A personal column by Lola George. Read her other entries here.
The work room is constantly buzzing with the clacking of computer keys, anchors reciting their scripts, SOTs being played repetitively, podcasts being recorded, computer mice clicking, so on and so forth and such.
I literally am experiencing the 9-5 job of a journalist. I probably have literally memorized the script of this news report that I have been editing from start to finish. I’ve listened to the same sound bite 37 times in order to cut out every extra “um..and..uh..and…” I had to run and do a stand-up before my hair started getting frizzy, and when I got back, I had to hop in the booth to record my VO. I’m in dire need of coffee. I find myself engaging in conversation with my colleagues about their interests, everything from politics to sports to fashion and social media (which is probably the best part).
The work of a journalist is never done, not even when the story is done. Then, there’s the tweeting (OH THE TWEETING!) and the blogging and the sharing. It never ends. Journalism never ends, because tomorrow you find yourself on to yet another story. And as chaotic as this may sound, something about the process is oh-so beautiful (the “learning and sharing”, if you will). I love the satisfaction of the finished product, the response from the audience, and the ability to say “Yeah, I did that.” It’s satisfying, very satisfying. I decided that this might be something I can do for the rest of my life.