Jane leaned back in her desk chair, looking out at the commotion on the lake through her bay windows. The inexperienced sailor on the white catarmaran was yelling expletives into the wind in frustration at the calm conditions. Jane pulled across the sheer white curtains as they flapped wildly across her desk in the early spring breeze.
She closed her eyes and drummed her nails on the exquisite writing desk, a hand-me-down from her grandfather. These days his calligraphy pens, nibs and ink had made way for more modern tools that she actually knew how to use; like a laptop, a couple of portable hard drives and piles of newspaper cuttings.
She looked out at the man dragging his boat back onto dry land. She hadn’t even written a paragraph since he had gone out this morning. Jane put her fingers on the keyboard and bounced them atop of the letters, as if they would start typing meaningful sentences by themselves. She jumped as her mobile vibrated on the desk, excitedly telling her that Joan, her editor of three years, was calling for the hundredth time this week.
Sorry Joan, I know I promised you the intro, but I’ve been distracted by a boat for the past five hours.
I bet grandpa never had writer’s block.
Her grandfather had told her this desk had saved his life during World War Two. For years, she had imagined him tapping away at his typewriter until the planes were overhead, then ducking under his desk, as if the rickety old thing were some sort of nuclear bunker.
But he hadn’t meant it so literally. Writing became his way of distancing himself from the horrors of war. Grandpa had been conscripted into the army in 1939. During a training camp six months later, he was hit by a stray bullet that lodged in his spine. Unable to walk, he was honourably discharged, and had discovered writing, the one thing that kept him going through the dark years.
But it wasn’t working out like that for Jane. It had been almost three years since the death of her beloved daughter, Sarah, who was killed in a boating accident at 12 years old. Jane’s fifth novel, which she was still working on, had been due for completion two years ago. It wasn’t so much writer’s block, but human fear. Fear of letting go of her emotions.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
Friday 19 November 2010
Lucky Escape
The steel door slammed shut, sending a deep echo through the dark room. Mitch slid along the ground, until his beaten face was inches from the crack under the door. He shuddered at the feel of cold concrete against the bloody welts on his cheek and the cool sweat dripping off his neck.
“We must move him tonight!”
From the accent of the loud-mouthed guard, Mitch guessed he was in an Algiers prison. And that was as far as possible from where he wanted to be. It was hard to tell with swollen eyes, but from the size of the feet, Mitch figured the bozo guarding the door would not go down without a fight. The latching mechanism on the door slid into place, and the guard moved away until his brown combat boots were just a blurry shadow.
This wasn’t a standard prison door. But Mitch wasn’t a standard prisoner. Since joining the team, Mitch anticipated he would someday be captured. But this was not going to go down well at the Pentagon. The Defence Secretary fought hard for this Special Ops mission.
Mitch’s captors had been torturing him several times a day about the chip. But he was trained to empty his mind, particularly of anything that may get him killed on its admission. But last night they had mentioned Emily.
Emily, his five-year-old daughter, had lived with her grandparents since the death of his wife. She thought her daddy was a travelling insurance salesman. Sure, he had a level of charisma and self-confidence, but a travelling insurance salesman?
They know about Emily. He vomited again for the third time in as many hours. His captors were not forthcoming with room service, so there wasn’t much left in his stomach.
Mitch didn’t know if his team would come rescue him. It wasn’t standard procedure, but there were big egos involved who wanted results. And they knew that Mitch was in the best position to deliver. He fell asleep for the first time in days, trying to empty his mind of Emily, and awoke to hear a rattle under the floorboards. About bloody time.
“Boss, it’s good to see you. We gotta get out of here. Got the chip?”
Mitch smiled at the rookie he had hired a few months earlier. “Give me some of the local water and you’ll see it in the next few hours”.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
“We must move him tonight!”
From the accent of the loud-mouthed guard, Mitch guessed he was in an Algiers prison. And that was as far as possible from where he wanted to be. It was hard to tell with swollen eyes, but from the size of the feet, Mitch figured the bozo guarding the door would not go down without a fight. The latching mechanism on the door slid into place, and the guard moved away until his brown combat boots were just a blurry shadow.
This wasn’t a standard prison door. But Mitch wasn’t a standard prisoner. Since joining the team, Mitch anticipated he would someday be captured. But this was not going to go down well at the Pentagon. The Defence Secretary fought hard for this Special Ops mission.
Mitch’s captors had been torturing him several times a day about the chip. But he was trained to empty his mind, particularly of anything that may get him killed on its admission. But last night they had mentioned Emily.
Emily, his five-year-old daughter, had lived with her grandparents since the death of his wife. She thought her daddy was a travelling insurance salesman. Sure, he had a level of charisma and self-confidence, but a travelling insurance salesman?
They know about Emily. He vomited again for the third time in as many hours. His captors were not forthcoming with room service, so there wasn’t much left in his stomach.
Mitch didn’t know if his team would come rescue him. It wasn’t standard procedure, but there were big egos involved who wanted results. And they knew that Mitch was in the best position to deliver. He fell asleep for the first time in days, trying to empty his mind of Emily, and awoke to hear a rattle under the floorboards. About bloody time.
“Boss, it’s good to see you. We gotta get out of here. Got the chip?”
Mitch smiled at the rookie he had hired a few months earlier. “Give me some of the local water and you’ll see it in the next few hours”.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
TRAGIC DECISION
Most spring mornings Jane got up early. Before heading to work, she enjoyed the beautiful crisp weather, stunning mountainous views, vegemite toast and strong coffee, with entertainment provided by local magpies and their young.
One crisp Tuesday in November, Jane overslept; and with an early appointment in town, the routine went out the window. If she had been up early, she probably would have noticed a young man sitting out the side of her house. Maybe he was angry, or sad, or up to no good. Jane probably would have thought he was a bored young thug, with nothing better to do, just looking for trouble.
If Jane had not rushed that morning, she probably would have fed the birds over the back fence. She would have definitely noticed the young man then, walking along in a daze, high as a kite. Knowing her, she would have watched him like a hawk. But then she would have decided that he was too miserable to cause any real damage. She probably would have ignored him after a while.
If Jane had not rushed that morning, she would not have forgotten her lunch. But it was such a beautiful day, she decided to go home during her break to eat it outside on the balcony. As Jane drove up her street, she saw a police car.
With young hooligans a few doors down, this was nothing new. As she opened her back gate, she saw men in suits with clipboards on the hill out the back. A cluster of police officers. A big blue structure had been erected around a tree. Bright yellow police tape was attached to her back fence. Detectives. A coroner. Something had happened. A camera flashed behind the blue tent as the sun dipped behind a cloud.
If Jane had been up early that morning she may have noticed a depressed young man out the side of her house. She may have nodded in his direction. Or do something, anything, except ignore him. But knowing her, she probably would have just dismissed him.
She probably wouldn’t have noticed him looking at the trees; looking for a sturdy one. He picked one that she could see from her kitchen window. A tree on a busy firetrail. Jane hoped that was unintentional. Because nobody noticed the young man throwing the rope over the branch.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
One crisp Tuesday in November, Jane overslept; and with an early appointment in town, the routine went out the window. If she had been up early, she probably would have noticed a young man sitting out the side of her house. Maybe he was angry, or sad, or up to no good. Jane probably would have thought he was a bored young thug, with nothing better to do, just looking for trouble.
If Jane had not rushed that morning, she probably would have fed the birds over the back fence. She would have definitely noticed the young man then, walking along in a daze, high as a kite. Knowing her, she would have watched him like a hawk. But then she would have decided that he was too miserable to cause any real damage. She probably would have ignored him after a while.
If Jane had not rushed that morning, she would not have forgotten her lunch. But it was such a beautiful day, she decided to go home during her break to eat it outside on the balcony. As Jane drove up her street, she saw a police car.
With young hooligans a few doors down, this was nothing new. As she opened her back gate, she saw men in suits with clipboards on the hill out the back. A cluster of police officers. A big blue structure had been erected around a tree. Bright yellow police tape was attached to her back fence. Detectives. A coroner. Something had happened. A camera flashed behind the blue tent as the sun dipped behind a cloud.
If Jane had been up early that morning she may have noticed a depressed young man out the side of her house. She may have nodded in his direction. Or do something, anything, except ignore him. But knowing her, she probably would have just dismissed him.
She probably wouldn’t have noticed him looking at the trees; looking for a sturdy one. He picked one that she could see from her kitchen window. A tree on a busy firetrail. Jane hoped that was unintentional. Because nobody noticed the young man throwing the rope over the branch.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
On The Radar
Tom had graduated top of his class in the Junior Officer Training Program. Now here he was, fresh from the Farm, waiting for the action to come and find him. Who wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity like this? Right now, filing classified papers. Protecting fellow citizens. Clandestine and routine work.
Routine alright. The closest I’m gonna get to the action is holding one of the bureau’s pens.
Tom sat stiffly at his desk, trying to straighten a paper clip without leaving any trace of a kink. It snaps into two pieces and he tosses it into the bin. Blast resistant walls. Protecting secrets? They’re probably to keep me in here shuffling papers.
Bored with paperwork, he starts to read the introduction to the Interrogation Training Manual, and feels the deep breath of the old hack peering over his shoulder.
“Shouldn’t you be shuffling papers?” the man hoots, and the rest of the hacks laugh loudly.
Before walking away, the old timer whispers in Tom’s ear. “The coffee schedule. Watch”, and points to the boss’ office.
A kid, about Tom’s age, dressed in a power suit, was striding confidently into the boss’ office with a styrophome cup in hand. Tom had seen this happen every day. Some days the kid gets a pat on the back. Some days the boss snatches at the coffee. Last week she threw it at the window. But always the same kid. Once he’s in her office, he’s in the inner circle.
The trainers at the Farm told him not to drink coffee; it messes with your head, weakens your reflexes, or something. But life at the Farm had created an insatiable appetite for all the things he shouldn’t have anymore. And who needs quick reflexes to shuffle papers anyway? Maybe when a sheet slips to the floor. Gotta scoop it up quick smart.
Tom gets out his new notebook, and bounces his new spring-loaded pen into action. Timing is everything. Picking the right time is also about the temperature of the brew. He watches everything, notices the smallest details, like he was trained. Like the days when she has multiple coffee circles on her desk, and the mood swings when she doesn’t get her morning hit. He gets out his notebook every morning, noon and afternoon. Waiting for the coffee boy. Trying to get on her radar.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
Routine alright. The closest I’m gonna get to the action is holding one of the bureau’s pens.
Tom sat stiffly at his desk, trying to straighten a paper clip without leaving any trace of a kink. It snaps into two pieces and he tosses it into the bin. Blast resistant walls. Protecting secrets? They’re probably to keep me in here shuffling papers.
Bored with paperwork, he starts to read the introduction to the Interrogation Training Manual, and feels the deep breath of the old hack peering over his shoulder.
“Shouldn’t you be shuffling papers?” the man hoots, and the rest of the hacks laugh loudly.
Before walking away, the old timer whispers in Tom’s ear. “The coffee schedule. Watch”, and points to the boss’ office.
A kid, about Tom’s age, dressed in a power suit, was striding confidently into the boss’ office with a styrophome cup in hand. Tom had seen this happen every day. Some days the kid gets a pat on the back. Some days the boss snatches at the coffee. Last week she threw it at the window. But always the same kid. Once he’s in her office, he’s in the inner circle.
The trainers at the Farm told him not to drink coffee; it messes with your head, weakens your reflexes, or something. But life at the Farm had created an insatiable appetite for all the things he shouldn’t have anymore. And who needs quick reflexes to shuffle papers anyway? Maybe when a sheet slips to the floor. Gotta scoop it up quick smart.
Tom gets out his new notebook, and bounces his new spring-loaded pen into action. Timing is everything. Picking the right time is also about the temperature of the brew. He watches everything, notices the smallest details, like he was trained. Like the days when she has multiple coffee circles on her desk, and the mood swings when she doesn’t get her morning hit. He gets out his notebook every morning, noon and afternoon. Waiting for the coffee boy. Trying to get on her radar.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
Tuesday 19 October 2010
THE COURT DATE
The light aircraft jolted in mid-air as it lowered its wheels, preparing to land. Jane wiped down the tiny window with the back of her right hand, and flinched as the cold glass pressed against her skin. The moon shone bright against the dark blue sky, illuminating the ocean below.
A lighthouse beam made its rotation, flashing light across the waves as they crashed against the steep, rocky cliffs. She rubbed her wrists together; how they ached from the cold metal of her handcuffs and the tension of resisting them.
Her fiddling attracted the attention of her guard, a giant in a black suit seated across from her, who had one eye on his comic book and one eye on her. The lights flickered as the aircraft bounced on the runway.
Back on Australian soil, there is no way out of this.
Jane leant toward her security detail. “Which one should I wear tomorrow? My black suit or my blue suit?”
“Huh?” he said, screwing up his face as if he couldn’t hear her.
“To court in the morning. Black or blue?”
“How ‘bout you just shut it”.
Probably shouldn’t have done that. It will only complicate the escape plan. Jane was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to make her court date in the morning, but it seemed silly to waste the hours of silence that had somehow produced the effect of acquiescence.
. …………………………………………….
Jack sat on a rock in the early morning light, about a kilometre above the weathered cottage where his wife was being held by Government officials. They were looking for him too. He had flown back to Australia only hours ago, right after he heard the Government were extraditing Jane from Italy. With his new beard and reading glasses, it had been easy to evade the local police in Florence.
The early light shone on the sluggish water of the lake which surrounded the cottage. Jack watched a young man in civilian clothes walk out the back of the cottage toward an SUV. John started to run down the ridge towards the cottage.
………………………………………………
Jane awoke to the sound of gunfire in the next room.
“Jack! How did you find me?” she squealed, as her husband burst into her room. She could switch effortlessly to the fake persona she used when they met one year ago in Verona.
“I was tipped off”, he lied.
“Really?” she relied. He’s lying.
“Yes”, he said, “we’ll be okay now”. I wish she’d stop using that annoying accent.
They ran out the door together; happy to see each other, but unsure what would happen next.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
A lighthouse beam made its rotation, flashing light across the waves as they crashed against the steep, rocky cliffs. She rubbed her wrists together; how they ached from the cold metal of her handcuffs and the tension of resisting them.
Her fiddling attracted the attention of her guard, a giant in a black suit seated across from her, who had one eye on his comic book and one eye on her. The lights flickered as the aircraft bounced on the runway.
Back on Australian soil, there is no way out of this.
Jane leant toward her security detail. “Which one should I wear tomorrow? My black suit or my blue suit?”
“Huh?” he said, screwing up his face as if he couldn’t hear her.
“To court in the morning. Black or blue?”
“How ‘bout you just shut it”.
Probably shouldn’t have done that. It will only complicate the escape plan. Jane was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to make her court date in the morning, but it seemed silly to waste the hours of silence that had somehow produced the effect of acquiescence.
. …………………………………………….
Jack sat on a rock in the early morning light, about a kilometre above the weathered cottage where his wife was being held by Government officials. They were looking for him too. He had flown back to Australia only hours ago, right after he heard the Government were extraditing Jane from Italy. With his new beard and reading glasses, it had been easy to evade the local police in Florence.
The early light shone on the sluggish water of the lake which surrounded the cottage. Jack watched a young man in civilian clothes walk out the back of the cottage toward an SUV. John started to run down the ridge towards the cottage.
………………………………………………
Jane awoke to the sound of gunfire in the next room.
“Jack! How did you find me?” she squealed, as her husband burst into her room. She could switch effortlessly to the fake persona she used when they met one year ago in Verona.
“I was tipped off”, he lied.
“Really?” she relied. He’s lying.
“Yes”, he said, “we’ll be okay now”. I wish she’d stop using that annoying accent.
They ran out the door together; happy to see each other, but unsure what would happen next.
© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved
Thursday 29 April 2010
The finished product
Not especially happy with it. I conducted my interview two days before the assignment was due, which wasn't very smart in hindsight. Indeed, not much time, but all I really needed to do was a bit of editing and cutting and pasting. However, for the second time this week, I experienced equipment malfunction. This time it was the microphone, and I didn’t realise the problem until after the interview, which was mighty helpful.
I spent a good few hours playing around with Audacity, trying to bring up the sound through manipulating (ie amplifying) the recording. It’s not my best effort by a long shot, but it's done now.
I spent a good few hours playing around with Audacity, trying to bring up the sound through manipulating (ie amplifying) the recording. It’s not my best effort by a long shot, but it's done now.
Friday 23 April 2010
Getting talent / the pressures of student journalism
Getting talent
I started my talent search earlier than I did for the first interview; however I am further behind now than I was last time at this point. A few weeks ago I emailed the ACT Police with a request for an interview on youth crime and the importance of the home environment . They returned my email saying they were not able to comment on the precursors of youth crime, but suggested I try youth justice organisations or the Australian Institute of Criminology (AIC). I emailed the AIC and they told me they focus exclusively on national research, and the best people to talk to would be the ACT Police. And round and round we go.
The pressures of journalism
I am starting to understand why some journalists are heavy drinkers! One week to go until the last assessment of BJ1 is due and my interview fell through. The talent didn’t pull out, I didn’t pull out, the edirol pulled out!! Well, it didn’t work, at any rate. Whenever I pick up an edirol from the university, I always sit in my car and double check that it works. Just in case. Today I needed to rush back to work, so I figured it would be okay because it's always okay. Well, it wasn’t okay today! The side dial was not working. Half an hour before my interview I noticed this malfunction, and contacted the talent to rearrange another time, which fortunately he agreed to.
A POSTSCRIPT:
Have now figured out the side dial on the edirol is not vital in this instance because it is set up correctly by the previous student who borrowed it. Darn it! Now I have to return this edirol on Tuesday, go back to uni on Wednesday morning to get another one, do my interview on Wednesday night, then return the edirol on Thursday morning. Oh, this is very tedious trying to get away from work during the day.
I started my talent search earlier than I did for the first interview; however I am further behind now than I was last time at this point. A few weeks ago I emailed the ACT Police with a request for an interview on youth crime and the importance of the home environment . They returned my email saying they were not able to comment on the precursors of youth crime, but suggested I try youth justice organisations or the Australian Institute of Criminology (AIC). I emailed the AIC and they told me they focus exclusively on national research, and the best people to talk to would be the ACT Police. And round and round we go.
The pressures of journalism
I am starting to understand why some journalists are heavy drinkers! One week to go until the last assessment of BJ1 is due and my interview fell through. The talent didn’t pull out, I didn’t pull out, the edirol pulled out!! Well, it didn’t work, at any rate. Whenever I pick up an edirol from the university, I always sit in my car and double check that it works. Just in case. Today I needed to rush back to work, so I figured it would be okay because it's always okay. Well, it wasn’t okay today! The side dial was not working. Half an hour before my interview I noticed this malfunction, and contacted the talent to rearrange another time, which fortunately he agreed to.
A POSTSCRIPT:
Have now figured out the side dial on the edirol is not vital in this instance because it is set up correctly by the previous student who borrowed it. Darn it! Now I have to return this edirol on Tuesday, go back to uni on Wednesday morning to get another one, do my interview on Wednesday night, then return the edirol on Thursday morning. Oh, this is very tedious trying to get away from work during the day.
Wednesday 7 April 2010
Have I started yet? Have I started yet? No
So far, I am doing okay in BJ1. Which is remarkable, given my lack of confidence in broadcast journalism. I love the writing process of journalism, but not the interviewing part, and definitely not the "perform live" part. Just my personality I guess. But I digress.
In my time-honoured tradition, I have not started researching for assessment 3. In my first assessment, I spoke to the ACT Scouts Arts Convener, who told me a new Arts Centre is slated to open in the Tuggeranong Valley in the next few months. It is designed to encourage young people to learn new skills in a safe environment, presumably where they will stay out of trouble. The Scouts are a great organisation, but I can't help thinking it's nothing but a bandaid solution.
For me, the obvious other side of the debate is talking to the other people who are trying to stop the youth crime wave, like the police. Although I could speak to local community groups or businesses who have been victims and are powerless to stop the problem. Data from the Bureau of Statistics show that youth crime in Canberra is high. So ultimately, I need to talk to someone who admits there is a big problem, and they don't know what to do about it.
In my time-honoured tradition, I have not started researching for assessment 3. In my first assessment, I spoke to the ACT Scouts Arts Convener, who told me a new Arts Centre is slated to open in the Tuggeranong Valley in the next few months. It is designed to encourage young people to learn new skills in a safe environment, presumably where they will stay out of trouble. The Scouts are a great organisation, but I can't help thinking it's nothing but a bandaid solution.
For me, the obvious other side of the debate is talking to the other people who are trying to stop the youth crime wave, like the police. Although I could speak to local community groups or businesses who have been victims and are powerless to stop the problem. Data from the Bureau of Statistics show that youth crime in Canberra is high. So ultimately, I need to talk to someone who admits there is a big problem, and they don't know what to do about it.
Monday 22 March 2010
The finished Product
This assignment has caused me alot of stress! There are just too many things that can go wrong. But I've learnt a few things that I will take to the next assignment. The list is by no means exhaustive:
* plug the mircophone into the correct socket of the Edirol.
* Arrange an interview MUCH EARLIER.
* Have 1 or 2 back-up interviews in place for when the first one inevitably pulls out, or changes the interview time at the last minute etc.
* I sound like I'm trying to hard when I try to hard - just try and relax when taping.
* Make sure I tee up an Edirol when I actually have an interview in place.
My main problem is that I didn't give myself enough time. I can easily blame fulltime work, but really it is about my lack of time management, in this case.
I'm not overly excited with the finished product, but I've learnt that I need to give myself more time to dig for a good story and edit the final product.
My voice
Of most benefit were the breathing exercises, although I dislike my voice at the best of times. It sounds deep and monotone, and I really can’t stand hearing it, to be honest. Fortunately, I have no plans to unleash my voice onto the general public as a radio newsperson. It's probably best for everyone.
* plug the mircophone into the correct socket of the Edirol.
* Arrange an interview MUCH EARLIER.
* Have 1 or 2 back-up interviews in place for when the first one inevitably pulls out, or changes the interview time at the last minute etc.
* I sound like I'm trying to hard when I try to hard - just try and relax when taping.
* Make sure I tee up an Edirol when I actually have an interview in place.
My main problem is that I didn't give myself enough time. I can easily blame fulltime work, but really it is about my lack of time management, in this case.
I'm not overly excited with the finished product, but I've learnt that I need to give myself more time to dig for a good story and edit the final product.
My voice
Of most benefit were the breathing exercises, although I dislike my voice at the best of times. It sounds deep and monotone, and I really can’t stand hearing it, to be honest. Fortunately, I have no plans to unleash my voice onto the general public as a radio newsperson. It's probably best for everyone.
Sunday 21 March 2010
The talent, Audacity
Getting the talent
One week before my assessment 2 radio interview is due for completion, and I decide to change my story. Well, not so much as a change of mind; more a case of a better story with a stronger news angle coming along.
A few weeks earlier I had tried unsuccessfully to contact a man from the ACT Scouts who was opening a new Arts facility for young people in the Tuggeranong Valley. I had heard about it through a church group. Days before my other interview was due to take place, the man from Scouts contacted me to say he was happy to talk to me about the facility.
Figures from the Australian Bureau of Statistics show that Canberra has a young population, and it also has the highest rate of youth crime in Australia, so a new community arts facility for young people run by the ACT Scouts seemed like a good path to a newsworthy story.
The Interview
The interview was quite stressful and uncomfortable for me, even though I kept saying to myself just do the best you can; we’ll, the best I can do with zero experience in broadcast journalism! I learnt that it is hard to maintain your composure and dignity when you are obsessively checking your equipment for malfunction; when you are trying intently to listen to the answers so you can ask an intelligent and probing question in your umm and ahh free “radio voice”; when you are trying to emphasise key words, but end up sounding like a kid whose voice has just broken.
That same night, I watched Tracey Grimshaw conduct a difficult and confronting interview on A Current Affair and discovered a new appreciation for live interview broadcasting.
Editing
As far as uni assessments go, I am quite enjoying the process of editing my radio interview. Although, I started to cull pauses and umms and ahhs without realising they provide important context in various parts of the interview. My talent may have been pausing for a reason, I thought to myself. I imagine it can become a bit like botox – once you start primping and culling and cropping, you can’t stop until it is completely unrecognisable from the original product. So I started again…
NB: Very happy that I can use Audacity from the comfort of my own laptop.
One week before my assessment 2 radio interview is due for completion, and I decide to change my story. Well, not so much as a change of mind; more a case of a better story with a stronger news angle coming along.
A few weeks earlier I had tried unsuccessfully to contact a man from the ACT Scouts who was opening a new Arts facility for young people in the Tuggeranong Valley. I had heard about it through a church group. Days before my other interview was due to take place, the man from Scouts contacted me to say he was happy to talk to me about the facility.
Figures from the Australian Bureau of Statistics show that Canberra has a young population, and it also has the highest rate of youth crime in Australia, so a new community arts facility for young people run by the ACT Scouts seemed like a good path to a newsworthy story.
The Interview
The interview was quite stressful and uncomfortable for me, even though I kept saying to myself just do the best you can; we’ll, the best I can do with zero experience in broadcast journalism! I learnt that it is hard to maintain your composure and dignity when you are obsessively checking your equipment for malfunction; when you are trying intently to listen to the answers so you can ask an intelligent and probing question in your umm and ahh free “radio voice”; when you are trying to emphasise key words, but end up sounding like a kid whose voice has just broken.
That same night, I watched Tracey Grimshaw conduct a difficult and confronting interview on A Current Affair and discovered a new appreciation for live interview broadcasting.
Editing
As far as uni assessments go, I am quite enjoying the process of editing my radio interview. Although, I started to cull pauses and umms and ahhs without realising they provide important context in various parts of the interview. My talent may have been pausing for a reason, I thought to myself. I imagine it can become a bit like botox – once you start primping and culling and cropping, you can’t stop until it is completely unrecognisable from the original product. So I started again…
NB: Very happy that I can use Audacity from the comfort of my own laptop.
Saturday 13 March 2010
Pre-interview concerns - of which there are many
Pre-interview concerns - with Edirol, the editing process, and with the technology in general!
The technology
I'm more of a print media kind of girl, but I'm quite enjoying radio journalism. But the technology in BJ1 has me all stressed out. I've never been much of a first responder in an IT emergency. I mostly learn what I need to know through an exhaustive stressful process, particularly for the poor sucker who has to explain it to me. My laptop and I get along for the most part, even though we speak different languages and have diverse views on the meaning of ‘logic’ and ‘practical’.
Edirol
As a general rule, I know that any piece of technology that comes with two pages of instructions is going to give me a headache. However, I find the edirols fairly easy to negotiate. I haven’t interviewed my talent yet, but am playing around with my voice on the edirol so I can look/sound a little bit accomplished when I’m in the hot seat. For example, practicing cutting out the umms and aghs and, in my naivety, trying to sound like an ABC reporter. Then, I download onto Audacity and I can’t understand how to manipulate it! If only we had to do a high-pitched, quick tempo interview in reverse English, then I’d be fine. Note to self: Must develop the voice box of Elmer Fudd so no-one will be the wiser…
The editing process
Resistance is futile, but so enticing. As is throwing my computer out the window. I have never been so frustrated with information technology as I have become today. How is this Audacity audio equipment so technical and complicated? Any why can’t I be of the Y Generation and/or a computer passionista to figure it out? I desperately need an instruction booklet, or a USEFUL help manual, other than that American ‘Audacity Guy’, who I found through Google. He is of no help. I need practical help, like “if you need to do this, you should perhaps use this tool, or this tool”. I want to be able to edit my radio interview to within an inch of perfection (pending my hideous radio voice) but I don’t know how to! I will need to contact the audio guys at UC on Monday. They know stuff.
The technology
I'm more of a print media kind of girl, but I'm quite enjoying radio journalism. But the technology in BJ1 has me all stressed out. I've never been much of a first responder in an IT emergency. I mostly learn what I need to know through an exhaustive stressful process, particularly for the poor sucker who has to explain it to me. My laptop and I get along for the most part, even though we speak different languages and have diverse views on the meaning of ‘logic’ and ‘practical’.
Edirol
As a general rule, I know that any piece of technology that comes with two pages of instructions is going to give me a headache. However, I find the edirols fairly easy to negotiate. I haven’t interviewed my talent yet, but am playing around with my voice on the edirol so I can look/sound a little bit accomplished when I’m in the hot seat. For example, practicing cutting out the umms and aghs and, in my naivety, trying to sound like an ABC reporter. Then, I download onto Audacity and I can’t understand how to manipulate it! If only we had to do a high-pitched, quick tempo interview in reverse English, then I’d be fine. Note to self: Must develop the voice box of Elmer Fudd so no-one will be the wiser…
The editing process
Resistance is futile, but so enticing. As is throwing my computer out the window. I have never been so frustrated with information technology as I have become today. How is this Audacity audio equipment so technical and complicated? Any why can’t I be of the Y Generation and/or a computer passionista to figure it out? I desperately need an instruction booklet, or a USEFUL help manual, other than that American ‘Audacity Guy’, who I found through Google. He is of no help. I need practical help, like “if you need to do this, you should perhaps use this tool, or this tool”. I want to be able to edit my radio interview to within an inch of perfection (pending my hideous radio voice) but I don’t know how to! I will need to contact the audio guys at UC on Monday. They know stuff.
Friday 12 March 2010
Researching for Assign No. 2
Researching my topic for assignment 2 – what have I learnt?
I was going to do a story on a new soup kitchen starting up in Kambah. Then I thought about the lack of car parking in the Woden Town Centre. Then I happened upon a roller skater from the Canberra Roller Derby League (CRDL). As with many good stories you come across, I found out about the CRDL via a conversation in the kitchen at work. I tossed around a couple of news angles. CRDL have a bout coming up; a new report released says the overall cost to the taxpayer to manage obesity is $5 billion a year. That’s $5 billion. What better way to get fit and stay lean that roller skating round a rink? Surely you’d be too terrified of being pushed to the ground to worry about whether you’ve burnt off enough calories?
I became intrigued about the punk-style, third wave feminism take on the 60s craze that is roller derby, with its alliterations to pop culture and the double entendre stage names that are used by its competitors. Is this a sport or is this sports entertainment? Do we have Jerry Springer type entertainment on our hands? The roller derby has taken off in the States again; with all-women, self managed leagues cropping up all over the place. And if attendance figures at the previous two bouts in Canberra are any indication, it will be taking Canberra by storm. So what has happened to nice quiet Canberra with its Brumby-loving football fans? I decided to delve into the world to find out, through an interviewer with Bullseye Betty, President of the CRDL.
I was going to do a story on a new soup kitchen starting up in Kambah. Then I thought about the lack of car parking in the Woden Town Centre. Then I happened upon a roller skater from the Canberra Roller Derby League (CRDL). As with many good stories you come across, I found out about the CRDL via a conversation in the kitchen at work. I tossed around a couple of news angles. CRDL have a bout coming up; a new report released says the overall cost to the taxpayer to manage obesity is $5 billion a year. That’s $5 billion. What better way to get fit and stay lean that roller skating round a rink? Surely you’d be too terrified of being pushed to the ground to worry about whether you’ve burnt off enough calories?
I became intrigued about the punk-style, third wave feminism take on the 60s craze that is roller derby, with its alliterations to pop culture and the double entendre stage names that are used by its competitors. Is this a sport or is this sports entertainment? Do we have Jerry Springer type entertainment on our hands? The roller derby has taken off in the States again; with all-women, self managed leagues cropping up all over the place. And if attendance figures at the previous two bouts in Canberra are any indication, it will be taking Canberra by storm. So what has happened to nice quiet Canberra with its Brumby-loving football fans? I decided to delve into the world to find out, through an interviewer with Bullseye Betty, President of the CRDL.
Sunday 7 March 2010
Baby e-steps
This is practically my first blog ever. I have become a blogger because I have to. Which is good. I think. In order to complete my Jounalism Major, I am required to create a 'reflective blog' as part of my assessment for the unit of Broadcast Journalism. And so I will reflect, and then reflect some more... Although, I must admit I am not comfortable with the idea of a cyber-diary, and I approach the e-journal world with a degree of trepidation. I mean, aren't diaries supposed to be hidden under the bed?
And the whole idea that you can protect your blogged privates is of little comfort. What happens if the internet is hacked by balaclava-clad nerds intent on exposing my thoughts to the world? On second thoughts, I think I'll be okay if that's the worst that can happen. Why can't I possess the self-conceit of that Generation Y - happy to share their deepest, darkest thoughts and endless snapshots of drunken escapades with multiple 'friends' and strangers alike? I guess I'm self-aware enough to know that no-one really cares what I write because most people online are too busy with their own blogged, facebooked lives to care.
I always thought that blogs are for extroverts and the 'me, me, me generation' with their hallmark narcissistic tendencies - everyone should read about me because I am endlessly fascinating etc. Sure, I am on Facebook, replete with friends, some with origins unknown, but only because everyone else is. I was starting to feel like I was being left behind at a random bus stop on a dark night in the middle of nowhere on the information superhighway.
What can I say, the e-pressure got the best of me, so I jumped on the band-width wagon. Now I have many friends, from the past and present, and am left wondering what the facebook generation will do when they realise that some people are meant to be left in the past. I suppose deleting them from a friends list is no different, and perhaps easier, than promising each other you'll catch up soon.
I'm done, until next time I reflect.....
And the whole idea that you can protect your blogged privates is of little comfort. What happens if the internet is hacked by balaclava-clad nerds intent on exposing my thoughts to the world? On second thoughts, I think I'll be okay if that's the worst that can happen. Why can't I possess the self-conceit of that Generation Y - happy to share their deepest, darkest thoughts and endless snapshots of drunken escapades with multiple 'friends' and strangers alike? I guess I'm self-aware enough to know that no-one really cares what I write because most people online are too busy with their own blogged, facebooked lives to care.
I always thought that blogs are for extroverts and the 'me, me, me generation' with their hallmark narcissistic tendencies - everyone should read about me because I am endlessly fascinating etc. Sure, I am on Facebook, replete with friends, some with origins unknown, but only because everyone else is. I was starting to feel like I was being left behind at a random bus stop on a dark night in the middle of nowhere on the information superhighway.
What can I say, the e-pressure got the best of me, so I jumped on the band-width wagon. Now I have many friends, from the past and present, and am left wondering what the facebook generation will do when they realise that some people are meant to be left in the past. I suppose deleting them from a friends list is no different, and perhaps easier, than promising each other you'll catch up soon.
I'm done, until next time I reflect.....
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