn the ropes.
A good friend likened it to deserting the trenches to go have a cigar with the officers. I like to think of it as representing my battalion on the front line.
I'm not one of those who will go AWOL from Community and deny my service. I shall wear it like a badge of honour and fly the banner as the most recent CNG soldier to trudge that well-worn path to what the bosses call "Herdsman"... as if it was a branch of CNG.

Apparently, I've made it

I was quietly thrilled last night. As I scooted down the stairs from the Laugh Resort I was handed an envelope... with $64 in it. My share of the night's takings!
I was so excited I practically skipped up the street, dripping wee.
I've been paid once before for my comedy (not that I've seen the money yet, Jimmy James... hint hint), but last night was really special.
It was special because no one came to see it. Not my best buds, not my family and not Thom.
In turn the other comedians asked me "Where is Thom?".
"He's not here, he stayed at home," I replied.
"Ah, that's means you're a real performer now... performing is not longer a novelty for them."
LOL. I thought that was funny. And I quite enjoyed the rite of passage.
Also last night I did about 15 minutes worth of material. That's the longest set I've ever done. I was, admittedly, quite rusty and nervous doing my old RAW Comedy material, but I did manage to get through it okay.
AND there was a further cherry-popping experience... I attacked someone in the audience for talking (they then left. Whoops. Lol) and also did some improv when I forgot my next joke (I played with my nipples until I remembered my line, truth be told).
So all up, it was a big night for comedy, Dan Hatch-style.
And I'm quietly proud of myself.

How young is too young...?

How young is too young to go grey?
Not that I'm...
Okay, I admit it. I have found one. A grey hair. Admittedly it is not on my head, it is in my beardy stubble.
One. Single. Very bright. Fucking. Grey. Hair.
Not even really grey, though, so much as white.
Blisteringly white.
So my question is, at 27, am I not waaaaay too young to be finding white bits?
At least the solution is simple. I can shave (which I will now have to do every day... and put on a suit and tie. Urgh!).
But how long will it be before one appears on my head?
I actually wouldn't mind if I greyed at the temples. I really find that hot. Or if I achieve that Clooneyesque young-and-grey-with-a-full-head-of-hair thing that I find so sexy.
I'd just prefer it if it didn't hit me for at least another five to ten years.
Hair Gods, please take note.
Although I am happy to pay this price if it means I won't suffer that oh-so not sexy male pattern baldness that haunts some of my family.

It's all happening

Got a little missive this morning from a dear friend and former editor of mine who is now at The West.

It said: "I’ve just noticed there’s a new label on the pigeon hole next to mine which says Daniel Hatch…."

I like that. I feel... expected. Anticipated. Welcome.

In contrast, I was told I probably couldn't order a CNG t-shirt today because I was leaving. I mean, obviously I take the point that I AM leaving, but I'm also proud of what I've done here and still like the place and would be happy enough to advertise the company to the outside world.

But no... f**k you. You don't want it, that's your look out. LOL.