10 tips for spotting a news story

by Jaldeep Katwala

Learning to focus on real news stories

How do journalists spot a good story?

What are the telltale signs that distinguish fact from fiction?

How do you know when you are on the right track?

There are a number of tips for helping you ensure that you
spot real news stories and dig out important facts.

1: Is it interesting?

This is perhaps the most important criterion. If it's not

interesting, why tell it? Your story should make the viewer,
listener or reader stop in their tracks, look up from their
breakfast, and want to tell the story to someone else. A good
test here is if one of your colleagues says "so what?" - if you
can't answer that question, then it might not be quite the story
you thought it was.

If it's not interesting, why tell it?

2: Did you know about it before?

If you consume news voraciously, you'll know if your story is

fresh and original. Someone in your newsroom will have a
fantastic memory for every story that's ever been done. If they
haven't heard the story before, the chances are it is new.

Some stories will have done the rounds a few times

3: Does someone want to keep it quiet?

If after you've done all your preparatory research and

interviews, and the main interviewee avoids taking your calls
or does not answer your questions, it's likely that the person
has something to fear about your story or has something to
hide.

If someone doesn't return your calls they may be hiding a

story

4: How many people will it affect?

It might be the greatest story in the world, but it may affect

only one person. That would not rule out telling the story, but
the more people your story affects, the more likely it is to be of
interest to your audience.

Is the story of interest to enough people?

5: Is the story difficult to tell?

A good rule of thumb, based on thousands of stories under

the belt, is that the more difficult the story is to tell, the more
likely it is to be a great story. Don't ask me why, but if it were
easy to tell, the chances are that someone else will have
already done so.

If the story is hard to tell it's probably worth telling

6: Does the story make sense?

The more incredible the story and the more removed from
reality as you know it, the more likely the story you have is
simply not true. That does not mean that such stories are not
out there, just that you must be extremely sure of your facts
before you publish or broadcast. Often the best stories are
simply the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle - they make sense
of what was already known before.

A story that doesn't stand up isn't a story

7: Are others likely to follow up your story?

If it's a really great piece of original journalism, your

competitors will follow up with their own takes on the story. If
it's an outstanding piece of journalism, governments, decision-
makers, those with an interest, will do something.

Great stories often get more follow-up

8: Will there be related stories?

A really good story, will have at least three related stories for
you to chase. You have a head start on your competitors, so
you should be anticipating where the story will go even before
it is published or broadcast. Do not rest on your laurels. Keep
the momentum going.

Most stories will continue to develop, make sure you keep up

9: Will anything change as a result of your story?

If you tell your story, will anything be different? Will other

people's lives improve or get worse? If they improve, that's a
good sign. If they are likely to get worse for many people,
think again about publishing or broadcasting it.

Consider what impact is your story likely to have?

10: Will you still be able to approach your contacts?

When you tell the story, will you still be able to look your
contacts in the eye and will they still talk to you? A
controversial story told well and fairly will earn you respect. A
controversial story told badly and unfairly will make it harder
for you to work as a journalist.

It may not be worth losing valued contacts for one story - on

the other hand...
Every Good Story Starts with a Good Idea
by Steve Buttry

Story ideas are literally all around you. You need to be alert
and imaginative in recognizing and pursuing them. You can
generate story ideas by looking in a variety of places:

News. By the nature of our business, most story ideas will

come from the news. Don't fall into the trap of simply covering
the events or the debate. You're not a board secretary
recording what happened. Think of other ways to cover the
news. Should you write a blow-by-blow narrative of a big
event where you've provided incremental daily coverage? Can
you take a different approach to a news event or issue by
writing an explanatory piece, a follow-up, looking ahead,
assessing the impact, placing it in context of other events or
historical background? Will a behind-the-scenes account add
insight or interest? Is a person involved with the event or
issue worth a profile? Can you tell an interesting story about a
power struggle or personality clash behind the surface issue?

People. The people in your readership area are interesting

and important. Many are worthy of stories just by themselves.
And they know the stories that are interesting. Spend more
time outside the newsroom, talking to your sources and
developing new sources. Ask them what's important. Ask
what's the best story that ought to be in your paper that hasn't
yet. Ask what they do outside the office. Ask what you're
missing. Ask who the most interesting and colorful people in
their office or agency are. Ask who's shy or modest and might
not tell you something interesting if you don't ask. If
someone's routines or behavior catches your attention,
consider whether you should inquire and find out whether
she's worth a story.
Paper. Boring reports often contain nuggets of information
that can lead to an exciting story. Take a closer look at the
mountains of paper produced on your beat. Ask someone to
explain some of reports, to help you cut through the statistics
and jargon to what's important. Look at some documents that
aren't going to turn up on your regular rounds. For instance, if
you're a courthouse reporter, you probably spend little time
looking at probate files or bankruptcy cases. But maybe a
probate file will reveal a huge fight brewing in a prominent
local family, or a frugal old lady no one knew was a
millionaire. A bankruptcy file might turn up some prominent
names or lead you to a poignant story of broken dreams. You
probably report on a big lawsuit when it's filed and when it
comes to trial. But most suits are settled and might be noted
just briefly then, if at all. Take a look at the motions and
depositions that follow the initial suit. Maybe that's where the
story is. Look over the affidavits filed with a search warrant.

Data. What offices on your beat keep data that might reveal
some interesting stories through computer analysis? The
National Institute for Computer-Assisted Reporting publishes
books of examples of CAR stories published by other papers.
Or check http://www.ire.org/datalibrary/online.html for a
current listing of recent CAR stories available online. Might
the same data be available on your beat in your community?
The reporters who do such stories are almost always eager to
discuss the challenges and obstacles they faced in obtaining
and analyzing the data.

Internet. Stay familiar with your community resources on the

Internet. Sometimes a Web site itself may be a story. Or it
may reveal information that will launch you on a story. Maybe
a local business is finding customers around the globe
because it is using the Internet wisely. Maybe a clever
Webmaster gives the electronic world an entirely different
view of the company or organization that's known locally as
stodgy and old-fashioned. Maybe a service available online is
putting people who used to provide the service in person out
of work. Context. Put a news event or issue into context by
asking whether other communities or people or agencies are
experiencing the same things. If so, maybe you have a trend
story. If not, maybe you have a "first" story. If it's a trend story,
see whether other communities have learned any lessons that
might apply in your community. The flip side of this, of course,
is localizing a national story. Is this trend happening here?
How will this development affect us here? Are local people
involved in this national event?

Impact. Who will be affected by the issue or event you have

written about? Who will be inconvenienced? Who has to pay?
Who profits? Who's harmed? What's likely to happen a year
from now as a result of today's news? Or five years from
now?

Conflict. Who won't like something that's happening? Who

will try to prevent it from happening? Who had to be pushed
aside to get it accomplished? If a group is having a
convention in your community, see whether some internal
conflict might provide a better story than the sweetness-and-
light image leaders portray. Who are the dissidents and
outcasts, and will they make their presence felt with a rump
convention or by making a stir on the fringes or the
convention floor?

Repetition. If you encounter a single issue again and again in

different news stories, maybe you need to take a broader look
at that issue and its widespread importance or impact. If you
hear a tip a second or third time, consider whether it's a better
or more urgent story than the first time you heard it.

Inquiry. Find answers to your questions (and always have

lots of questions): Why is that? Who's getting away with
something here? Why doesn't this work? If you're wondering,
your readers may be wondering, too. The answers are
probably a story. Ask some readers and sources what
questions they have about your community.

Technology. How is technology changing things on your

beat? How do these changes affect the public? Might the new
gadgets you see on your beat be showing up in other parts of
society?

Silent voices. Are you writing about an issue on which some

interested parties may be reluctant to speak out? This is
common on social issues such as substance abuse, sexual
abuse, sexual orientation, welfare, abortion, unemployment,
immigration, domestic violence. Seek out these people, using
third parties such as counselors, pastors, advocates and
interest groups if you have to. Win their trust, listen to their
stories and tell their stories.

Challenge. When a source gives you that tired old line about
only writing about the bad news, challenge her to fill you in on
a positive story that's just as important or just as interesting as
whatever negative story she's complaining about. Maybe
you'll get a lame tip, or maybe you'll get a valuable one. Or
take the initiative. If you're covering a murder, scandal or
disaster in a small town, you can take for granted, whether
you hear it or not, that people are thinking the press only
cares about them when it's bad news. Tell the people you
deal with that you're interested in good news, too, and give
them business cards with a specific plea to let you know when
something important, good or bad, is happening in town.

Persistence. Sometimes a good idea will not pan out

because the central character doesn't want to talk. Try again
later. Maybe the time wasn't right the first time. Maintain
contact. Show interest without being a pest. You might get the
story eventually.

Theft. Steal good story ideas wherever you can. If you see a
story you admire in another paper or on the wire, ask whether
the same story could be done in your community. Call the
reporter up and ask how he came up with the idea and how
he went about pursuing the story. If you see a story that
reflects a really clever idea, even if the story itself couldn't be
replicated in your community, call the reporter up and ask how
she got the idea. Read Poynter's annual books on "best
newspaper writing" and consider whether the same ideas
could be pursued on your beat. Join IRE-L or another e-mail
discussion list of journalists, and steal some ideas from your
colleagues. Steal ideas from sources, too. Ask what else they
know of going on in the community. Ask what stories they
would assign if they were the editors of your paper. (They will
give you some bad ideas that you can discard and still get
points for asking and listening, but you also might get some
good ideas.)

Share. If you hear tips or think of ideas for stories on a

colleague's beat, pass them along. Maybe a few tips will come
back your way.

Different perspective. Tell your readers how people in other

parts of the country view something that is a source of pride,
embarrassment, amusement or anger in your community.
Humor. If you hear something funny on your beat, consider
whether it may be a bright story to be shared with your
readers, rather than just repeated to colleagues.

Questions. The questions we learned our first week in our

first journalism class remain fundamental to developing good
story ideas? Who's responsible? What's going to happen
next? When is that likely to happen again? Where did the
money go? Why wasn't anyone watching? How can we
prepare ourselves for the next time? In addition to the
traditional 5 W's and How, include at least two others in your
list of basic questions to ask for each story, and to use for
generating story ideas: So what? and How much? Come up
with your own questions to ask.

Story elements. OK, I've mentioned how important the W's

are, but let's think beyond them, every step of the way,
starting with the story idea. What are the elements of a story
that we learned in 8th-grade English? Think in terms of
setting, plot, character, conflict, climax, resolution. Each of
those story elements might suggest some stories to pursue or
some fresh angles to pursue on a continuing story.

Looking back. Of course, important anniversaries are a

journalism staple. But unimportant anniversaries can
sometimes provide interesting stories as well. Or
anniversaries that are important to a few people but might be
overlooked without your enterprise. Or you can look back as a
means of accountability. What did a politician promise during
the last campaign? Did he keep the promises? What goals did
the school board set in hiring a new superintendent? Did she
meet those goals?

Follow the money. On virtually any beat, you can find good
stories by following the money. Who's paying for this? How
much will it cost? How much will it raise my taxes? What will
need to be cut to pay for it? Did the people who benefited
from this vote contribute to the campaigns of those delivering
the votes? Source development. Spend time with prospective
sources so they know you're interested in doing a thorough
job. Seek out sources who aren't the "usual suspects" on your
beat. If you always find yourself talking to white men, find
some women or minorities who might bring a different
perspective to your stories and steer you toward different
ideas. If you find yourself always talking to the professionals
and bosses, spend some time talking to the folks in the
trenches. If you spend most of your time talking to liberals,
seek out some conservatives. If you spend most of your time
talking to people your age, seek out some younger or older
sources. These people with different perspectives will point
you to different stories. Look around the agency you cover for
the people or office who attract the least attention. Spend
some time there to see if you'll hear some different tips. Don't
seek information and story ideas just from the officials on your
beat. Seek out the consumers, the former officials, the
gadflies.

Prospecting. Take time to go "prospecting" for stories. That

means to take a trip or set up an interview with no particular
story in mind. You're visiting a source you haven't seen for a
while or a community or agency you haven't covered for a
while. You go just to familiarize yourself, to take someone to
lunch or chat in the office or home a while. Maybe you'll come
back with a terrific story you never would have known enough
to pursue. Maybe you'll come back without a particular story,
but with some tips to pursue. Maybe you'll just come back with
a valuable source to contact in future stories. At the least,
you'll gain a greater understanding of your community and
your beat. Prospecting almost always yields stories and is
always time well spent. You just can't tell the editor in
advance what it's going to produce. As Chip Scanlan says,
when you get out of the newsroom, "the chances increase of
finding stories in the world that no one has yet told."

Jaldeep Katwala has been a journalist since 1985. He has

worked for the BBC, Channel 4 News and Radio Netherlands
as a broadcaster. He has also taught journalism and run
several media development projects and training courses
around the world.
In Search of Ideas
by Edem Djokotoe

1. Introduction

Reporters and writers working on newspapers and magazines

earn their daily bread by reporting and by writing.

They contribute to the editorial machine by submitting ideas

that eventually get discussed, developed, researched,
reported and written up for publication. The number of ideas a
journalist submits per day or per week depends on the kind of
publication, the size of the staff and the frequency with which
it comes out.

One of the biggest headaches young reporters and writers

face is how to generate, on a regular basis, ideas that will
eventually be developed into tangible editorial products ideas
that their editors will not shoot down. I know this for a fact
because I am constantly besieged by former students and
colleagues in the media for ideas. They complain that after a
while you run out of ideas. Here, I am talking about
interesting, newsworthy, topical, controversial, significant
ideas that deal with issues that preoccupy people, interest
them, worry them, amuse them, give them sleepless nights
and agonising days. Ideas that sell, in other words.

I do not think ideas are that difficult to generate and I say so

all the time. I have gone on record as saying that the only
people who cannot have an idea are dead people. At least,
they have an excuse. After all, their brains stopped working
when they died. That is why I do not, as a matter of principle,
spoonfeed others with ideas.
Like I said, ideas are not difficult to generate, especially if you
have a brain. Everyday, we see, hear and experience things
that shock us. We read about things that stimulate us or
disturb us. Our curiosity is piqued by much of what we see,
hear and experience.

But very often, journalists do not imagine that these

experiences have editorial potential. Even when they do, their
approach to these experiences is onedimensional and
unimaginative. 1

2. Generating Ideas: Seeing vs. Perception

In my view, ideas come to receptive minds. Minds that are

able to think beyond the obvious. Remember that when Isaac
Newton sat under a tree and saw an apple fall and thereafter
formulated an idea that later became known as The Law of
Gravity, he was mentally prepared for that experience. Many
people before him had seen apples fall from trees, but only
Newton saw beyond the obvious event and enriched the world
with the clarity of his vision. I believe journalists can do the
same.

When you think about it, we don't GET ideas; we

RECOGNISE them. And we recognise workable ideas
because we perceive rather than see things. Journalists must
perceive rather than see. Seeing, as far as I am concerned, is
a reflex action. We see because we have eyes. When we
perceive, we think about what we see and formulate
impressions. These impressions can be converted into
tangible editorial products, once they have been experienced,
researched and investigated.
To generate ideas, journalists must:

 observe
 perceive
 form impressions
 conceptualise
 contextualise
 research
 investigate
 report
 editorialise.

This way, they are able to make a logical progression from

what they see, what they perceive, what they know to what
they can find out and prove in the public interest.

According to James Heffernan and John Lincoln, once you

have chosen a topic, you can begin to discover its editorial
possibilities by "triple viewing it or by seeing it in three
different ways: as a particle, as a wave and as part of a field".
They write in their book, Writing: A College Handbook (1982):

To see a topic as a particle is to see it all by itself, self

contained and fixed, isolated for special scrutiny... To see the
topic as a wave is to see if as part of a process, to ask how it
came to develop in time and if the topic is a historical situation
or event what resulted from it.. To see the topic as part of a
field is to consider its relation to other topics that surround it.

The more you view ideas this way, the more multi dimensional
your approach is. Not only that. The more questions you
raise, the more you get to penetrate your topic.
Let me work around a tangible example.

Ever since, Lusaka was hit by a serial killer whose modus

operandi is battering people to death, the press has been
reporting the grisly finds by the police and how the man has
eluded capture. In a Times of Zambia article (8 February,
1999), Sam Ngoma provides an artist's impression of the
serial killer as well as the testimony of witnesses and those
bereaved by the grisly murders the Police have attributed to
him. Apart from this, there is very little else.

Now, if we had to triple view the topic of the serial killer, we

would need to see it as a particle as a series of murders
committed by someone or some people who are obviously
deranged.

But even so, we need to be mindful of the possibility that there

could be other people imitating a certain criminal's style to
draw attention away from themselves. There have been
known cases of copycat murders. For instance, there was
Jack the Ripper, then the Yorkshire Ripper in the United
Kingdom.

It would be necessary to establish serial killings as a

criminological phenomenon that surfaces ever so often. Back
in the 1980s, there was the Lusaka Strangler. What kind of
social environment breeds serial killers? How come ever so
often, they emerge and leave a trail of bodies in their wake?
There is a school of sociological thought which argues that
criminals are born, and that criminals tendencies are
hereditary. Others argue that criminals are nurtured by socio
economic conditions.
It is essential for journalists reporting issues to be familiar with
the theories, studies, findings and case studies around a
subject. Research helps in the process of intellectual and
journalistic empowerment.

Serial killing, as far as I know, has been extensively studied

by psychologists and psychiatrists.

One thing that I know is that in Europe and America, police

psychologists are able to establish a psychological profile of
suspected serial killers on their basis of their trademark
methods. From what they put together, police are able to
know what kind of individual they are looking for, how he is
likely to react to pressure once he or she becomes aware of
police intervention.

There is a lot that can be learnt from the expertise of people

like Russian Professor, Aleksandr Bukhanovsky who has
done extensive research on the serial killers he has
successfully managed to catch and have convicted.
Bukhanovsky hails from the Southern Russian city of Rostov
on Don where 29 serial killers and rapists have been caught
over the last 10 years.

Newsweek (25 January, 1999) describes Rostov as the serial

murder capital of the world on account of the statistics cited
above. In a report headlined "City of the Dead", Newsweek's
Owen Matthews traces the city's grisly legacy back to 1978
when Andrei Chikatilo, known as the Rostov Ripper, stalked
the area. From that time to 1991 when he was arrested,
Chikatilo killed and cannibalised 56 people.
It was Professor Bukhanovsky who provided the
psychological profile of the Rostov Ripper that led police to
finally capture him. Initially, authorities dismissed his findings
until Chikatilo was finally caught and the Professor's profile
was proved right.

On the basis of psychological records and case studies, can

potential killers be identified before they actually murder
anyone? As things stand, Bukhanovsky is walking a thin line
between medical ethics and the law by treating admitted serial
killers who are not in police custody. One of his patients was
brought to him by his own parents after he began to exhibit
violent and anti social behaviour sometime last year.

The point I am trying to make with this lengthy example is that

by triple viewing issues, we as journalists can extend their
peripheries way beyond the obvious. Issues such as the
ethical considerations of Bukhanovsky's approach to
psychiatry began important to investigate because we are
likely to confront them in our dealings with our own serial
killers. Are serial killers mentally disturbed? If they are, should
they be tried, convicted and hanged or admitted to an asylum
for psychiatric treatment?

In short, what may have seemed like a routine assignment on

the Lusaka serial killer could explore criminology, psychology,
the law, and medical ethics, and draw views from experts to
ordinary citizens. Obviously, such a report is likely to be more
comprehensive than the feature article written by Samuel
Ngoma.
3. Where do ideas come from?

Everywhere. If you are a beat reporter, you are limited to a

perimeters of an institution. For instance, Joy here has
covered the courts for a long time. Her editorial assignments
are defined and determined by what is happening in court,
nothing more. If she has to be creative, she has to see
beyond the actual cases and perceive trends of certain crimes
and develop hypotheses based on these and pursue these
from a feature story perspective.

At this point, I want to move away from institutional sources of

"ideas" to the more interactive and experiential types of
sources. Broadly speaking, ideas that come to us from:

 the local media

 experience.
 observation.
 fiction.
 history: unofficial vs. official versions
 conversational and intellectual interaction with others.
 cultural and religious value systems and socialisation
 "foreign" sources, such as foreign publications etc.

4. Pretesting Ideas for their Workability

What may seem like a good story idea to a novice reporter or

writer may not survive close examination from a hard nosed
editor or someone with a very critical mind. This is why it is
important for journalists to pre test the ideas they want to
pursue. Pre testing, simply put, is the process of assessing
whether an idea will make editorial sense, is capable of being
and will, in the final analysis appeal to readers.
For me, pre testing involves asking myself a number of
questions.

Is the idea too vague? Many times, novice reporters and

writers fall into the trap of writing about subjects that are too
general or too vague to be developed precisely. For example,
a student came up to me one day and said he wanted to write
an article on religion. I told him that religion was too broad a
topic to deal with in, say 1,000 words the average length of an
article. I suggested he restrict the subject to something more
precise and specific. Religion, I told him, includes hundreds of
esoteric systems of belief, from Hinduism, to Voodoo to
animism) could be restricted to something much smaller.
Even Christianity has many countless denominations, the
differences among them being a source of major conflict and
disagreement. For the sake of an article that focuses on a
single, specific thing, why don't you focus on the latter day
evangelical type ministries which seem to be mushrooming
everyday. In fact, we could go a step further and restrict it to
focus only on the face of televangelism in Zambia today.
Notice how I break some broad and formless into something
definite and more focused. That is how I expect journalists to
think. When you become editors, you should be able to help
novice reporters go through this process of restriction to make
ideas more feasible.

Is it capable of being developed? Unless an idea has scope

for development and research, a reporter would be wasting
valuable time dealing with intangibles.

Is the idea fresh? Journalism has got no room for stale and
hackneyed ideas about things we read about over and over.
of course, the world as we know it is timeless, meaning that
there are virtually no new things worth writing about. What
brings freshness to otherwise old ideas is the approach, the
way in which the issue is perceived and developed. Last
month, I wrote about corporal punishment in schools, using
the death of a schoolboy who was flogged 11 times by a
teacher in Kamanga as a news peg. By looking at my own
experience as a schoolboy and the experiences of others, I
was able to convey the pain pupils have to endure in the
name of discipline and ask questions about children's rights,
about human rights. It would help the reporter to find out how
the idea has been dealt with in the past to give him/her some
insight into how to tackle it from a new angle.

Will it appeal to readers? The best way to find out how viable
ideas are and whether they will appeal to readers is to
develop a habit of testing them informally through
conversation and interaction with others. Note how people
respond and react to the issues you introduce into
conversation. In my experience, I know what idea will ruffle
feathers and stir up controversy because of the vibrations I
get when I air them during conversation and test what people
feel about them. The extent of their emotionalism and the
strength of their reaction is a litmus test for me to pursue an
idea. In Africa, sex is a sacred cow, something people choose
not to discuss publicly. But if you are as observant as I am,
you will notice used condoms in the strangest of places. In
bushes, in the backseats of people's cars, on pathways and
the backstreets of town etc. What does that tell you?

Another way is to get your ideas from what you hear people
talking about. Most weekends, I like to ride on the mini buses
into town. I eavesdrop on conversations not so much because
I like to listen in on people's conversations but because
people are exceptionally communicative (and loudly so!) on
the bus. Same thing happens in the pubs. When you develop
this capacity, you begin to appreciate one basic fact about the
psychology of readers, of media audiences: people only read
what they can identify with and relate to because that is a
measure of their humanity.

5. In Search of Ideas: A Final Word

When I look through my files and my drawers, there are lots

and lots of cuttings of articles I have kept over the years. Most
of what I keep are articles that have made a lasting
impression on me either because of the way in which the
subject matter was treated or because of the peculiar manner
in which it was written.

This says a lot about the amount of creativity that goes into
conceiving the idea that eventually becomes the editorial
product that people read. I want to believe that we all have it
within us to create those ideas that become articles that will
live after us.
Developing Story Ideas - Advice for Reporters
by Steve Buttry

Reporters and editors are partners in developing story ideas.

Reporters should present editors with thoughtful, detailed
proposals and should not expect editors to embrace every
half-baked suggestion. Editors should help reporters develop,
focus and deliver stories. Enterprise stories, especially long-
term projects, may require considerable reporting and writing
before you even decide whether and how to pursue the story.
Many of the points presented here apply to almost any kind of
story beyond routine daily coverage. The scale would be
different if you're suggesting a quick-hit story for this Sunday,
a major enterprise story you might spend a few weeks on or a
major project you might spend months on. But the principles
are the same: Before reporters and editors invest significant
time, space and money in a story, you need to develop the
idea.

Advice for Reporters

Put your idea in writing. For an important enterprise story,

especially a project idea, write a detailed proposal. This gives
the editor something more substantive to consider and
discuss with other editors. A written proposal demands
consideration and response. Writing also starts you on the
exercise of focusing your work and writing the story.
Sometimes a well-written proposal can become the
framework for the overview of a series or the introduction to a
story. On a shorter-term story, the proposal may be just a
one-paragraph e-mail or a one-page memo, but putting an
idea into writing always helps. Propose timely stories. Your
editors are and should be interested in newsy, timely stories.
Even projects should be timely. In your proposal, address the
news peg your story would have. Should it run before, after or
during an upcoming event? Would an anniversary, holiday or
hearing provide a time peg? Has a recent report or decision
given urgency to the issue? If a reporter proposes an
"evergreen" story that could be done at any time, an editor
could reasonably respond that the story could be done at any
time, which often means something else is more pressing
now. If your story looks like an evergreen, tell the editor why it
is timely now. If you're dusting off an old proposal, look for a
news angle and explain why now is the time to do the story.

Propose specific ideas. Don't propose "an in-depth look" at

Wichita State University. That's broad and unfocused, as well
as being an evergreen. Propose a project comparing the
university to its peer schools as many ways as you can
measure: reputation, research, faculty awards, student
entrance exam scores, etc. The specific focus helps the editor
get a feel for the story right away and start sharing the
reporter's excitement.

Propose relevant ideas. Explain in your note why this story

will matter to readers. Even if you think the relevance is self-
evident, tell your editor why this story matters to readers and
how you will make that relevance clear in the story.

Explain context. Henry Cordes of the Omaha World-Herald

pitched a proposal for a project on the University of Nebraska-
Lincoln to his editors with the same edge that he eventually
used in the stories. He was going to compare the university's
mediocre academic reputation and achievement with its
athletic excellence.

Consider national comparisons. If you're examining a local

issue, find out how the local situation compares to national
averages and national extremes.
Consider local impact. If you're examining a national issue,
explain how your story will cover the local and regional
angles. How does the issue affect the your local area? Who
here is involved on either side? Who here is an expert? Are
members of your local delegation dealing with the issue in
Congress? Will the issue cost us money or generate spending
locally?

Consider previous coverage. Read your newspaper's clips.

Read coverage in other newspapers. If your paper wrote
about this issue a couple years ago or another paper wrote
about it a couple months ago, tell how the situation has
changed or how this story will be different. Tell how you're
going to examine issues the competition has missed. If your
proposal sounds like stories your editor has already read,
you're not likely to get the go-ahead.

Tell what you know. Do some preliminary reporting, so you

can describe the general situation or the scope of the
problem. The more you know, the better you can sell your
need to learn still more. The more hypothetical or speculative
your story sounds, the stronger your chances of being told it
might be a good story to pursue "someday." Describe
avenues of inquiry. Tell what you need to find out. Maybe you
have some tips that you need to check out. Maybe you have a
hypothesis. Tell your editor where you expect to look and
what you think you might find. You don't need all the answers
in your proposal, but you need to know enough to present
some good questions.

Outline possible stories. Of course, the information you find

will shape the final stories, but include a possible outline in
your initial proposal. Say you'll write a first-day main story
about the Lost Boys of Sudan who come to your community,
with a sidebar on the civil war in the Sudan, then a second-
day story about the cultural adjustment that Sudanese
refugees face. The outline may change. Maybe you'll decide
that domestic violence is worth a sidebar to the story on
cultural adjustment. A working outline helps editors envision
your final stories and start anticipating them.

Consider usefulness. Think of ways this story will be useful

to your readers and explain in your proposal how you will
make the finished product easy for readers to use.

Consider photos and graphics. Visual elements need to be

part of your plan from the very first. Think about statistics you
might find that should be presented graphically. List possible
maps you would need. Identify events or interviews that
should be photographed. If you have no illustration ideas,
admit that and suggest in your proposal that you and the
editor should meet soon with the photo and art departments to
brainstorm and begin coordination. Maybe you should involve
a photographer or artist in your original proposal.

Consider online presentation. Think about ways to present

the story online. What sites should the story link to? Could
you provide supporting data in more detail than the printed
version, or can you set up a searchable database that readers
could use?

Consider travel and expenses. If you need to travel, include

the plans in your proposal. If you'd like to do some polling or
hire an accountant, engineer or other outside consultant,
explain what you would need and why. Don't expect editors to
spend big bucks without a strong explanation from you about
what the paper would get for its money. And don't assume
that editors won't spend the big bucks.
Consider computer analysis. What data are available that
could explain some aspect of the topic you are examining? If
you don't have the computer expertise to analyze the data,
you will need to learn and/or involve a colleague who does.
But your initial proposal should address data that may reveal
a problem or prove a point. You might want to consult a
reporter who does more work with data to brainstorm how
data may be used.

Consider other beats. Does your proposal overlap with

someone else's turf? Tell the other reporter as a courtesy, or
ask the other reporter's advice on angles to pursue. Ask
whether the other reporter wants to collaborate on the
proposal and the story.

Consider a timetable. How long would it take to do the

project as you're proposing? Acknowledge that delays can
happen, but suggest a timetable, dealing with your news peg
and with realistic expectations of how long the proposed work
could take. Maybe you are proposing something that is
immediately timely but also requires a longer-term inquiry.
Suggest what you could do right away and how long it would
take for the deeper look. Would the deeper look still be timely
when it's finished? What news peg might you have at that
time?

Consider your daily duties. Can you juggle this story, at

least for a while, with your regular duties? Your editor is going
to have to consider this question. Help her out by explaining
how much, if any, of your regular duties you could continue
while working on this story. If you need to be fully detached,
state that clearly.

Think big. Your proposal is no place to scrimp on time, space

or money. Propose the best way to deliver the best package
possible for your readers. Propose spending as much time as
it takes to do a thorough job, but not so much that the story
won't be timely, or that someone else will do it first. Propose
devoting as much space as it takes to do a thorough job, but
not so much that you bore your readers or distort the
importance of the issue. Propose spending whatever money it
takes to do a thorough job. The editors may trim your plan
back in terms of time, space or money. And maybe they
should. They are responsible for the budget, the balance of
the paper and for deploying the staff. Your role here is to
advocate for a story you believe in. The editors' role is to fit
that story into the paper's big picture.

Think small. Don't lose enthusiasm for the plan when editors
don't adopt your grand design. Make adjustments. Decide
what's the best way to do the story with the time, space or
money the editors decide it's worth. If your basic idea is good,
you need to maintain your enthusiasm for the story.

Don't say no for your editors. Propose doing the story as

thoroughly and aggressively as you think you should do it.
You aren't responsible for the budget. You don't make the
decisions about space and use of your time and taking on
tough targets. Your editor might say no to travel or
consultants or time or space that you propose. Your editor
might not want to take the story on at all. But if you think it's a
good story, propose doing it the way you think you should.
Make the editor say no. Rarely will an editor tell you to do
more than you propose.

Don't give up easily. If you really believe in a story idea, but

your editor doesn't want to do it, ask why. Try to learn
specifically what your proposal is lacking. Be open to the
possibility that the editor is right. Maybe you got excited about
the idea and lost perspective. Or maybe you failed to include
some important points in your proposal. Maybe you need to
do more research to convince your editor of the local impact.
Maybe you forgot to give the proposal a news peg. If the
editor raises valid objections that you can address, maybe
you can agree to pursue the story. Or maybe you should
propose it again at a later date when it is more timely.

Keep the ideas coming. Learn whatever lessons you can

from the discussion and rejection of a story idea and try again.
Your best defense against bad story assignments from editors
is to keep your editors considering your own good story ideas.
Why do we report crime?
by Bob Eggington

People want to read about crime. It sells newspapers, TV

advertising and books. It's about greed, violence, sex,
revenge - all the really powerful human emotions.

Sometimes crime reflects important issues in society:

corruption, drugs, homelessness, hunger, lack of education,
or whatever. And sometimes it is just a good story, with no
wider implications.

Either way, you need to cover it properly. Your audience

expects it. So here are some things to remember about crime
reporting.

1: Everything is built on the basics of good journalism

In crime reporting as in all other specialisms, you must first

have acquired the basic skills of journalism.

Your copy must be accurate. It must be spelled correctly. You

must have facts to support every sentence you write. Your
copy must be clear and unambiguous. It must capture the
interest of the audience.

You must have facts to support every sentence you write

2: Success is built on integrity

Your personal and professional behaviour must be above

reproach. You must be honest, thorough, trustworthy and fair-
minded. You must be considerate and compassionate. Do not
abuse the power or responsibility of your position.
Accept criticism where it is justified. Correct your mistakes. Be
punctual. Deliver your work on time and be a good colleague.

Do not abuse the power or responsibility of your position

3: Gather all the facts

This is a requirement of all journalism, but perhaps especially

so of crime. The American newspaperman Joseph Pulitzer
(the Pulitzer Prize is named after him) was very keen on crime
reporting. He always wanted his reporters to provide "details,
details, details".

Readers want to know everything about a crime. What kind of

masks were the raiders wearing? What colour was the
getaway car? What was the weather like? The more facts, the
better the story. So work hard, keep digging, keep adding
facts.

The more facts, the better the story

4: Know your patch

The good crime reporter does not sit around waiting for the
next bank raid to happen.

To work effectively, you must have excellent contacts with all

the relevant agencies, police, government bodies, courts,
press officers etc.
Cultivate these people. Make sure they have your contact
numbers. You need a close working relationship, so that when
a big story happens, they ring you to tell you about it, rather
than you having to chase them for information.

Work on your contacts so that you are ready for the next big
crime story

5: Dealing with criminals

Being a crime reporter involves getting to know criminals. This

has obvious dangers, to your work and to your safety. It is
vital that you are completely straight in your dealings with
people on the wrong side of the law.

Always be open about the fact that you are a reporter. Carry
identification. Keep notes. Tell your news editor where you
are going and whom you are going to meet. Don't take silly
risks. It is generally OK to be friendly with criminals, but not to
become their friends. Do not build up any obligations to your
criminal contacts. This is inviting them to try to corrupt you.

Don't get too close to criminals

6: Dealing with sources

On the record: It is good practice to identify, in your report,

your sources of information. Explain their credentials, so that
your audience can make a decision about how much weight
to attach to the information.

Off the record: Often the best information comes from sources
who wish to remain anonymous. You must be clear with such
sources about how the information is to be used and you must
be careful to protect their anonymity. That means, in the
ultimate case, being willing to go to jail yourself, rather than
disclose the source's identity.

Always protect your sources

7: Remember all electronicallyheld data is insecure

Information you keep on your computer, personal organiser,

mobile or any other electronic device is "discoverable" by the
authorities, thieves or hackers. If you keep confidential
information in electronic form make sure it is encrypted.

If you keep confidential information in electronic form make

sure it is encrypted

8: Keep your hands clean

This should go without saying, but just in case:

 Do not accept gifts or favours.

 Do not at any time take part in or condone criminal
activity.
 Do not provoke criminal activity.
 Do not describe criminal activity in such a way that it
encourages others to engage in crime.
 Do not celebrate crime.
 Do not glamorise criminals or turn them into
celebrities.

Never glamorise crime

9: Do not sensationalise

There is a proven link between the way the news media

reports crime, and the public fear of crime. Crime is bad
enough. Reporters who make it appear worse than it actually
is are doing society a disservice. Do not exaggerate the worst
aspects of a crime. Report what has happened rationally and
factually.

Do not exaggerate crime, report it factually

10: Dealing with the victims of crime

The victims are obviously key people in any story. You need
to gain access to them, deal with them respectfully and
sensitively, collect their version of events and report them
carefully. Remember that these people have been under great
stress. Don't add to it by dealing carelessly with them. But
remember, too, that crime against a person is an outrage and
the victims are entitled to their anger and distress.

Deal sensitively with victims

11: Dealing with suspects

Remember, the presumption is that a suspect is innocent until

proven guilty. It is not the job of the news media to prosecute
or defend, to deliver verdicts or pass down sentences. Leave
that to the courts.

It is not the job of the news media to prosecute or defend

12: Handling news blackouts

Sometimes police will come to journalists with the request that

they keep a story out of the news. Usually it is because it
might compromise a continuing surveillance operation, or put
someone's life in danger. Occasionally, the motives behind
the request are less admirable.

It is not for the individual reporter to decide whether to co-

operate in these cases. Always refer it to the editor of your
publication.

Don't agree to a blackout without consulting your editor

13: Taste and decency

Some crimes are so appalling that it is difficult to report them

without breaching the bounds of good taste. Handle such
material with care and sensitivity to the local culture and the
sensibilities of the community. Remember the victims and
their families.

Don't offend your audience with lurid reporting

14: Trend or one-off?

This is an important question to keep in mind. Is the individual

crime you are currently reporting part of something wider
going on in society? Does it raise a general question about
public safety? Are hold-ups increasing because drug-taking is
on the rise? If knife-crime is increasing among the young,
what is the reason behind it? If a certain make of car is
repeatedly being stolen, is there some organised smuggling
racket behind it?
Work out whether there is some context to the crime and if
there is, include it in your report. But if it is simply a one-off
crime, report it as such.

Sometimes the context is as important as the crime itself

Bob Eggington has been a journalist since 1969. He began in

newspapers before joining the BBC where he worked for
almost 30 years, including a spell as the head of the BBC's
political and parliamentary unit. He was the project director
responsible for launching BBC News Online in 1997. Bob
currently works as a media strategy consultant in the UK and
overseas.
Practical Suggestions for Journalists Covering
Catastrophe
by Anne Nelson, Columbia Graduate School of Journalism
and Dr. Daniel Nelson, M.D., University of Cincinnati School
of Medicine

The term "primary trauma" applies to individuals who have

had first-hand experience of a catastrophic event. It would
include those who survived or witnessed a catastrophe as
well as those who have lost someone close to them. Telling
their story to journalists can be damaging to these individuals,
or it can be therapeutic. The journalist has a significant role in
determining which of these it will be.

A journalist, like a doctor, should uphold the principle: “First,

do no harm.”

The biggest determining factor is whether the affected person

is ready to talk, and feels some measure of control over the
situation.

You should ask permission. You may ask a potential

interview subject, “Would you like to tell me about it now?” If
he or she says no, you should accept it. You may leave an
opening for them to speak to you later. A person who is not
ready will not be able to tell her story in a coherent way; the
information will be fragmented.

If the person agrees to talk, give him a sense of the

parameters of the interview. This includes the time frame.
(“I’d like to talk to you a few minutes…” or “I’d like to ask you a
few questions…”) If you need to move on after a bit, this will
help the person accept it on without feeling abandoned. If the
person is in a highly emotional state, begins to break down,
and seems self-conscious, you may ask if he would like to
move the interview to a more private place – even a lobby or
a doorway.

If other journalists crowd in and you lose control of the

interview, think about ways to alleviate any distress the
interviewee is experiencing as a result. This may include
offering the interviewee the option of terminating the interview.
We are in the early stages of creating a journalistic culture
that is respectful of these considerations. You cannot always
control or influence the behavior of other journalists – but you
can conduct yourself in a way that allows you to live with
yourself and to serve as an example.

Your tone of voice and body language matter. A person

experiencing trauma has a reversal of the emotional and the
cognitive roles of the brain – the emotional areas gain
influence, and the cognitive areas (those that logically process
information) have a diminished role. A traumatized person will
probably be slower to process language, and may ask you to
repeat questions, or, in a detailed interview, even to write
them down.

She will forget much of what you say, but remember how you
say it.

Show empathy, not detachment. But strive to maintain

control of your own emotions. Empathy is not so much about
joining a person in his emotions, as about appreciating and
validating those emotions. Don’t expect any single reaction.
Different people manifest trauma in different ways, ranging
from the stoic and wooden to the hysterical. Do not judge the
condition by the reaction.
Physical posture. Adopt a posture that shows empathy. If it
is a long, seated interview, you may consider sitting beside
the person. Some people find that it is helpful not to make eye
contact, but to look at the same abstract spot on the floor or
the wall that the interviewee is looking at, literally, “to see
things from his perspective.” Leaning slightly forward
expresses openness. Crossed arms and crossed legs can be
interpreted as closed or hostile. Do not be surprised if you feel
awkward or uncomfortable. This is natural.

Crying. If the interviewee cries, this is not necessarily a bad

or harmful thing. As stated above, if he feels exposed or
humiliated by being in a public setting, try to modify the setting
and find privacy. You may proceed if the interviewee is willing.

Carry paper tissues at all times, and offer them as a caring

gesture. One reason people feel self-conscious about crying
is nasal discharge, and offering them a paper tissue can help.
A friendly touch on the arm is also often good.

You may want to help them with a sense of purpose for the
moment. It might help to say, “I know this is really traumatic
for you to talk about, but people need to know about it
because…” Do have a good reason at hand as to why people
need to know.

Avoid stupid questions. First among these is “How does it

feel?” Psychologists say that a less direct approach is
sometimes better. “What do you want people to know about
what happened?” Tread carefully. Don’t project. Do not say, “I
know how you feel.” You don’t. Don’t say, “You must have
felt…” You should be helping the person to articulate her own
narrative, whatever it is, and by reflective listening, to
legitimate it. Avoid pat responses. These include, “It could
have been worse,” or “You’re lucky …” Respect silence. If
they ask “Why did it happen?” do not try to give a direct
answer. An appropriate response is an echo: “Yes, why did
this terrible thing happen?” If they express denial, don’t
challenge it. Denial is a legitimate and useful stage of the
grieving process.

Ending the interview. Be supportive. End up with a warm

handshake when possible, with thanks and comforting words,
such as, “I wish you well.”

If it is a long, major interview, consider a follow-up call after a

week or so, to say, “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Sometimes people will feel violated or show anger, even if

you haven’t done anything wrong. It can be their experience
talking, not their reaction to you. Examine your conscience. If
it is clear, move on.

Anne Nelson has developed a curriculum in human rights

reporting at Columbia. Dr. Daniel Nelson (her brother) is a
child psychiatrist who led the Family Notification Unit at the
Oklahoma City bombing.
Six tips for journalists on how to localize news
stories
by Leah Silver

As a business writer and editor, Melissa Preddy is a staunch

believer that every national news story has a ripple effect.

To help journalists take major financial news stories and

identify how they affect local businesses, Preddy, a former
reporter and editor at the The Detroit News, conducted an
interactive webinar sponsored by the Reynolds Center
offering tips for turning national news stories into great local
ones.

Here are the takeaways that IJNet found most helpful:

Source the suppliers. When writing a news story about a

product or service in one’s community, supply, manufacturing
and transportation companies are helpful because they can
be more open to interviews and are more talkative and
candid. They also give journalists a heads up as to when a
product or service is excelling or going down the drain. For
example, Apple may be mum on when the iPhone 5 will
launch, so tech publications are turning to suppliers.

Find the silver lining. In a world where natural disasters,

bank failures and lawsuits continue to surface haphazardly,
readers always look to journalists to find the silver lining. For
example, after the Gulf oil spill, the local fishing trade suffered
while business boomed for seafood suppliers in other parts of
the country.

Go beyond the biz wire. Journalists concentrate on issues

that get a lot of hoopla from the national press. As a result,
Preddy challenges journalists to tap into the creative
compartment of their brain and whip out fresh news angles
from popular news stories.

Three examples:

 Capitalize on the buzz over Charlie Sheen’s antics for

a story about success rates of local infirmaries.
 Use media coverage on the royal wedding to
determine the effect it will have on the bridal industry.
 Address the news on the resignation of Ohio State
University’s head football coach, Jim Tressel and
using it to analyze the effect on OSU memorabilia
sales.

Find the fun. Quirky economic indicators, such as a boom in

wedding invitation sales and a spike in purple eyeliner sales
are useful for journalists looking for an edge.

Map it. Looking at statistical charts comparing retail sales and

unemployment rates can highlight a correlation between data.
For example, a journalist could explore the relationship
between the number of fast food franchises in a community
and the types of patients local doctors see most frequently.

Spice it up with visual aids. Providing visual supplements

such as graphs, charts, diagrams, and photo galleries with
explanatory captions can aid journalists in proving a point.
Tammy Joyner of the Atlanta Journal Constitution said in the
webinar chat: "I did an alternative story using a photo of a
pizza pie to show how gas prices affected everything from the
flour to the cardboard box to the napkins. The pizza owner
also was going to have to pass on the cost of making the
pizza and getting the ingredients; it's all economics."
Reporters: How to get what you need from PR
people
by Andy Shuai Liu

Journalists and public relations people often develop a love-

hate relationship.

Veteran journalist and PR executive Dottie Li knows both

sides of the story. A member of the Asian American
Journalists Association, Li worked with the China Trade News
in her native China and later as a C-SPAN producer for years.
She also worked at the White House with President Bill
Clinton. For over a decade, Li has been part of the PR world,
and she is now managing director of TransPacific
Communications.

Here's what Li told us about creating a constructive

relationship with PR.

Journalists compete for exclusives, how can PR people

help?

DL: There should be negotiation. PR people usually negotiate

with the desired media outlet before a pitch — I am going to
pick you versus other three or four outlets, but you have to
give me this and that.

If you happen to work with a reputable outlet, then it gives you

an added advantage for PR agents to pick you. In addition,
having a competent ground team to support you is essential.
For example, a great interview by Matt Lauer on 'The Today
Show' is the result of the phone calls and all other negotiation
efforts put forth by the producer and the team behind the
scenes, in addition to the interview itself.
What should journalists do if PR gets in their way of
finding out the truth?

DL: When a client does not necessarily want everything out,

PR will certainly do whatever they can to protect the client’s
interest, just like corporate lawyers.

You cannot tell PR agents to get out of your way; you have to
be creative if you want to find out more information. It is a
difficult situation [for journalists] to get around. But these days,
you have all these electronic technologies that make it
possible—you might want to use an alternative e-mail account
to reach out to people who are willing to talk.

What's your advice for international journalists on

working with PR from or representing China?

DL: Linguistic and cultural barriers both exist between

American journalists and PR agents from or in China. A press
release written in English by a Chinese PR agent may be
correct grammatically, but might contain extra information not
explicitly expressed by the text. Cultural norms also vary from
one country to another, which may lead to miscommunication
between Western journalists and Chinese PR agents.

Smart journalists know they can’t force others to change what

they are used to and will consult those with cross-cultural
fluency to help read between the lines and decipher cultural
myths. Don’t get easily offended if others don’t do business
according to the 'norm' you are used to.
8 essential skills for anchors (& any
journalist) covering breaking news
by Jill Geisler

Anchors and reporters scrambled in response to alerts that

President Barack Obama would be making a major news
announcement Sunday night. As Brian Stelter of The New
York Times wrote:

“According to Brian Williams, the ‘NBC Nightly News’ anchor,

some journalists received a three-word email that simply read,
‘Get to work.’ ”

We know what happened next: coverage of the historic news

about the death of Osama bin Laden. Media critic Jon
Friedman watched the broadcast coverage and liked what he
saw:

“Commentators were careful to keep intact their professional

objectivity and not share openly in America’s sense of victory
and jubilation over a deeply hated foe. Anchors on the
networks tried hard to remain newsy and not give in to their
emotions.”

He named names and networks, with specifics on what they

said and did well. It brought to mind the same recognition of
quality live coverage during Sunday’s precipitating event, the
tragedy of Sept. 11.

When broadcast journalists get to work on breaking news, it’s

a moment that always separates the mere readers from the
true leaders. The best news anchors and “live” reporters
make their work look easy, but it isn’t. Beyond voice, looks or
delivery, the best possess what I call “skills without script.”
They communicate with command, comfort and clarity, even
— or especially — when a story is developing so rapidly that
formats and scripts are useless.

“Skills without script” are built on mental agility, critical

thinking and continuous learning.

Here are eight essential “skills without script” that I teach to

journalists.

1. Knowledge base: An understanding of issues, names,

geography, history and the ability to put all of these in
perspective for viewers. It comes from the journalist’s
commitment to being a student of the news.

2. Ability to process new information: Sorting, organizing,

prioritizing and retaining massive amounts of incoming data.

3. Ethical compass: Sensitivity to ethical land mines that

often litter the field of live breaking news — unconfirmed
information, graphic video, words that potentially panic,
endanger public safety or security or words that add pain to
already traumatized victims and those who care about them.

4. Command of the language: Dead-on grammar, syntax,

pronunciation, tone and storytelling — no matter how stressed
or tired the anchor or reporter may be.

5. Interviewing finesse: An instinct for what people need and

want to know, for what elements are missing from the story,
and the ability to draw information by skillful, informed
questioning and by listening.

6. Mastery of multitasking: The ability to simultaneously:

take in a producer’s instructions via an earpiece while
scanning new information from computer messages, texts or
Twitter; listen to what other reporters on the team are sharing
and interviewees are adding; monitor incoming video — and
yes, live-tweet info to people who have come to expect
information in multiple formats.

7. Appreciation of all roles: An understanding of the tasks

and technology that go into the execution of a broadcast, the
ability to roll with changes and glitches, and anticipate all
other professionals involved.

8. Acute sense of timing: The ability to condense or expand

one’s speech on demand, to sense when a story needs
refreshing or recapping, to know without even looking at a
clock how many words are needed to fill the minute while
awaiting a satellite window, live feed or interviewee.

Whenever viewers have the chance witness the control room

of a broadcast facility or observe live at the scene during
breaking news events, they are inevitably amazed at the on-
air calm that transcends the off-air chaos.

That’s the essence of skills without script and the measure of

the best broadcast journalists.
New Yorker writer: Good writing flows from
deep reporting
by James Breiner

New Yorker writer Evan Osnos is as fine a storyteller in

person as he is in print. Tsinghua University journalism
students left their texting thumbs idle during a recent visit, as
Osnos told how he profiled a former barber named Siu Yun
Ping, who won close to $100 million at baccarat in Macau.

Osnos shared some trade secrets about writing for The New
Yorker, which is known for its profiles of the famous and
obscure. The best writing starts with deep reporting, he said.
It flows from the detail gathered from court documents, news
clips, obscure academic dissertations, neglected public
archives and reluctant interview subjects. In other words,
gather the facts, and you will have the material for colorful
writing.

He told the students a reporter has to push beyond the point

where most give up in order to get a piece published in The
New Yorker, where the standard is to make people with no
interest in a topic--say, gambling at Macau's casinos--read a
profile all the way to the end.

The story, "The God of Gamblers," began with an editor's

query to Osnos: Are you interested in Macau? As it
happened, he was. He had been saving some clippings in a
“possibles” file and had done some reading. He was
particularly interested in a crime story from 2007 that involved
a casino employee trying to have a successful gambling figure
killed. Osnos thought this could be the center of the piece.
Eventually he organized his research and writing around
several elements:

--How Macau has made itself five times bigger than Las
Vegas in gambling revenues in a half-dozen years. --Why
Macau exists as an appendage of China and how it fits into
the country's history, politics and economy. --Macau's role as
a center of money-laundering for people who want to move
money out of China. --The science of gambling and why
Chinese tend to take bigger financial risks than, say,
Americans. --And finally, the narrative itself. Who was this
person who won millions by gambling at baccarat, and how
did he survive mob attempts to have him killed?

One of the challenges in writing the story was finding people

to talk about how criminal activity works. “You can't just call up
a member of the mafia and get them to talk with you,” he
noted. However, there were records of testimony by several of
the mob figures accused of attempted murder in Siu's case.

Osnos also found a doctoral dissertation that quoted a survey

of officials convicted of corruption in which they described
how the system worked. It was a spider's web of connections
in which everyone got a little piece of the action in exchange
for keeping quiet.

And finally, he had to interview Siu, the gambler himself. "For

a New Yorker profile, you have to get the guy." You can't write
a profile without interviewing the main subject. But no one
seemed to know where to find him.

Eventually, a television reporter tipped Osnos to a news story

that mentioned Siu was developing some homes in an
outlying area of Hong Kong. Siu avoided him and did not want
to talk. Finally, Osnos met Siu face to face on the construction
site and persuaded him to site down for an interview.

"You have to push through those doors" when you find

yourself blocked from gathering information, Osnos told the
students. "You have to be creative and persistent." That is
especially true in China, where business people are reluctant
to talk with the press.

A final Osnos tip: Always be smiling. People will find you less
threatening and will be more likely to tell you things than if you
come across as a hard-charging reporter. (Thanks to Nicole
Sy for this.)
‘Reporting is the key to good journalism.’
By Steven A. Holmes

In daily journalism, you often don’t get a lot of time. But in

trying to cover the lives of ordinary people and make it news,
your best friend is time. Being able to spend a lot of time with
people is really the key. The biggest piece of advice is get as
much time to spend with your subject as possible. There is no
substitute for it, just none, period.

And if you’re trying to do a story on somebody who’s not a

star, not a politician, not a recognizable name, you’ve got to
take a lot of time and be very careful in selecting your subject.
It is true that everybody has a story, but some stories are just
better than others. And you need to make sure that you take
the time and be very selective in determining your subject.
Don’t be afraid to walk away from a subject, to say this
person’s story doesn’t fit what I’m trying to say, and go out
and look for somebody else.

[As part of the Pulitzer Prize-winning series The New York

Times did on race] I did a story on two drill sergeants at Fort
Knox, Kentucky, one black, one white. And I spent a lot of
time at Fort Knox before I found this particular company that I
actually hung out with for a while. As is often the case in
journalism, I got lucky. I found a company in which the captain
was leaving the army and didn’t care about his career. So he
gave me complete access, and I just got to talk to everybody
and hang out, and that made all the difference in the world.

So take your time in finding your subject. And observe,

observe everything, take everything in, don’t let anything
pass, not a thing. But don’t then regurgitate everything you
see in your story. Be very selective. You may even have a
really interesting anecdote, a really great anecdote, but it
might not fit your point. Discard it and go onto something else.
People are interesting beings. You will come up with another
one. Otherwise, your stories wander and ramble and they just
don’t seem to make any particular points.

Now I’m going to say something that’s going to sound kind of

contradictory: Don’t worry about contradictions. You might
have an anecdote that completely contradicts the point you’re
going to make. Don’t just say, “Okay, that’s just a
contradiction, I’m not going to put that in because that would
take people off the point.” Find out why your subject did it. If it
doesn’t seem to fit, find out about it. And if you discard it later
on, do so for good reasons. But just because it seems
contradictory on its face, that’s no reason to forget about the
anecdote.

Know the context of the people. By that I mean know what’s

going on, not only in their lives but also in their communities,
in their workplace, in the world, and try to connect them to it.
That’s what makes a lot of these stories about ordinary people
so powerful.

Also, don’t forget about your subject’s history: People come

from somewhere. Go back and report and find out where they
come from. They have friends, they have parents, they have
family, they have wives, they have schoolmates, they have
lots of things. Find out as much as you can. That will inform,
and even if this doesn’t end up in the story, that will help
inform your observations and your views of them, and you’ll
understand why they do things, and you’ll be able to report it
and write about it in a much richer way.

Obviously, respect and understand your subjects.

Let me just break and read you from the story I did on these
two drill sergeants. It’s about one field sergeant. His name is
Earnest Williams. He is a young, black drill sergeant from
Waco, Texas, who is, if you meet him, the first thing you
notice about him is, this guy is built. He’s about 5’10,” he
weighs about 205, 210 pounds, it’s all muscle. The guy works
out every day, he takes bodybuilding pills, muscle enhancers,
he’s almost obsessed with his physical prowess.

He also had a bright, boyish smile that went well with his
impish sense of humor. But in an institution that puts a
premium on physical fitness, it was important to Sergeant
Williams to camouflage his charm with sternness and to
impress the privates with prowess.

One evening they challenged him to do 50 pushups in a

minute. He accepted but, not wanting to embarrass himself,
first retreated to his office to see if he could pull off such a
feat. There he dropped to the floor and did 50. Naturally the
effort tired him. But he would not let himself show weakness,
so he swaggered out into the sleeping bay, slapped a
stopwatch into a private’s hand and knocked out another
quick 50. The men were wide-eyed.

That’s not a bad little anecdote, right? It shows a little bit of

observation and makes a point. Let me let you in on another
secret: I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it. I always stress being
there, but you’re human, you’re not going to see everything.
You’re going to sometimes miss stuff that you hear about
later. Don’t worry about it. But that doesn’t mean you make it
up. It means you go back and report it.

I heard about this time when Williams did these 50 pushups in

under a minute. I thought, hmm, that’s kind of interesting, so I
asked him about it. And he told me about this in one short
conversation. Then the next night I asked him about it, and he
told me a little bit more—he told me about going into the office
and not wanting to be embarrassed. So the next night I went
back to the barracks, and I talked to a couple of the recruits,
who told me about it: “What did he do when he came out of
there?” “Who asked him to do the pushups?” “Why?” “When
he came out, did he just drop to the floor and knock out the
pushups?” “How do you know he did it in under a minute?”
Also, he had a stopwatch. “Who held the stopwatch?” Private
so-and-so. I went to private so-and-so and asked him, “Did
Williams give you the stopwatch?” “Yes” “Did he just hand it to
you and say, ‘Please take this stopwatch?’” “No, he slapped it
into my hand.”

So all I’m saying is that you can write vividly, in a true

narrative style, about things that you don’t necessarily witness
with your own eyes but, even if you do, doesn’t mean that you
stop reporting. Even if I’d seen all of it, it still would have
made a lot of sense for me to go back and report. Reporting is
the key to good journalism, and it makes no difference what
kind of journalism you’re talking about. You can’t just take
something on the surface and put it in the paper. You’ve got
to go back and just get at as many layers of it as possible.

And I think it’s especially important when you’re writing about

ordinary people, because this is what brings ordinary people
to life, these little things. And the only way you can
understand them is reporting.

Again, we keep coming back to that word, time. Time begets

time. And I guess one of the things that I know I did and a
couple of other reporters did in their particular subjects [in
reporting on this series] is that they didn’t rush to take notes.
They knew that they were handling a very sensitive subject
[race] about which people are very reluctant to talk, and you
wanted to be able to blend in to gain people’s trust. One of the
reporters, Michael Winerip, who spent a lot of time with New
York City narcotics detectives, tells this story about how when
he first started hanging out with these folks he would not talk
about race at all. He would just hang around and observe.
They knew what he was working on, so they were a little bit
wary of him. And towards the beginning, something would
happen—it didn’t have anything to do with race, and Mike
wanted to remember it, so he would take out his notebook
and immediately they would say, “Did I say something racist?”

It’s very difficult to do anything except spend as much time,

get to know them, speak to them about everything you can
think of, whether or not it has anything to do with your
subject—and, in fact, it might be better if you spoke with them
about things that had nothing to do with the subject.

These guys started talking to me about race, at least the black

guys started talking to me about race, fairly early on and then
listened to what I had to say. But then I didn’t come back to
that until much later. I would sometimes get away from them,
go someplace and write something down, not an exact quote
but basically some of the things they were talking about, and
say to myself, “I’m going to come back and talk to them about
that in three weeks.” At least at the beginning, I wanted to be
seen just as a person, and I guess as a reporter because I felt
it was ethically necessary to remind them periodically. I’d say,
“Guys, don’t forget who I am.”
George Packer’s 5 Tips for Reporting on
Anything
by Steve Myers

The New Yorker’s George Packer has written about

disaffected voters in Ohio and beleaguered homeowners in
Florida; the massive city of Lagos, Nigeria, and the cloistered,
oppressed country of Burma. He has described the
dangerous predicament of Iraqis who translate for the U.S.
military and the abstruse practices of senators who do
everything but deliberate on the important issues of the day.

How does he learn enough about these widely divergent

subjects to discuss them at happy hour, much less write about
them for The New Yorker?

Packer, who will be at Poynter on Tuesday night for a talk

entitled, “Is America in Decline?” spoke with me by phone
about how he enters unfamiliar territory to report on complex
subjects. Although most journalists do not spend months on
national magazine stories as he does, his techniques can be
applied to all sorts of reporting.

Don’t go in cold

Although Packer relies on old-school, shoe-leather reporting

for his stories, before he goes anywhere he spends a lot of
time reading background, from news stories to history books.

“Ignorance and playing catch-up are not useful tools of the

trade,” he said. “It means I have to do a lot of intensive
preparation, a lot of Web searching, a lot of talking to people
before I can even travel.”
Before he traveled to Tampa in late 2008 for his story on the
housing crisis, he spent about a week reading news stories
and background material, seeking out contacts and talking to
academics. He spent between two and three weeks in Florida.

“I think maybe the most important thing is to know something

about the history of a place — which the locals often don’t
know themselves,” Packer said. “History is destiny;
everywhere is a product of its own past.”

Find a guide to show you around

Because he often finds himself reporting on places that he’s

not an expert on, Packer said, “I need someone who can
provide me with the introduction to the place and give me
sense of the landscape.”

For his recent story on the U.S. Senate, Packer relied on the
expertise of beat reporters who knew the ins and outs of the
institution, from the staffers to the obscure rules.

When he decided to go to Florida to investigate the roots of

the financial meltdown, he chose Tampa in part because a
friend there could show him around. The two canvassed the
Tampa Bay area, driving through subdivisions and taking to
people randomly. What he learned in those interviews
became core to the story.

He continues to seek direction when he’s interviewing people.

“Once I get there, I’m constantly saying, ‘Who else should I
talk to?’ ‘Do you know anyone in this situation?’ ” Packer said.
“And people tend to be quite generous with that information,
and most people want to tell their story.”
Go in with a guiding question

Packer prefers not to approach a story with a thesis, but

rather a question to guide his work.

His guiding question for the Senate story was, “What is the
culture of this place?” He was initially struck by how the
modern, fractured Senate seems so different from the
collegial body of the 1950s, represented (not altogether
accurately) by the movie “Advise & Consent.”

“I wanted to feel like — in fact, I probably exaggerated this a

bit in my own mind — like a foreigner, a field anthropologist
going to a little tribal culture and trying to learn its ways and its
language and its norms and rules,” he said.

For the Florida foreclosure story, he said, the key question

was, “Why did the economic crisis begin here? … That had
the vibration of a big story to me, something starting in a small
place and spreading around the world and becoming a huge
historical event.”

A good guiding question, Packer said, leads him down a path.

It’s a thread or a clue “that I know is going to lead me into
interesting things — and then I go down there and follow it.”

Capitalize on your outsider status

While it’s tough to figure out a place as you’re reporting a

story, Packer said being one of the uninitiated helps him “see
things that people steeped in it may not see.”

For his Senate story, an Obama administration official advised

him to “cover Washington as if it’s a foreign capital.”
He started by spending days in the press gallery — generally
alone — watching the proceedings. Aside from a few staffers
and the presiding officer, the senators, too, were alone as
they delivered their speeches. Packer said it looked like they
were talking to themselves.

“I saw how crazy it is that when senators give speeches, no

one else is listening,” Packer said, “And even though that’s
the norm, to me it’s a very strange norm. It means they’re not
debating; they’re not deliberating.”

Journalists who cover the Capitol already know that, Packer

said, but the average C-SPAN viewer doesn’t. “That required
me to be a newcomer, to have never seen it before, in order
to be struck by that,” he said.

Alex Blumberg told me that his ignorance was an asset when

he sought to understand the arcane business of mortgage-
backed securities for the award-winning story “The Giant Pool
of Money.” Financial reporters were too close to see the big
picture: “If you knew more than I did,” Blumberg said, “you
could have it explained away to you more easily.’ “

Capture those fleeting thoughts

Packer was the first person to blog for The New Yorker,
posting two to three times a week. But he’s posting less
frequently now.

On the one hand, blogging enables him to speak directly and

more naturally to readers. And it helps his magazine writing
“because it allows me to work out ideas as they come to me,
in a way that I can’t do over a three-month incubation for a
long magazine piece.”
Yet he said the interaction that follows these postings can
become a distraction from his work — particularly when he is
still working out his thoughts. Sometimes, he said, “I don’t
want to be answerable for it yet; I don’t know what I think
about it, I don’t know what I’m going to use it for.”

So when he’s working on a book, like he is now, he uses an

old-fashioned notebook to save his thoughts. Whatever the
method, it’s essential to collect your ideas in one place. “Our
thoughts don’t stay with us if we don’t write them down,” he
said. “They start to dematerialize and dissolve and suddenly
they’re not there anymore.”
A Bunch of Tips for Reporters

‘You can break the action at times and give us

background.’

Say you’re writing about the Little League team winning the
Little League World Series and you’re doing a narrative.
That’s a dramatic story, but it’s got a lot of players and a lot of
people, kids and parents and coaches. You want background
about who these people are, but you also want to tell the story
of the action on the field. You can break that action at
appropriate times, usually at dramatic ones, and stop and tell
me something about the people involved. You’re in the last
game against the favored Chinese team; you’re clinging to a
one-run lead in the eighth inning, and the biggest kid on the
Chinese team hits a ball over the head of the left fielder. He
turns his back to the plate. He’s running. He leaps for the ball.
And how did he get on this field? Who is this kid?

He’s from Australia. His father moved here because the

international company he works for changed his job and
moved him to Connecticut. It’s interesting. That stuff better not
be dull. It needs to be interesting and important to be there.
How many times can you do that in a story? It depends on
how long the story is. If it’s a long enough serial narrative, you
can do it for every starter on the team, but you might not want
to if the piece is shorter or if some of the other kids’ stories
aren’t as interesting.

You can break the action at times and give us background.

And readers want to know that background. That kid who’s
going to make that catch, you want to know who he is. So
that’s something that works really well. —Bruce DeSilva
Get your editors ‘to see what you’re seeing.’

I happen to work with just some wonderful editors, including

Neville Green who does this really great thing that I would
encourage all of you to encourage your editors to do, if you
have to motivate your editor. He gets out of the newsroom
and joins me at the story. If you find an editor like Neville,
hang on to him. And if your editor is not quite as motivated,
get him to see what you’re seeing. They are your first readers.
Get them to see and believe and understand why you are
doing what you’re doing and get them caught up in the lives of
the people that you’re caught up in. —Tom French

‘Inch your way there.’

Editors need to put things in the paper they can count on, and
they like to put things in the paper that make a difference.
Narrative is a hard sell that way. That’s why I really encourage
you to think about it as a paragraph, a line, a small story. Inch
your way there. And the other thing you need to know about
editors to get them on your side is if you come to an editor
with an abstract concept and say “I want to write a narrative
piece,” what the editor hears is, “Oh my God, investment of
time and pain and no sure delivery of product.” And this editor
has this yawning, gaping hole that is the white space of the
newspaper to think about. If you can learn to deliver up small
pieces of narrative along the way while you cover the city
council and you bring in a weekend piece which is a profile of
one of the council members, or a small narrative of how a
certain piece of legislation got passed, and you deliver that
time and time again and your editor sees you can do that,
pretty soon you buy yourself the right to go and say, “Now I’m
going to do a narrative. I want to do a story on X.” But it has to
be specific, it has to be tied to what’s going on in your
community. —Jacqui Banaszynski

‘The more you do it and the better you get…’

The more you do it and the better you get at it, I think the
easier it is to convince your editors that this is a fine way to
report a story. —Isabel Wilkerson

‘Just sit there and just keep going at it.’

When you’re writing, sometimes you think, “Oh, this is terrible.

This is the worst writing I’ve done on this book. Other parts of
the book came easy, and this is coming hard.” And
sometimes you’ll go back and look at those crappy days and
you’ll keep more from the crappy days than you do from the
good days and sometimes vice versa. You just have to sit
there. It’ll even out. Sit there and work. Sit there and work,
whether it comes or not. Whether it comes easy or whether it
comes hard. Just sit there and just keep going at it.

If you get it done, you get it done. If you don’t, you don’t. Don’t
worry about it too much. Forget about those sort of daily
deadlines. I mean, it’s difficult if you’re coming from journalism
because you’re so used to it there. The idea of sitting in front
of a computer for two hours and not coming away with
something usable is very foreign to a lot of journalists. But to
fiction writers, it’s absolutely normal. You can work all day and
end up with a page. You come back to it that night and you
look at it and you say, “That’s wrong. I’ve gone off on the
wrong direction. It’s got to go.” There. You can’t worry about
it. You just cannot worry about it.

There’s a reason why you’re stuck there, and though you

don’t know it, somehow your subconscious mind is telling you,
“Stop. Wait. You haven’t figured this out.” That may be when
you go back and look at that outline and say, “Gee, this is all
backwards. I’ve got to fix this somehow.” Yes? But again, if
you didn’t sit at your machine, you’d never find that out.
Robert Frost said, “The art of writing is the art of applying the
seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.” Absolutely right. It’s
a lot easier if you’re tied to the chair. —Stewart O’Nan
Be a Reporter, Not a Guest
by Mark Kramer

Interview time is not social time, and a mistake that younger

narrative reporters frequently make is to be too nice and too
obliging and to act too much like the guest and not enough
like the reporter.

I tell my sources up front, don’t tell me what you don’t want

me to know. Or tell me now if there is an area that you want to
wall off, and I’ll see if I can continue working with you.

If they start feeling more comfortable, it’s a problem. You’re

liable to be putting yourself at risk of having contaminated
access if you go too far. It is possible to be a poised
professional friend and acknowledge that. If you go over a
certain line, you may be in ethical trouble. I don’t say anything
goes. I say that there is a matter of honor and decency, and
your readers will be your judges.
Interviewing Sources
by Isabel Wilkerson

Peeling the Onion

Seven Steps of Interviewing

1. Introduction
2. Adjustment, or feeling-each-other-out phase
3. Moment of connection
4. Settling-in phase
5. Revelation
6. Deceleration
7. Reinvigoration

We can’t really write these beautiful stories, these narratives

that we all dream of, unless we can get something out of the
mouths of the sources and get the elements that we need to
write these stories. And you can’t get those elements—the
color, the detail, the anecdotes—unless you can get them to
feel comfortable enough to tell you anything.

So, because of that, I only really interview in the strict sense

of the word when I have to. I try to do everything else that I
can to make sources feel comfortable enough to talk with me.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t ask questions. It means I ask
lots of questions. But what I mainly try to do is to be a great
audience. I egg them on; I nod; I look straight into their eyes; I
laugh at their jokes, whether I think they’re funny or not; I get
serious when they’re serious. I kind of echo whatever emotion
they seem to be sending to me. I do whatever it takes to get
them talking.

I call these more guided conversations than interviews. And it

helps me to kind of relax as I go into the interview situation,
because I realize that not everything is really on the line when
it comes to the question. What’s much more important is that
there is an interaction that gets me what I want. The formal
interview is not really conducive to someone bearing their soul
to you, and that’s what we want them to do.

I want to deconstruct what a lot of us talk about, which is the

onion theory. It’s a cliché, yes, but we refer to it all the time,
peeling away the layers of the onion. And I want you to picture
the onion.

The outer layer of the onion is orange, it’s dry, it’s brittle. And
when you peel an onion, you tear off the outer layer of the
onion and you throw it away because it has no use to you.
You don’t even think about using it because that’s not going to
be what you want in whatever you’re making. The next layer
is shiny and rubbery and limp, sometimes a tinge of green.
And you won’t use it either unless it’s really the only onion you
have, and you have no choice but to use it. And believe me,
this is relevant to the interview.

The center of the onion is what you want. It’s crisp and it’s
pungent, and it has the sharpest, truest flavor for whatever
you’re making. It’s the very best part of the onion. And it also
requires very little slicing. This is very important, and I hope
you remember this part because it comes out later when you
really apply it to the interview. It requires little slicing because
it’s already small, and it’s compact, and it’s highly
concentrated. And it’s so perfect that you can just—the quality
is perfect, the size is perfect. You can just toss it right into
whatever you’re making.

The same goes for the interview process and the quotes and
anecdotes that you’re trying to get. The first thing out of a
source’s mouth is often of little use. Amazingly, sometimes it
is, but most of the time it’s not. It’s usually quick. It’s snappy.
It’s something that the person will often tell you to make you
go away. And it’s the bone that they toss at you that they think
will suddenly give you what you want. And often it’s really not.
It’s that outer layer that’s brittle and brown on the onion.

What we want to do, whenever we sit down with a person, is

to get to the center of the onion as fast as we can. And that’s
why I call it accelerated intimacy. Basically, this is the
reporter’s attempt, our attempt, to achieve in a few minutes
the trust that could otherwise take years to build, so that the
source will tell you virtually anything.

The very beginning of this whole process is basically the

introduction.

The second phase is what I call the adjustment or the feeling-

each-other-out phase. You’re getting words into your
notebook, and it feels like you’re making progress because
you’re getting answers from them. The source is just getting
used to you taking notes.

The next phase is what I call the moment of connection. And

this is where you may detect that you are not getting exactly
what you want. And you begin to think about ways to break
the ice that might sort of call up something that’s universal,
whether it’s the weather or the traffic. We all have some way
of sort of making a connection with this person that we hope
will accelerate the process of getting to know them.

The fourth phase is what I call the settling-in phase. This is

where, because the person has not shooed you away
completely, you begin to gain a little confidence that this
person is stuck with you.
The fifth phase or stage is revelation. That’s when the source
is feeling really comfortable, comfortable enough to reveal
something very candid or deep. And this is often the problem
for us. The source often can’t even believe they’re saying this
to you, which is a very good sign for us, but not in the way
that you might expect. Because often whatever they say may
be of importance to them but has no meaning for us at all. It
has nothing to do with what we’re writing about. But the
reason why it’s so important is because it suggests that it’s a
turning point in their sense of trust in us, and it’s a sign that
we may be able to now get what we really want.

The sixth stage is deceleration, where things begin to wind

down. So you begin to decelerate. You try to bring closure.
You put your notebook away as a sign that the interview is
over. And then what happens? The source doesn’t want it to
end because, you know, you have a contract. The contract
is—You’re a reporter, you listen to me. I talk as long as I want
to and you take notes.

I call the last phase of all of this reinvigoration. And that’s

where the source feels free to say almost anything, and they
make a revelation or comment that could be the very best
quote of the interview. Suddenly, the notebook is closed and
they feel so comfortable because now it’s not real anymore.

The reason why I want to emphasize this last stage of

reinvigoration, where you have that source basically in the
palm of your hand, [is that] you don’t want to lose that magic,
that moment. Because they don’t even realize how close
they’ve grown to you in this very short period of time. And for
the sake of the story that you may be working on, you really
want to make the most of that moment, because when you
get back to the newsroom and you realize, oh, I should have
asked them this, or why didn’t I mention that, and you get
them on the phone, it’s not going to be the same. But that
putting away the notebook phase where they are there and
they trust you, that is a moment that you want to make sure
you get whatever questions you can in because that’s when
you get that center of the onion that will make life so much
easier when you get back to the newsroom and start writing.

[If the source then says something you might want to

publish], what you want to do is you want to bring the
notebook back so that they see that—that’s a signal that,
remember, I’m still a reporter. I’m still doing my job. But in all
of the many interviews that I’ve done, my general sense is I
don’t believe they think that this is not going to make it in per
se. They’re often not saying anything different than they’ve
been saying all along. It just means that the pressure is off.
The tape recorder is away. The camera is no longer on them,
and they feel more comfortable. And then they can say it in a
way—finally, they get it right.
How journalists can become better
interviewers
by Chip Scanlan

Every day around the globe, journalists pick up the phone or

head out of the newsroom. They meet someone, a stranger or
a familiar contact. They take out a notebook or turn on a
recording device. And then they perform two simple acts.
They ask a question and they listen to the answer. An
interview has begun.

Interviewing is the heart of journalism. Yet too few journalists

have ever received education or training in this critical skill.
“No one ever teaches the journalist how to conduct an
interview,” Courtney Herrig, a student at University of South
Florida St. Petersburg, complained in a 2007 blog post. For
most journalists the only way to learn is on the job, mostly
through painful trial and error.

How do you walk up to strangers and ask them questions?

How do you get people — tight-lipped cops, jargon-spouting
experts, everyday folks who aren’t accustomed to being
interviewed — to give you useful answers? How do you use
quotes effectively in your stories?

Get smart.

If you want to flop as an interviewer, fail to prepare. All too

often, journalists start an interview armed only with a handful
of question scribbled in their notebooks. Take time, however
short, to bone up on your subject or the topic you’ll be
discussing. When former New York Times reporter Mirta Ojito
interviews experts, “I try to know almost as much as they do
about their subject, so it seems we are ‘chatting,’ ” she said by
email. A. J. Liebling, a legendary writer for The New Yorker,
landed an interview with notoriously tight-lipped jockey Willie
Shoemaker. He opened with a single question: Why do you
ride with one stirrup higher than the other? Impressed by
Liebling’s knowledge, Shoemaker opened up.

Craft your questions.

The best questions are open-ended. They begin with “How?”

“What?” “Where?” “When?” “Why?” They’re conversations
starters and encourage expansive answers that produce an
abundance of information needed to produce a complete and
accurate story.

Closed-ended questions are more limited but they have an

important purpose. Ask them when you need a direct answer:
Did you embezzle the company’s money? Closed-ended
questions put people on the record.

The worst are conversation stoppers, such as double-barreled

(even tripled-barreled) questions. “Why did the campus police
use pepper spray on student protesters? Did you give the
order?” Double-barreled questions give the subject a choice
that allows them to avoid the question they want to ignore and
choose the less difficult one.

Craft questions in advance to ensure you ask ones that start

conversations rather than halt them in their tracks. Stick to the
script, and always ask one question at a time. Don’t be afraid
to edit yourself. More than once, I’ve stopped myself in the
middle of a double-barreled question and said, “That’s a
terrible question. Let me put it another way.”
Listen up.

The 1976 movie “All the President’s Men” focuses on two

Washington Post reporters investigating corruption in the
Nixon White House. At one point, Bob Woodward, played by
Robert Redford, is on the phone with a Nixon fundraiser.
Woodward asks how his $25,000 check ended up in the
Watergate money trail. It’s a dangerous question, and you see
Woodward ask it and then remain silent for several agonizing
moments, until the man on the other end of the phone finally
blurts out incriminating information.

The moral: Shut your mouth. Wait. People hate silence and
rush to fill it. Ask your question. Let them talk. If you have to,
count to 10. Make eye contact, smile, nod, but don’t speak.
You’ll be amazed at the riches that follow. “Silence opens the
door to hearing dialogue, rare and valuable in breaking
stories,” says Brady Dennis of The Washington Post.

Empathize.

A long-held stereotype about reporters is that they don’t care

about people, they just care about getting stories. If you can
show sources that you have empathy — some understanding
of their plight — they’re more likely to open up to you.
“Interviewing is the modest immediate science of gaining
trust, then gaining information,” John Brady wrote in “The
Craft of Interviewing.”

“I am a human first,” says Carolyn Mungo, executive news

director at WFAA-TV. “People have to see that journalists are
not just a body behind a microphone. Even if you have five
minutes, don’t rush, let them know you care,” Mungo said by
email.
Look around.

Good interviewers do more than listen.

“I always try to see people at home,” says Rhode Island

freelancer Carol McCabe, who fills her newspaper and
magazine feature stories with rich detail gathered during
interviews. “I can learn something from where the TV is,
whether the set of encyclopedias or bowling trophies is
prominently displayed, whether the guy hugs his wife or
touches his kids, what clothes he or she wears at home,
what’s on the refrigerator door,” McCabe said in a 1985
interview for “How I Wrote the Story.”

Capture how people talk.

The most powerful quotes are short, sometimes just

fragments of speech. In a story about a two-car collision that
killed two Alabama sisters traveling to visit each other, Jeffrey
Gettleman of The New York Times used simple quotes that
illustrated what the Roman orator Cicero called brevity’s
“great charm of eloquence.”

“They weren’t fancy women,” said their sister Billie Walker.

“They loved good conversation. And sugar biscuits.”

Just 11 words in quotes, yet they speak volumes about the

victims.

Don’t use every quote in your notebook to prove you did the
interviews. That’s not writing; it’s dictation. Put your bloated
quotes on a diet. Quotations, as Kevin Maney once said,
should occupy a “place of honor” in a story.
Don’t just settle for quotes: Listen for dialogue, those
exchanges between people that illuminate character, drive
action and propel readers forward.

Establish ground rules.

You’ve just finished a great interview — with a cop, a

neighbor, a lawyer — and suddenly the source says, “Oh, but
that’s all off the record.”

That’s the time to point out that there’s no such thing as

retroactive off the record. Make sure the person you’re
interviewing knows the score right away.

When a source wants to go off the record, stop and ask,

“What do you mean?” Often a source doesn’t know, especially
if this is their first interview. Bill Marimow, who won two
Pulitzer Prizes exposing police abuses in Philadelphia, read
off the record comments back to his source. Often, he found
that many sources changed their minds once they’d heard
what they were to be quoted as saying.

Be a lab rat.

Record your interviews. Transcribe the questions as well as

the answers. Do you ask more conversation stoppers than
starters? Do you step on your subject’s words just as they’re
beginning to open up? Do you sound like a caring, interested
human being, or a badgering prosecutor? To be the best
interviewer you can be, study yourself and let your failures
and victories lead you to rich conversations and richer stories.
The Way We Ask
by Chip Scanlan

With everyone else busy analyzing and grading the answers

Dick Cheney and John Edwards gave in Thursday night’s
one-and-only vice-presidential debate, let’s focus on a topic of
greater value to journalists who take a professional interest in
these high-profile job interviews: How were the questions?

In one respect, crafting a good question may not matter a lot

when interview subjects have a message to get across, no
matter what they’re asked. For politicians, spokespeople, and
others armed with talking points, it may be a case of damn the
questions, full spin ahead!

Even so, the presidential debate season does provide a rich

and real-time opportunity for anyone interested in improving
their interviewing skills. As a voter, I listened avidly to the
answers the candidates gave in Cleveland. As an interviewer,
I also kept my ears tuned to the questions and judged them
based on a taxonomy I learned from John Sawatsky, a
Canadian journalist and interviewing expert.

Questions can be either open-ended or closed, Sawatsky

says. They can launch a conversation or stop one dead in its
tracks. Open-ended questions green light a conversation.
Beginning with ”how” or “what” or why,” they invite
explanation, encourage amplification.

Closed-ended questions flash a red light. The subject can say

“yes” or “no” and stop the interview dead in its tracks.

Sawatsky identifies other question types, among them the

double-barreled question, which fires multiple queries, and the
statement masquerading as a question. He also warns about
the danger of overloading a question with exposition at the
front and back, and morphing a question into an editorial.

But the open-ended and closed varieties dominate most

exchanges between an interviewer and interviewee, and that
was the case Tuesday night.

Of the 20 or so questions that moderator Gwen Ifill of PBS

divided between the candidates, half waved green lights,
about the same ratio as the first presidential debate,
moderated by her boss, Jim Lehrer. Among the open-ended
questions Ifill asked:

“What is a global test if it’s not a global veto?”

“What can you tell the people of Cleveland, or people of cities

like Cleveland, that your administration will do to better their
lives?”

“Senator Kerry said in a recent interview that he absolutely

will not raise taxes on anyone under — who earns under
$200,000 a year. How can he guarantee that and also cut the
deficit in half, as he’s promised?”

On AIDS, especially among black women: “What should the

government’s role be in helping to end the growth of this
epidemic?”

“What qualifies you to be a heartbeat away (from the

Presidency)?”

“Why are you different from your opponent?”

“What’s wrong with a little flip-flop every now and then?”

“How will you set out, Mr. Vice President, in a way that you
weren’t able to in these past four years, to bridge that divide?”

Even in the debate’s fishbowl environment, these questions

showed how an interviewer can steer a conversation while
making the subject do the hard work of paddling, providing the
information and opinion that is the raw material of news.For
politicians, spokespeople, and others armed with talking
points, it may be a case of damn the questions, full spin
ahead!

Open-ended questions force subjects, even those with a

platform to push, to provide explanations. And while the
format made room for lots of posturing, the precision of such
questions demand concrete specific answers, limiting wiggle
room.

Unfortunately, too many of the questions echoed the

interviewing technique favored by the Washington press corps
— closed-ended questions that may sound tough but actually
let subjects off easy. They include:

“Does that make your effort or your plan to internationalize

this (Iraq) effort kind of naïve?”

“Are you trying to have it both ways?”

“Are you willing to say that John Edwards, sitting here, has
been part of the problem?”

“Do you feel personally attacked when Vice President Cheney

talks about liability reform and tort reform and the president
talks about having a trial lawyer on the ticket?”

There are times, of course, when an unequivocal answer is

needed and only a closed-ended question will do. Such was
the case when Ifill asked Cheney, “Are you saying it would be
a dangerous thing to have John Kerry as president?”

Other questions were weakened by front-loaded information

or by tacking on additional questions or self-consious and
distracting chatter. On the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Edwards
was asked, “What would your administration do? First of all,
do you agree that the United States is absent? Maybe you
don’t. But what would your administration do to try to resolve
that conflict?”

Closed-ended questions allowed the candidates to play

dodgeball with issues. Double-barreled ones allow them to
choose the question they want to answer. Pick one. Whatever
question you ask, hone it until it’s as precise and concise as
you can make it. Then let your subject do the work.

Of course, interviews rarely make prime-time; Sawatsky’s

principles are more effective with the routine interviewing
most reporters do with local officials and regular folks than the
carefully stage-managed public theater of a national political
debate. Both Ifill and Lehrer are experienced hands who rise
to the challenge of the form’s limitations. But even a good
question can be stonewalled or sidestepped.

An interview is like a highway with exit and entrance ramps

that allows subjects to zoom away or stay on track. A red-light
question, “Does that mean…?” can, with a quick rewrite, be
turned green. ”What does it mean that…?” asks a candidate
to explain rather than merely agree or disagree.

If the questioners in the upcoming debates want to serve the

public interest, they will make sure the questions they ask are
best equipped to produce, rather than suppress, the vital
information voters need on Election Day. We’ll be listening.
Transforming Questions
by Chip Scanlan

I’m not the President of the United States, but I played him at
work last week.

On Tuesday morning, I dug a blue suit, button-down shirt, and

red tie out of the closet and strode into a seminar room where
a group of public radio journalists waited for the start of a
session on improving interviewing techniques.

I had intended to merely share with them Canadian

journalist’s John Sawatsky’s theories about the power of
questions. Then I remembered the dismal performance of the
White House press corps at President Bush’s April 13 prime-
time press conference in the East Room of the White House. I
decided a little political theatre was in order. I suited up and,
courtesy of the White House website, distributed verbatim
transcripts of the questions posed last month by the White
House press corps.

Most were open-ended and/or double-barreled questions.

Those, Sawatsky teaches, are the kinds that an interview
subject can use to play what I’ve come to think of as
“interviewing dodgeball.” They’re questions that may sound
tough but are, in reality, easy to sidestep.

Without the benefit of the intense preparation that precedes

these high-profile events, I wasn’t able to respond as fully as
President Bush did last month. So I just used the occasion to
demonstrate how easy it is to deflect an ineffective question.
Asked, as President Bush was, “What’s your best prediction
on how long U.S. troops will have to be in Iraq? And it sounds
like you will have to add some troops; is that a fair
assessment?” I responded with, “You’ve asked two questions.
I’ll pick the second one, it’s easier. The answer is no.”

Most of the questions were also front-loaded with exposition,

what Sawatsky terms “statements masquerading as
questions.” Indeed, some were so long that I was able to nap
during them.

When my Presidential press conference ended, I shed my tie

and jacket and introduced the group to Sawatsky’s taxonomy
of questions and then asked them to take a stab at revising
the questions President Bush was asked.

You can compare before and after in the table below. As the
public radio reporters posed their revised versions I was
struck by the way a little effort transformed the originals into
questions that were simple, open-ended and, best of all, short
and direct. As my Poynter colleague Al Tompkins, who led the
seminar, observed, “In some cases the original question was
more than 90 words long. The longest revised version was
about 20 words, most were less than 15.”

All too often we ask questions that may sound tough but
provide a variety of exit ramps, while subjects appear to
respond but in fact use the bloated, multiple choice question
as a launching pad for their own agenda and rhetoric.

The bright lights of live television, the pressure that comes

from the inescapable sense that you only have one chance to
ask a question, even the desire to provide context are all
understandable explanations for such journalistic lapses.
But interviewers need to remember that in the most effective
exchanges, there is only one star and that’s the person
answering the question. It may take the most courage to
stand up, abandon the impulse to preamble, and ask a short,
open-ended question and then shut up.

Questions are a reporter’s primary tool for obtaining

information. We should treat them as the finely-tuned
instruments they can be.

Listening to the revised versions, what impressed me most

was the value of the process: examining a question to
understand what the purpose was — what did you really want
to know? — and then rewriting the question to focus on that
objective.

I wondered how differently that Presidential press conference,

or any exchange between a reporter and a newsmaker, might
be if reporters understood just how potent and precise an
instrument the question can be. As it turned out, I wasn’t the
only one wondering that.

“A few weeks ago you wrote a column critiquing the questions

asked of President Bush at his ‘press conference,’” Denny
Wilkins, a journalism professor at St. Bonaventure University,
told me by e-mail a few days ago.

“I took those questions into class (on overheads) and showed

them to my students, discussing with them the reasons you
found most to be faulty.

“Then I asked them to write their own questions for the

president. It was a useful, illuminating day in class for me and
them.“ Now if only the White House Press corps would give it
a try.
5 ways journalists can overcome shyness
during interviews
by Beth Winegarner

When I was a kid, I was the walking definition of “painfully

shy.” I was so shy, I couldn’t read out loud when teachers
called on me, even though I could read at a higher grade level
than my classmates. I was too paralyzed by anxiety to open
my mouth.

Soon, I discovered I could write — and write well. When

writing, I felt safe to express myself, so I wrote a lot. As a
teenager, I found a home at my high-school newspaper and
realized I could make journalism a career.

But there was a catch: being a journalist meant talking to

people. It meant picking up the phone and cold-calling
strangers. It meant walking up to people on the street and
asking them personal questions. It meant practically stalking
politicians and public figures for a chance at a juicy quote.
Each of these prospects terrified me.

With time and experience (not to mention a desire to earn a

living), I developed methods for tricking myself into doing all of
these things. Here are some of the strategies I used to get
there.

Use your job as armor

As a journalist, it’s your professional responsibility to talk to

people, to ask probing questions, to get the information you
need to inform the public. If you’re shy, you may fear what
people will say when you try to talk to them, or you may think
they’ll wonder what gives you the right to ask them questions.
Your role as a reporter gives you that permission.
In addition, stepping into the reporter’s role is a little like KISS
painting on stage makeup and putting on their platform boots.
Taking on a role can sometimes give us the degree of
separation (and courage) we need to approach people in
ways that would otherwise give shy reporters nightmares.

Let your curiosity override your anxiety

If you’re a reporter, chances are good that you’re an incurably

curious person. Even if you’re apprehensive about talking to
strangers, it’s likely that you’re driven to find out how people
and societies work.

Let your desire to ask questions override your shyness.

Again, your role as a journalist gives you special permission
to be nosy. Police, legislators and everyday citizens might
think it’s weird if a stranger starts asking them questions, but if
you whip out your reporter’s notebook and give them your
business card, they’ll usually accept that it’s your job to cross-
examine them.

Do prep work to give yourself confidence

It’s important for every journalist to do his or her homework

before picking up the phone or stepping into a room with a
source. But for shy reporters, it’s even more important, for two
reasons. One, it gives you a script you can follow, so you’re
not scrambling to come up with questions while you’re
nervous. Two, it gives you confidence in your knowledge of
the subject and in the questions you’ve prepared — and
confidence is a good antidote to shyness.

Prior to each interview, research the topic at hand, as well as

the person you’re questioning. Come up with a list of
questions, and have them in front of you when you go into the
interview. Even if the conversation goes off course, and you
wind up asking questions that aren’t on your list, you can
always go back to what you’ve prepared.

There will be times when you have to interview someone

without preparing ahead of time, especially when news
breaks. Even so, you can come up with a script ahead of time
for how you’ll introduce yourself, and one or two initial
questions. Rehearse them in your head as you approach your
subject; it’ll distract you from your nervousness.

Pick up the phone before you psych yourself out

Many journalists are expert procrastinators. This is especially

bad news for shy reporters who balk at the prospect of cold-
calling sources. The longer you sit staring at the phone,
imagining all the ways your interview can go horribly wrong,
the more afraid you’ll become.

Shy journalists have their own bogeymen; I always found

calling the families of the recently deceased particularly tough.
Instead of sitting and fretting, just pick up the phone and dial
as soon as you have your questions ready. They’ll answer,
and you’ll be forced to talk, distracting you from your anxiety.
Or, you’ll get their voice mail, where you can practice
introducing yourself to their “digital assistant” (who won’t
judge you, I promise).

Remember that reporters make people nervous

Many people — from random citizens to seasoned politicians

— would rather get a root canal than talk to a reporter.
There’s a reason Edward Bulwer-Lytton said, “the pen is
mightier than the sword.” Writers have the power to take
casual comments and record them for posterity.
You can see it in their eyes when you approach, pen and
notepad in hand. They’re worried about what you will jot
down, and what you will write about them later. So if you’re
nervous about asking them questions, remember: you’re
probably not the only one with butterflies in your stomach.

Keep practicing & finding ways to grow

Research shows that our brains are plastic: the more we do

something, the easier it gets. The same goes for overcoming
shyness. Think of it in terms of statistics: the more interviews
you do, the more successes you’ll have under your belt —
and the less likely failure will seem.

When you’re getting your start, find a mentor or colleague in

the newsroom who’s a pro at interviews. Ask if they can offer
any tips, or if you can listen in while they work the phone. Pay
attention to how they introduce themselves, ask questions
and introduce new queries on the fly.

Then, it’s time to put your education to work. Sure, you’ll have
some flops, but you’ll come to see that your fear of constant
failure is unfounded. With time and repetition, even the most
reluctant reporter can come to feel a little like Terry Gross.
How to stay impartial during interviews
by David Brewer

Our job is to inform the public debate, not direct it. We are
there to uncover facts, not plant them. Our role as journalists
is to unearth information, prepare it and display it for the
benefit of the audience. We are not there to manipulate, force
or fabricate. So what are the essential attitudes needed when
going out on a story?

I wrote this training module following an experience in the

Caucasus when a young journalist interviewed me. I thought
the interview was going to be about the course I was running.
Within minutes it was clear that the reporter had only one
question in mind. She wanted to know what I thought of her
country’s media, and she kept repeating the question, clearly
eager to hear the answer that she wanted to hear.

It reminded me of the many times I have gone out on a story

with an end result in mind. Like all journalists, I always wanted
my story to run, either in print when I was a newspaper
journalist, or in the bulletins and current affairs shows when I
was a radio and TV correspondent. I also wanted it to be
hard-hitting, insightful, memorable and – let’s be honest – to
win me praise.

Looking back, and with the Caucasus interview in mind, here

are a few thoughts on how to make sure journalism relates to
reality and not our own idea of how a situation should play
out.

1. Retain an open mind. It’s fine to set off on an interview

having done your research and with one burning question in
your mind. In fact, not to do so could be seen as sloppy and
could leave you open to manipulation. However you need to
retain an open mind and be prepared for the unexpected. It
may be that there is a stronger line of questioning than the
one you had thought of as you set off for the interview. You
will probably not spot that opportunity if you are working to a
set script and have an end result in mind.

Be prepared to leave your script behind and retain an open

mind

2. Don't force an issue. Some journalists misinterpret

resistance to questioning to be a form of admission of guilt,
and that if the interviewee refuses to answer, or avoids the
question, they have something to hide. It might not mean that.
It could mean that it was a bad question not relevant to the
topic. It could also mean that the person you are interviewing
genuinely doesn’t have an answer or opinion. It could mean
that you don’t understand the complexity of the issues being
discussed. Press too hard at times like these and you could
end up looking silly and damage the integrity of the media
organisation you represent.

Confrontation is not necessarily a sign of good journalism -

just because you get a reaction doesn't mean you have made
a good point

3. Be firm but fair. You can be rigorous and robust in your

interviewing and remain fair. Your job is to unearth facts that
had it not been for you the world would never have known.
You probably won’t achieve this with a shouting match and a
standoff. It will need clear questioning and sensible
interpretation of the answers. Your role is not to appear smart
and score points against the interviewee. Your role is to
inform the public debate so that the audience can make
educated choices. Be prepared to back down if you have
asked a question that is clearly irrelevant and off topic. Be
prepared to admit when you are wrong or when you are still
learning. Be prepared to acknowledge a good point if the
interviewee offers an plausible explanation.

Your role is not score points against the interviewee.

Remember to always challenge yourself more than you

challenge the interviewee. If not, you will appear arrogant and
lacking in objectivity and impartiality. Interviews are a two-way
conversation, not one-way. One-way interviews with a
predetermined end result are rarely more than rants and fitting
only to those media organizations that have vested interests
controlling the editorial agenda.
Guide for Evaluating Sources
by IJNet

Question motives:

 What is the source’s agenda; what does the source

have to gain by talking to you?
 Did the source come to you?
 Is the source hiding something, shifting blame,
promoting a certain viewpoint?

Question relationships:

 What is the relationship between the reporter and the

source?
 Do you fear losing the source?
 Did you choose this source because you are in a rush
to deadline and this source is usually good for a
colorful quote?
 Is there an alternative to this source?

Question reliability:

 What is the source's past reliability?

 What is the source's standing with his or her
coworkers?
 How representative is this view?
 Is it one person with a complaint, or does this fit with
other things that you have heard? How widely known
is this particular information?
 What proof does the source offer?
 How can you verify the information?
  What more do I need to know to be able to evaluate
the information? (Consult a reliable person with
expertise in the subject.)
 How dedicated is the source to getting the story told?
 If the public knew where the information originated,
would they have reason to doubt?
 Is this person the best authority?

Question assumptions:

 Are there underlying assumptions that my source

depends on and that I should question?
 Are there underlying assumptions of mine that need
to be questioned?
 As yourself: what are my own biases about this
source, and my organization's bias?
 What important viewpoints are not represented by this
source?
 As the source lays out the information, keep asking:
How do you know this?
Developing and Cultivating Sources
by Steve Buttry

Find new “suspects.” Seek out sources beyond the “usual

suspects” on your beat. If you always find yourself talking to
white men, find some women and minorities who might bring
a different perspective to your stories and steer you toward
different ideas. If you find yourself always talking to the
professionals and bosses, spend some time talking to the
folks in the trenches. If you spend most of your time talking to
liberals, seek out some conservatives. If you spend most of
your time talking to people your age, seek out some younger
or older sources. These people with different perspectives will
point you to different stories. Look around the agencies you
cover for the people or offices that attract the least attention.
Spend some time there to see if you’ll hear some different
tips. Ask yourself each week whether you made meaningful
contact with a new source. If you didn’t, could you have?

Talk to consumers. If you are assigned to a government or

commercial entity, make sure that your circle of sources is
wider than the officials of that organization. Talk to citizens
who deal with that agency or business and use its services or
products. If some of these consumers are organized, you
should deal regularly with leaders of those organizations. You
also may need to deal with some self-appointed crusaders
and gadflies. Make a point of dealing with some average,
unaffiliated consumers.

Identify “gatekeepers.” Develop rapport with secretaries and

other “gatekeepers” who control access to important sources.
These people can be important sources themselves. At the
least, good relations with them are essential at times to
contacting the sources.
Go prospecting. Take time to go “prospecting” for sources
and stories. Take a trip or set up an interview with no
particular story in mind. Visit a source you haven’t seen for a
while or a community or agency you haven’t covered for a
while. Go just to familiarize yourself, to take someone to lunch
or chat in the office or home a while. Maybe you'll come back
with a terrific story you never would have known enough to
pursue. Maybe you’ll come back without a particular story, but
with some tips to pursue. Maybe you’ll just come back with a
valuable source to contact in future stories. At the least, you’ll
gain a greater understanding of your community and your
beat. Prospecting almost always yields stories and is always
time well spent. You just can’t tell the editor in advance what
it’s going to produce.

Learn where records are. Familiarize yourself with the paper

and electronic record-keeping practices of the offices you
cover. Learn which records are clearly public, which are
legally confidential and which might present access
disagreements. Ask for the records frequently, whether you
are using them or not. This lets sources know of your
interests. Seeking records in routine stories establishes
precedents when you are seeking similar records in sensitive
stories. Ask for records in electronic format whenever
possible. Learn who has access to the confidential records
(not just in the office, but clients or members of the public who
might have them). Learn what information is available on the
Internet (and thus, after hours and on weekends and without
asking anyone).

Find experts. Learn what academic institutions, think tanks or

non-profit groups might study or monitor activities in your
beat. Develop them as sources, so they will notify you of
reports or rumors and they will know who you are when you
call for their analysis of issues and events. Learn what
attachments, if any, your experts have. Biases don’t render an
expert’s research useless, but you must know them and note
them.

Develop national sources. Contact national associations,

academic experts and government agencies to develop
sources with expertise in the subject you cover. They may
provide valuable perspective for a local story. Or they may
know something happening locally. They may alert you to a
national trend. You can search for experts by topic at
www1.profnet.com and www.facsnet.org. You also can submit
specific queries to Profnet and receive valuable contacts
within 24 hours.

Relations with sources

Be available. Let people on your beat know you're interested

in hearing tips, suggestions, complaints, whatever. Make sure
they have your phone number and e-mail. If it's appropriate,
give them home, cell and pager numbers, too. Make rounds
frequently in person and by telephone.

Be honest. Never mislead a source. Be honest about the

direction a story is taking. If it's going to be a “negative” story,
don't bill it as something else. If you're not going to write a
story about a tip, don't indicate that you will. This doesn't
mean you have to offend sources needlessly. If a source is
worried about a negative story, assure him you intend to
make the story fair and accurate and that you want to hear his
side.

Be annoyingly insistent on accuracy. If someone gives you

figures off the top of her head, ask where she got those
figures, then check the original source. Call back sources to
confirm spellings, figures, chronologies, etc. Ask for reports,
documents, business cards, personnel directories, calendars
that can confirm spellings, numbers and other facts. This not
only ensures the accuracy of your stories, it wins respect with
sources (and good will that you'll need if an error does slip
through). It puts sources on notice that they can't slip bogus
figures past you.

Become an expert. The more you learn about the

complicated issues, technology and economics of your beat,
the more your sources will respect you, the harder it will be for
them to BS you, and the easier it will be for you to spot good
stories. Read books, articles, reports. Research on the
Internet. Ask lots of questions.

Admit you’re not an expert. If you don’t know or understand

something, ask. Sources will respect your honesty, and you
will learn. Also, if you fake understanding, they will catch on
quickly and you will lose credibility. Repeat your
understanding back to the source for confirmation.

Show interest. Sources may want to bend your ear about a

matter other than what you want to talk about. Listen. You
may get a good news tip. Even if the source thinks it’s a story
and you don’t, show interest. However boring or annoying a
source may be, however uninteresting you find this alleged
tip, you don’t know when a little bit of knowledge might be
helpful. Even if the information is completely useless, the
source will appreciate your interest and may someday tell you
something that is important or interesting.

Tell sources of your interests. Tell good sources about

stories you’re working on, even the ones that may not involve
them directly. You may know that a source isn’t directly
involved with an issue, but if you tell him about the stories
you’re working on, he may steer you toward other sources
who might be helpful, or he may tell you something helpful
that he’s heard around the office.

Regard your sources as characters. You’re not going to

profile everyone on your beat. But you might profile anyone
on your beat someday. So regard them all as characters you
must develop fully. Learn about their families, hobbies,
backgrounds, favorite sports teams, watering holes. Note their
mannerisms. Even if you never write that profile, learning
these things will bring some tips your way, as the character
will tell you about something she heard from her husband or
an interesting thing happening in a social group to which she
belongs.

Establish a connection. Don't be afraid to show your human

side. If you have children the same age as the source,
commiserate about car seats or car pools or car insurance,
whatever stage the children are. If he hates your favorite
sports team, engage in some good-natured trash talk. If she
has an illness in the family, show genuine compassion. Don’t
fake a connection or stretch for one, but be alert for genuine
ways to make a connection. If you have little in common with
the person, connect by showing genuine interest in the
character beyond the narrow focus of today's story.

Share control. Even if a source spends a lot of time with

reporters, he probably doesn’t feel completely comfortable
facing you and your notebook. Occasionally in an interview,
give him some control. Sure, you’re asking the questions, but
answer his questions if he asks any. Listen politely as he
wanders off the subject occasionally. The source will feel
more comfortable answering your questions if the relationship
doesn’t feel one-sided.
Take control. Ask your questions directly. If the source ducks
a question, ask again. Whatever niceties you engage in to
establish rapport, the source should understand that your
interest in the relationship is receiving information and
understanding.

Track your sources. Use a program such as Outlook and/or

a spreadsheet to keep track of information about your
sources. Get their office phone, direct office phone, cell
phone, home phone, vacation home phone and pager
numbers. Get their e-mail addresses. Record names of
secretaries, spouses, children, hometowns, former jobs, alma
maters, anything you learn that might later be handy to know.

Ask for documentation. Always ask for documentation of

what your sources tell you. You don't have to do this in a
challenging way (unless you’re challenging). Present it as part
of your quest for accuracy. Or if the source was uneasy about
discussing something for the record, say you can attribute
something to a document rather than to him. Documents
provide verification. They may provide details that your source
can’t recall or did not know. They may lead you to other
sources. In addition, they provide precedent. If a source gives
you a document when it’s in her interest, it may be difficult for
her to claim later that the same sort of document is not a
public record.

Addressing and avoiding trouble

Stay on the record. As much as possible, keep your

interactions on the record, especially when you're talking
about information your sources know first-hand. Your sources
should always understand that this is a business relationship
and your business is gathering and reporting information.
When you have to go off the record, make sure it is for a good
reason. For instance, if a source is telling you something he
doesn’t know first-hand, you wouldn’t quote him about that
anyway, but the tip may lead you to first-hand sources. If you
go off the record, make sure both of you understand the
terms: Is the information for publication but not for attribution?
If so, try to get agreement on a description of the source that’s
as precise as possible. Is the discussion not for publication (if
so, make sure the source knows you will try to get it in the
paper using other sources)? Before you go off the record in
any fashion, tell the source you might try to get her on the
record later if she says anything you want to use. And if she
does, go back later with just the information or quotes you
want to use, and try to get her on the record.

Face the music. When you write a story that might make
someone angry, show up at her office the day the story runs,
or call, either to ask directly about the story, to follow up or on
some other pretense. Give the person a chance to sound off.
If you made mistakes, admit them. If you didn’t, hold your
ground but listen respectfully. Many sources (politicians,
lawyers, coaches, athletes) are used to respectful adversary
relationships and they will respect you and keep working well
with you if you show the respect and courage to face the
music when you’ve nailed them. This also is a good time for
getting news tips. If someone is upset about a negative story,
ask about more positive news happening in his territory. If he
says the situation in his office isn’t nearly as bad as in another
office, ask for details about the other office. Never avoid
someone who’s mad at you (or someone you’re mad at). By
your words and actions, let them know that they have to deal
with you and that you will behave professionally.
Admit your mistakes. If you make an error (or the
newspaper makes an error on your turf), admit the mistake,
correct it and apologize personally to those affected. People
understand that mistakes happen and they respect people
who take responsibility. If you weren’t mistaken or if it’s not
clear whether you’re mistaken (such as a disagreement over
emphasis, rather than a factual error), listen sincerely to the
complaint. Even if you disagree, give the source her say and
discuss why you told the story the way you did. Consider
whether a follow-up story is warranted. If not, suggest a letter
to the editor or op-ed offering. Brief your editor on the
disagreement and how you handled it. If the source complains
to the editor, you’ll be glad it wasn’t a surprise.

Beware of getting too close. If your relationship with a

source moves beyond friendly to friendship, you may need to
adjust the relationship. You might need to ask some tough
questions that remind him of the nature of your job. You can’t
and shouldn’t withdraw from community life. But if you
encounter sources at church and in children’s sports and the
like, you may need to establish some boundaries. If you’re
unsure whether a relationship is getting too cozy, discuss it
with an editor. Maybe you should discuss it with the source.
The source might feel a little uncomfortable, too, and might
appreciate hearing that you can cheer together at your kids’
basketball game Tuesday and still argue Wednesday over
news coverage or access to records.

Connect with colleagues

Learn whether reporters on your beat have an association or

a listserv. You can learn sources, techniques and story ideas
from other reporters. If you don't have an association or
listserv, read other papers in similar communities online. You
can connect by phone or e-mail with reporters addressing the
same issues. Or you might connect with colleagues through a
more general organization or listserv, such as IRE or NICAR.
How reporters can estimate the number of
people in a crowd
by Jessica Weiss

When Egyptians took to the Cairo streets to protest the

government of Mohammed Morsi this summer, some news
outlets called it the biggest uprising in history. They estimated
there were 30 million protestors. Other news organizations put
the number at 14 million. There’s no doubt the protests were
large. But just how large?

Reporting on crowd size is a challenge that journalists across

the world face when reporting on events from protests to
concerts. The count gets even trickier for political events,
since opposing sides may turn crowd estimates into public
relations tools.

"It's very rare that you have the report of a crowd size where
there isn't some incentive to exaggerate one way or the
other," mathematician Hannah Fry told the BBC.

Counting "all the heads directly at a demonstration or rally is

usually impossible,” write Ray Watson and Paul Yip, in their
widely cited paper on counting crowds.

Although there may not be a perfect formula, there are

several ways to estimate and count a crowd. Here's what the
experts suggest:

Start by answering some basic questions

Depending on the event, you may already have a lot of

information available to you. Crowds at events like a sporting
match or a concert are simple to count because entry to the
event is controlled. People are counted as they pass through
the gates or turnstiles.

Find out “the carrying capacity of the space and what the
square footage is,” sociology professor Clark McPhail told
NPR. Then, ask yourself: What proportion of the space is
occupied? Is it 100 percent, 75 percent, 50 percent?

Use the Jacobs Crowd Formula

Herbert Jacobs, a University of California, Berkeley,

journalism professor in the 1960s, is credited with
modernizing crowd-counting. From his office window, Jacobs
could see students gathered on a plaza protesting the
Vietnam War. The plaza was arranged in a grid, so Jacobs
counted students in a few squares to get an average of
students per square, then multiplied that by the total squares.
He also came up with a basic density rule that says a “light
crowd” has one person per 10 square feet and a “dense
crowd” has one person per 4.5 square feet. A heavily
crowded, “mosh-pit” density, as Watson and Yip call it, would
have one person per 2.5 square feet.

Use photography

Refer to aerial or satellite imagery, if available, of the crowd.

Then draw a grid and employ the Jacobs method, as
described above. High-resolution photos may even allow you
to count heads. And depending on the photo software you
use, you may be able to orient photos the match up with a
grid for easier counting and estimation.
The problem with using photography is that the area occupied
by a crowd is often irregular, and parts of it will remain
invisible to the camera, hidden behind trees, buildings or
darkness.

Compare and analyze estimates from multiple sources

You may get different numbers from police, private security

and the organizers. A little math can help you decide which
estimate is closer to correct. For instance, after a June 4
candlelight vigil in Victoria Park in Hong Kong to mark the
22nd anniversary of a crackdown on the pro-democracy
movement in Beijing, Reuters, BBC and other major news
agencies used the organizer’s estimate of 150,000. The police
estimate was 77,000. Watson and Yip estimated the average
density to be slightly less than 2 people per square meter,
corresponding to a solid crowd. They knew the area of the
space was around 42,000 square meters. An estimate of
150,000 would have required that the entire area was covered
with people at mosh pit density, which they knew it was not.
Based on these facts, they estimated the crowd to be closer
to the police estimate.

When counting a moving crowd, use the one- or two-point

method

In the one-point method, counters positioned near the focal

point of a march or parade tally the number of people who
pass their station in a given time interval.

Another method, which Popular Mechanics calls “faster and

more accurate,” is outlined by Watson and Yip: set up two
counting stations, suitably spread out. The counters tally
people passing and also randomly survey them to ask if they
also passed the other station (or planned to) to estimate how
many people are counted twice.

Turn to technology

Image analysis technology is continually improving, and will

provide increasingly more accurate answers. A number of
methods do currently exist, including mathematical, computer-
assisted and web-based tools. Curt Westergard, president of
Washington-based Digital Design & Image Service, told
Popular Mechanics that he plans to crowd-source head-
counting on the web, by sending aerial photos to Amazon's
Mechanical Turk, a network of people around the world who
do tasks online for a fee. Westergard says he will send a
photo to 20 people, receive 20 different head counts and
come up with an average.
Three tips for bringing a fresh perspective to
your reporting
by Antigone Barton

Whether you’re a seasoned journalist covering the same beat

for years or a citizen journalist reporting on your hometown for
the first time, it’s possible to miss a great story because you
know your subject too well.

Babatunde Akpeji, a multimedia journalist and ICFJ Knight

International Journalism Fellow trains community members in
Nigeria’s Niger Delta to report on health, environment and
development issues that wouldn’t get covered otherwise.
Akpeji, who has a long background of covering health in
Nigeria, offers these tips for journalists who want to bring a
fresh perspective to their reporting:

Look at your community as a stranger would.

“If you live in one place for ten years, there are things that
require your attention, but because you’ve gotten used to
them, you may not see anything to tell a story,” Akpeji says.

The same goes for a beat. When you have been covering the
same dysfunctional bureaucracy so long that you’ve become
an expert on it, you get used to things. Look at what’s still not
working and ask why it’s not. What is the impact on
individuals, and the community, when the same problems
keep cropping up? Looking at your beat as if you just arrived
there can help you to seek, and find answers.
Read widely.

“Read as much as possible,” Akpeji says. “Read other people,

read journalists, read other blog pages from other citizen
journalists.” This gives you a glimpse of other perspectives.
What are they not seeing, that you know, or that should be
told? What questions are they raising? And what are the
ramifications of what is happening in your region, and your
beat, globally?

Leave yourself out of the story

“You should try to divorce yourself from the stories,” Akpeji

says. “You write it without your sentiment, without your
emotion, but something has to be done.”

Most professional journalists know not editorialize. But

sometimes it’s not what you’re saying, but what you’re leaving
out, that’s the problem. If you have personal concerns about a
story – that you will upset a source, for example, or that you
are telling a secret everyone knows but has tacitly agreed to
leave unmentioned – you may leave part of your story untold.
Step back and determine what is important for readers to
understand about events and policies that affect them.

Then, tell them what they need, and deserve, to know.

Digging deeper into the 5 W's of journalism
by John Kroll

The Five W's (Who, What, When, Where, Why) and How are
journalism’s double trinity.

They’re generally applied to whole stories, as Jeremy Porter

notes on the Journalistics blog. But they’re also a key to fact-
checking, especially when you’re reporting on statistics
dropped into speeches or such. An excellent example of that
is a BBC News Magazine report on the claim that 100,000
Christians a year are killed because of their religion. That
figure has even been cited by the Vatican.

It’s the kind of number that should immediately raise

suspicions in a journalist: How could anyone count?

The BBC’s Ruth Alexander took a closer look. The way she
did it is instructive for all reporters.

Who: She traced the number back to its original source, an

annual report by the Center for the Study of Global
Christianity. Numbers like this are often dropped into other
reports without attribution. The Vatican, for one, said only that
the 100,000 figure came from “credible research.” Often, as a
number gets passed from one telling to another, the original
source is replaced with whichever repeater sounds most
believable. Thanks to the Internet, it’s relatively easy today to
track back. Only by getting to the original source can you
reliably find answers to the other questions.

What: Once you’ve found the original source, you want to

know what was actually said. As Alexander’s story notes,
some variations on the martyrdom number include claims that
the 100,000 counts only Christians killed by Muslims. That’s
not what the original report said.

When: Numbers are often stripped of their context. In

particular, they can be years old. A reporter has to ask: Is this
still true? The CSGC’s number is an average of deaths from
2001 to 2010. The group’s own director concedes that a
unique factor concerning that period means the number is
already well out of date.

So it’s probably decreasing year by year right now, but the

method is not exact enough to [make those adjustments], so
I’ve just kept it at 100,000 the last couple of years but I’m
likely going to have to lower it unless something comes to our
attention.

Where: Location can be another contextual issue. Is a

number meant to refer only to a limited area being applied
globally? In this case, that’s not the case; the original source
did indeed report the 100,000 deaths as a worldwide total. But
there is a “where” issue. The number is reported as a
worldwide total, which implies it’s a widespread issue. But
about nine out of every 10 of those deaths occurred in one
country, the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

In a broader sense of “where,” this is a common problem in

health reporting. Studies with tiny sample sizes get reported
without proper caveats. Psychology experiments are touted
as global truths when it turns out the people studied were
limited to students at an elite college.

Why: Does the source possibly have motives that go beyond

a simple quest for the truth? In the case of the martyrdom
number, the center is affiliated with a seminary. The BBC
doesn’t indicate any reason to suspect bias. However, the
group’s data analysis is limited to studying Christianity. Citing
a number of Christian martyrs raises questions about similar
numbers for other faiths (and about the ratio of those numbers
to total believers). Since the CSGC doesn’t tally figures for
other faiths, however, trying to make comparisons could be
difficult or impossible.

How: This is the broadest question, and also the most

important. How was that number calculated? In this case,
asking “how?” revealed that the number was completely
misleading. First, it’s an average based on a rough
guesstimate of 1 million deaths over the decade. Second, 90
percent of those deaths come from one country. Third, the
number of deaths from that country is calculated by taking a
reported total of all deaths in the DRC’s civil war — more than
4 million — and arbitrarily assuming that 20 percent of those
who died were Christian (an assumption based on a 30-year-
old estimate of the percentage of Christians in an average
African country). Is the DRC average in this respect?
Probably not — the DRC is a Christian country, the BBC
reports. Does that 20 percent figure still apply? Was it ever
correct, or just a figure spit-balled by someone at its source,
the World Christian Encyclopedia?

But that’s not all. Even if all of the guesses above were
correct, that only says about 900,000 Christians lost their lives
in the DRC’s violence. Were they martyrs? The BBC notes
that experts say the DRC’s infighting was based on ethnicity,
not religious affiliation. And it was Christians killing other
Christians. That can still constitute martyrdom, of course; the
Catholic Church has a long list of those it claims as martyrs at
the hands of English Protestants, while the Protestants have a
list of similar length of those killed by Catholic monarchs. But
when you cite a figure of Christian martyrs, one naturally
expects their killers were objecting to Christianity as a whole.

Bottom line, according to the BBC’s analysis and some

outside experts: The actual number of Christians martyred for
their faith each year is probably somewhere under 10,000, out
of a worldwide total of believers that Pew Research estimates
to be 2.18 billion.

The Five W's and How are taught to every journalist. But too
often, they’re asked only superficially — making sure, for
instance, that a preview of a concert includes the date, time,
location and price. If reporters really understood and applied
the Five W's and How rigorously, Steve Buttry wouldn’t need
an entire workshop explaining them. (Correction: Steve points
out that the workshop in question was aimed at
nonjournalists. So, bad example for my argument — but his
post is good explanation of the topic, worth reading.) If editors
really insisted on applying them to stories, you’d never see
stories treating polls on behalf of political candidates treated
as seriously as those from nonpartisan groups, and you
wouldn’t see polls reported solely based on what was
included in a news release, without reference to the specific
questions asked and the method by which participants were
selected.

The sad fact is that even great journalists fall prey to the error
of not letting the facts get in the way of a good story. The
most disappointing element of the BBC story is its ending.
Ruth Alexander talked to John Allen, a Vatican reporter
whose work I much admire. He’s written a book which cites
the misleading martyrdom number. When presented with the
BBC’s findings, he said:
I think it would be good to have reliable figures on this issue,
but I don’t think it ultimately matters in terms of the point of my
book, which is to break through the narrative that tends to
dominate discussion in the West – that Christians can’t be
persecuted because they belong to the world’s most powerful
church.

The truth is two thirds of the 2.3 billion Christians in the world
today live…in dangerous neighborhoods. They are often poor.
They often belong to ethnic, linguistic and cultural minorities.
And they are often at risk.

And ultimately, I think making that point is more important

than being precise about the death toll.

When a good journalist says that using a number that inflates

a problem about 900 percent is acceptable imprecision, we
know that the Five W's and How are suffering their own
martyrdom.

John Kroll is a digital journalist with experience in editing,

coaching, content creation and management. This post
originally appeared on the author's blog, John Kroll Digital,
and is published here with permission.
Four tips for becoming a faster, better writer
by IJNet

Whether working on deadline or managing simultaneous

beats, journalists need to be able to write quickly. But
maintaining quality can be a challenge when you’re racing
against the clock.

In a recent Poynter chat, writing expert and strategist Roy

Peter Clark, author of "Writing Tools: 50 Essential Strategies
for Every Writer," said all writers can become faster. He
shared his own tips as well as those of some of America’s
fastest writers.

Here are IJNet’s key takeaways:

Organize research and interview material

The better organized your reporting, the easier it will be to sit

down and make sense of it all. At the end of each reporting
day, Clark recommends reporters debrief their notebooks. For
instance, mark up the notes, expand on them from memory
and put stars next to the best material. Then, write yourself a
memo about what you learned and what information is still
missing. As you transcribe, begin to select your best quotes,
and think about how and where you would use them (at the
beginning, middle or end).

For a big project, Clark recommends a larger organization

system, such as large file folders. “I need index cards that
correspond to those files. Then I often post those cards over
my desk, creating a kind of locator map for my material.
Without those things, I get lost, discouraged, and my work
slows down.”

If you write about various topics, you must learn to wear

different hats. For instance, put four boxes near your desk --
one for each of your beats. As you go through the day writing
down tips or bits of reporting, dump them into the appropriate
boxes.

Find the focus

The focus is the heart of the story; the one thing you want
readers to remember. The key to fast writing is finding that
focus as early as you can. You can always change your mind,
but if you find the focus at the early stages of reporting, you
can report in support of it.

To hone in on the focus, sift through your material to find what

Clark calls the "gold nuggets.” Mark them. Those nuggets can
be placed strategically throughout the story.

Just write

You don’t need to wait until the research is done to begin

writing. At the very beginning of the writing process, the
general strategy is to get started, build up momentum, and
create enough time for revision. If your critical voice starts to
beg for more details and revisions early on, “tell that voice to
shut up,” Clark says. You can drag it back during revision.

To write with urgency before a deadline, set a self-imposed

artificial deadline and try to meet it. Then you may have time
to let your piece sit for a day or two, which means you can
come back to it later with a fresh eye. “You will notice things
you didn't see while drafting,” Clark says, “and bring new
knowledge to the task.”

Practice, practice, practice

You may not realize it, but we practice writing fast all the time:
we text, tweet and chat with friends. In a way, this helps turn
writing into a physical skill, like typing. Tweeting breaking
news stories is another good way to practice writing fast, short
and well.
Four tips for concise news writing
by Lindsay Kalter

It's a dilemma that most journalists face at one time or

another: too much information, too little space.

Being concise without giving readers only bare-bones news

coverage is important for reporters to master. In a recent
Poynter chat, Roy Peter Clark, author of Help! For Writers,
offered tips on how storytellers can achieve this difficult
balance. Here are a few of his tips:

Devise a plan

Reporters should organize story elements rather than diving

right into the writing process. "If I want to capture the structure
of a story in a plan, I use a yellow pad. If I want to figure out a
theme statement or a tight summary, I use an index card
(think also of the tweet)," Clark writes. "If I want to compile
some detailed elements, I use Post-it notes and then move
them around."

Eliminate the extraneous

CBS radio correspondent Peter King is a "master" of the

condensed story, Clark says. King advises reporters to select
the most important information, identify what can be left out,
and search for and destroy redundant elements. According to
King, writers should craft short pieces with a postcard in mind.
"Look how little space you have to convey a message to a
friend from a distant location, maybe the Leaning Tower of
Pisa," Clark says. "There's an image on the front that gives
you a sense of place, but then the writing has to be highly
selective, to make the best possible point in the least amount
of space."
Think outside the text box

Poynter's Mallary Tenore, who moderated the chat, says

journalists conveying complex ideas with tight space
constraints should consider deviating from traditional
storytelling methods. Reporters should "think about alternative
story forms; how can you use bullets or extended photo
captions or other forms of shorter writing to explain the
information in a way that's easy to digest/understand?"
Tenore says.

Go easy on background info

Although reporters are often encouraged to give readers

context using specific background information, Clark says
journalists should consider to what extent the subject or story
has already been covered. "I have a rule of thumb that goes
like this: with the passage of time for an ongoing story, the
background paragraph can go lower and lower in the piece,
and can run shorter and shorter," he says.
Five basic writing tips for digital media
by ICFJ Anywhere

Not only do digital journalists need to follow the basic

principles of journalism, which include objective and accurate
reporting, fact-checking, citing sources, following proper
grammar and spelling rules, and knowing the audience. They
also need to write in a way that suits their medium.

Today, people read text on ever-smaller screens, including

tablets, smartphones and e-readers like the Kindle, making
reading even more difficult. Web-usability research also
shows that users tend to skim or scan content, especially
when they first visit a website. For all these reasons, text has
to be presented differently online.

Tips to improve your writing for the Internet

1. Clear and concise writing is important in every

medium but even more so online for the reasons
cited: Internet users who want information fast and
the slower speed of reading online. A simple and
direct style works best. Make sentences and
paragraphs short -- three to five short sentences at
most. Leave breaks between paragraphs. Use active
verbs and write in present tense. Avoid the passive
voice, as it complicates the sentence.
2. Shorter is better online, in most cases. While space
on the web is practically unlimited, very long stories
are generally not suitable for web readers. Most
reports should be no longer than 800 words.
3. Headlines serve the same basic function on the web
as in print, to communicate information and attract
readers. Unlike print, however, straightforward
headlines work better online than indirect headlines
that play on words. Why?
Internet users want to get information fast. Headlines
that leave them guessing about the topic of a story do
not entice them to click through to read the rest of it.
4. Internet users often search for information. Headlines
that do not include keywords directly related to a topic
will not be picked up by search engines.
5. Subheads every few paragraphs can help to direct
the eyes to "entry points" where users can start
reading. They should be concise and to the point –
preferably three to seven words - giving readers a
clear indication of what comes next. They also help to
break blocks of text into manageable chunks.
6. Bullet points and lists are another effective way of
breaking up a long story to facilitate reading and
attract attention, as they make absorbing the
information easier. They can be used in the body of a
story or at the beginning to highlight the most
important points in a report. CNN.com does this
routinely.
Four online translation tips for journalists
by Lindsay Kalter

Now that physical distance has been rendered meaningless

by digital information, language is one of the last practical
barriers in news consumption.

But even that obstacle is nearly obselete, with functions like

Google Chrome's built-in translation bar, Google Translate,
FreeTranslation.com, Bing Translator and countless other
online tools.

In a Storyful post by Mike Sefanov, the news platform's senior

editor offers ways for journalists to ensure that information is
being distributed--and received--accurately.

Watch out for literal translations

Most online tools have the tendency to translate certain words

and place names too literally, Sefanov says. For example, in
an Arabic tweet containing "Hajar Aswad," a neighborhood in
Syria's capital city of Damascus, the name is converted to
English by Google Translate as "the city of the Black Stone."
"Most have at least some difficulties properly translating
slang, emotion, and nuance," Sefanov says of online
translation resources.

Take a two-pronged approach

Because it's difficult to get a precise translation online, using

more than one site can help to avoid confusion. In the case of
"Hajar Aswad," placing the Arabic words for "black stone"
followed by "Syria" into Google Maps confirms results for the
neighborhood in question. In addition, translating a word using
at least two separate tools can avoid the confusion caused by
multiple definitions. For example, the Arabic word " " is
translated to English by FreeTranslation.com as "The Press,"
connoting the collective news media, while Google Translate
suggests "printing press," which could refer to the ink-
transferring device.

Beware of audio variation

Although translation sites often provide an audio

pronunciation, this is generally not a reliable source, Sefanov
says. "Google Translate doesn’t account for regional accents,
so the practice usually serves only as a guide for
supplemental information," he writes. "And of course the value
of having true multilingual sources who can help verify the
meaning of a text or the audio from a YouTube clip cannot be
supplanted by that of an online translation tool."

Develop trusted sources using social media

Journalists reporting in a second language should reach out

to multilingual sources on social media websites for accurate
and efficient translation feedback, Sefanov says. While
reporters should be wary of sources who may twist the
content meaning for their own agendas, "engaging on multiple
fronts and vetting crowdsourced translators can also add to
an arsenal of social tools that can help get a journalist closer
to the truth."
Five tips for journalists covering trauma
by IJNet

Reporting on trauma takes a combination of sensitivity and

savvy. An excellent new guidebook, “Covering Trauma,”
produced by Radio for Peacebuilding Africa, offers
comprehensive advice for understanding the effects of
trauma, reporting sensitive stories and writing about trauma.
Here are five of its tips:

For interviews with trauma victims:

Let your subject set the ground rules

“Let them decide where they want to meet for an interview,

and where they want to sit. Be diligent about where you sit:
Don’t block a trauma survivor’s path to the door or otherwise
seem like an obstacle.”

Don’t pretend that your story will give your subject a

solution. There isn't one.

“Unlike traditional journalism, your story will never

satisfactorily answer the question ‘Why did this happen?’ You
may find experts who can explain political or economic
causes for war or violence, or psychologists who study why
men abuse women, for example. But for individuals or
communities who have survived something horrible, you can
never explain why it happened to them. This is an existential
question they will be asking for the rest of their lives.”
Avoid the language of blame.

“If a woman says she was raped on the road late at night,
don’t ask her, ‘Why were you out late at night, anyway?’ If a
child was abducted when getting water alone, don't ask him,
‘Why did you go get water alone?’ Researchers have found
that these questions can cause psychological damage to
survivors, because the questions imply that the trauma is the
survivor's fault.

For writing and producing stories about trauma:

Choose details because they advance the story, not

because they are shocking.

“The best journalists know how to spin a good yarn, and often
audiences appreciate stories full of details. But in trauma
journalism, details can turn against the story – and the people
in it.

Very rarely is the choice, ‘Should I use this detail?’ Instead,

the choices are about how to use quotes, information, data
and details in the most sensitive and responsible way.”

Communicate with your sources before your story is

published or goes on the air.

“They should know what day and time the story will appear
and what information from your interviews you are including.
This is a courtesy for anyone you interview, but it’s essential
with trauma survivors” who are trying to regain a sense of
control over their lives.
Five tips for journalists reporting abroad
by Margaret Looney

Journalists may dream of fellowships abroad to escape the

mundane and cover something new, but the most successful
reporting trips grow out of beats reporters already know well.

That's just one of the lessons that journalists Phillip Martin of

NPR member station WGBH in Boston and Cindy Carcamo of
the Los Angeles Times learned on the International Reporting
Fellowship Program for Minority Journalists.

In the latest IJNet Live chat, Martin and Carcamo shared their
advice on preparing for a fellowship abroad, staying safe
overseas, finding fixers and more. Here are a few of their tips:

Stick with a topic you know.

Don't apply for a fellowship abroad because it's an excuse to

travel to an exotic locale. You need a solid topic that you
understand, or one that you covered in the past which
warrants further exploration. Focus on the "lingering questions
that need answers," Martin said.

Carcamo stuck with her immigration beat at The Orange

County Register for her series on smuggling routes in the
Pacific. "I took a step back and thought about what story really
needed an in-depth look, something new and trending," she
said. "I think it’s important to really know your beat, take a
step back and think what may be happening that has
international ties or implications."
Keep your proposal focused, but stay flexible.

No matter how much research you do on your topic, chances

are your story will shift once you're on the ground. "Write a
detailed proposal. Stick to it as far as the umbrella theme is
concerned and know that the details on the ground --as you
mapped it out--will change," Martin said.

Lay low to stay safe.

As many reporting assignments are investigative in nature,

watching your back is key. "I was careful to keep up with the
news in the region I would be going to. I also didn’t tell many
people exactly where I would be going to and left my arrival
date a bit vague," Carcamo said.

For his series on human trafficking in Southeast Asia, Martin

had to deal with a topic that's often "horribly sensationalized."

"I felt it was as important to speak with the rescuers as [with]

the rescued. I had planned from the beginning not to put
myself in harm's way by posing as a customer," he said. "One
of my contacts...warned me that these guys I would be
reporting on from a distance were very dangerous and I took
that to heart. Common sense of course is the final arbiter."

Find translators/fixers who know the local scene, and be

prepared to pay.

Establishing contacts in your destination country is vital, as

they can offer access to sources you wouldn't find as an
outsider, but there usually is a fee involved.
"One of the hardest aspects of my project was trying to get in
contact with the family of a Guatemalan woman who died. All I
had was a name and age. My fixer in Guatemala really helped
with this," Carcamo said. "Going rates vary from country to
country. I would speak with journalists who are already in the
country you are looking to visit and ask them about what the
going rate may be for a fixer, driver or translator."

Martin expanded on what makes a good translator or fixer.

"Not someone who just speaks English but someone who has
interacted with English-speaking journalists or academics and
who knows nuance and American idioms...someone who is
proactive; able to anticipate certain questions borne out of
local experiences and assumptions."

Leave your biases behind.

Be aware of "cultural nuances and moderate your own biases

and experiences—what is called the framework of
assumption," Martin says. "Being careful not to filter
everything through an American paradigm. Know your
surroundings, beginning with studying maps (local, provincial
and national) where rivers cross, topography and customs."
Five tips for better narrative journalism
by Valentina Gimenez

Alberto Salcedo Ramos, who teaches narrative journalism

workshops, has some strong ideas about how reporters
should work.

Ramos stated them in a video interview about methods for

journalists that the Fundación Nuevo Periodismo
Iberoamericano organized to celebrate Journalist's Day in
Colombia.

IJNet picked up these five key tips from Salcedo:

When the story starts to repeat itself, your investigation

is ready. In response to a question about how to know when
you're done investigating a story, Salcedo said he knows he
has done all his research - enough to start publishing - when
the evidence given by the people involved begins to repeat
itself.

Start strong. The first few sentences set the tone for the
article and narrative journalism is no excuse to back into a
story. "You have to find a powerful start, with enough force to
set out the coordinates of the trip you'll be taking the readers
on," said the journalist. Don't wander into the story by
meandering into it, but start with a strong focus that makes a
big impact with readers.

Stick to the facts. "Reality is so rich, so complex and magical

that there’s no need to add anything," he said. For him, "bad
reporters, those who do not invest time in research, are like
unprepared athletes." Athletes who do not train properly pay
during the race, he says. "If we work on an ambitious
reporting project, reality enriches itself in front of our eyes.
There's no need to invent anything," he added.

Use first person narrative but don't abuse it. Salcedo

recalled that during his university days that many professors
wanted to "banish with a whip the use of the first person." His
believes that first person should be used in a story whenever
it is "justified."

"It's not about mentioning myself in a vain way, but in a way

that my presence will enrich the story, providing new
information or adding credibility that wouldn't be possible
unless it is clear that the journalist has firsthand experience,"
he said.

To improve your writing: read. A lot. For Salcedo, the only

way to avoid cliches is to read a lot. Having a wide vocabulary
of ideas and language to draw from will enrich any story you
write. When you read a story with a lot of cliches, it's proof
that the person who wrote it doesn't read enough, he said.
How to make every word count when writing
about people, places and things
by Tom Huang, Poynter

If you’d like to bring your story to life in a tight space — say,

500 words or less — try traveling back in time to your 3rd or
4th grade classroom. Back then, your teacher most likely
instructed you to write short pieces about a memorable
person, place or thing.

He or she probably advised you to identify a theme — and

then narrow the scope of your story — by selecting a
character, a setting or an object that was relevant to your
theme.

With that in mind, here are some tips for describing people,
places and things.

Writing about a person

Consider how Pico Iyer, author and essayist, focuses on one

person in his New York Times piece about a Lawson
convenience store in Nara, Japan:

"The one person who has come to embody for me all the care
for detail and solicitude I love in Japan is, in fact, the lady at
the cash register in Lawson. Small, short-haired and
perpetually harried, Hirata-san races to the back of the store
to fetch coupons for me that will give me ten cents off my
“Moisture Dessert.”

How does Iyer paint a portrait of Mrs. Hirata in a few

sentences? Some tips:
Use a few physical details and mannerisms to help the reader
see the character. We understand that Mrs. Hirata is “small,
short-haired and perpetually harried.”

Show the character in motion, when they are busy and

interacting with others. Mrs. Hirata races to help the narrator,
and we recognize her thoughtfulness. Mrs. Hirata bows to the
gangster, and we recognize her deferential personality, as
well as her ability to deal with all sorts of people.

Writing about a place

Anthony Bourdain, chef and TV personality, specializes in

writing about far-flung locales, many of which are less than
romantic. Notice how he describes a hotel room in Pailin,
Cambodia, in his 2001 book, “A Cook’s Tour”:

"Picture this: a single swayback bed, a broken TV set that

shows only fuzzy images of Thai kick-boxing, a tile floor with
tiles halfway up the wall and a drain in the middle – as if the
whole room were designed to be quickly and efficiently hosed
down. There’s one lightbulb, a warped dresser, and a
complimentary plastic comb with someone else’s hair in it…

How does Bourdain use one paragraph to put us in the hotel

room? Some tips:

Use details — the more precise, the better. The writer

introduces us not just to the broken TV set, but to what
program is on — Thai kick-boxing; not just to the floor, but
one with tiles halfway up the wall...And then there’s the detail
that stands out most to me: the plastic comb with someone
else’s hair in it...
Writing about a thing

Describing an object is another way to narrow the scope of

your story. Let’s study a passage written by travel writer and
novelist Paul Theroux, who loves trains and railways. Here,
he describes a train’s sleeping car in his 1975 book, “The
Great Railway Bazaar”:

"The romance associated with the sleeping car derives from

its extreme privacy, combining the best features of a
cupboard with forward movement. Whatever drama is being
enacted in this moving bedroom is heightened by the
landscape passing the window: a swell of hills, the surprise of
mountains, the loud metal bridge, or the melancholy sight of
people standing under yellow lamps. And the notion of travel
as a continuous vision, a grand tour’s succession of
memorable images across a curved earth — with none of the
distorting emptiness of air or sea — is possible only on a
train."

How does Theroux bring the train’s sleeping car to life? A few
tips:

Compare the object to something that readers can relate to.

Theroux uses two images to help us see the sleeping car:
“cupboard” and “moving bedroom...”

Show the object’s relationship to its surrounding environment.

Theroux presents the sleeping car as a vehicle of “extreme
privacy,” but he also shows the passing landscape: “a swell of
hills, the surprise of mountains, the loud metal bridge, or the
melancholy sight of people standing under yellow lamps…”
Connect the object to the theme of your story. Theroux
develops the theme of romance in this passage, and we come
to understand this romance through the sleeping car – the
“moving bedroom.”
Historical Writing and the Revival of
Narrative
by Jill Lepore

Beginning in 1979, not coincidentally the year the first Pulitzer

was awarded for feature writing, British historian Lawrence
Stone heralded the revival of narrative in academic history
writing. The story was back. Stone defined narrative as the
organization of material in a chronologically sequential order
and focusing the content into a single, coherent story. Now
this represented a departure from common historical writing
and should give you a sense of just how inhospitable to plot
that genre had become.

Unlike structural or scientific history, which is analytical,

narrative history, for Stone, is descriptive. From most
historians’ point of view, to call a piece of writing “descriptive”
is the worst kind of damnation. But far from lamenting
descriptive narratives, Stone celebrated them. Narrative
history, he suggested, is by no means lacking in
interpretation, so long as it’s directed by what Stone called a
“pregnant principle.”

Stories with pregnant principles are hard to write and

especially difficult to write artfully. Many narrative histories
written by academics take readers on sea-sickening sails that
endlessly tack back and forth between story and argument.
How to tell a story that does more than describe what
happened is not immediately obvious, at least to most
academic historians.

In a perceptive essay written in 1992, Cambridge historian

Peter Burke suggested that historians ought to borrow the
anthropological notion of thick description—a technique that
interprets an alien culture through the precise and concrete
description of particular practices and events—and write thick
narratives that seamlessly integrate story and context. The
problem for historians, Burke suggested, is making a narrative
thick enough to deal not only with the sequence of events and
the conscious intentions of the actors in these events, but also
with structures, institutions, modes of thought, whether these
structures act as a break on the events or as an accelerator.

In practice, since the 1960’s thick narratives with pregnant

principles have often taken the form of what historians
somewhat ambivalently call “micro-histories”: stories about a
single, usually very ordinary person, place or event, that seek
to reveal the society’s broader structures. This work rests on
the central premise that ordinary lives, thickly described,
illuminate culture best.

Telling small stories, writing micro-histories, does not

inevitably produce important scholarship. Just the opposite,
alas, is far likelier. As Peter Burke warned, “The reduction in
scale does not thicken a narrative by itself.” When micro-
histories are good, they’re breathtakingly brilliant. When
they’re bad, they’re pretty much worthless.

Now consider the history of journalism. If 20th century

academic historians turned their backs on storytelling in the
early part of the century, only to return to it in the late 1970’s,
journalists trudged along a similar path. They scorn
storytelling in favor of fact-finding, and then change their
minds.
In the late 19th and early 20th century, according to journalist
Jon Franklin, the best American writers, reporters included,
began their careers and received their literary training writing
short stories. The short story in its heyday was the universal
school for writers, Franklin argues. The short story demanded
the utmost of the writer, both technically and artistically. It
served as the great eliminator of mediocre talent. When short
story writers turned to reporting, they brought a desk drawer
full of literary devices, an economy of prose, an eye for detail,
an ear for dialogue, and a keen sense of plot and resolution.

In the 1950’s and 1960’s Franklin asserts, “The quality of

journalistic writing was devastated by the demise of the short
story apprenticeship. When journalism turned away from
literature, newspaper and magazine writing lost its luster.
Nonfiction wasn’t as good a training ground as the short story
had been because it emphasized subject over form and
rewarded reporting skills at the expense of writing technique.”

But when “In Cold Blood” was published in 1965, it melded

the accuracy of nonfiction with the dramatic force of fiction
and ushered in the new genre of nonfiction—a genre that
today dwells in a foggy frontier between journalism and
literature.

What’s to be gained by comparing the history of history with

the history of journalism? A few critical insights. The revival of
narrative in historical writing parallels the emergence of
narrative journalism. In narrative history’s most celebrated
invention, the micro-history, there is a passing resemblance to
narrative journalism’s favorite form, the nonfiction short story.

Micro-histories and nonfiction short stories have a good deal

in common. Both genres emerged in the 1970’s in response
to professional trends, especially prevalent in the 1950’s, that
valued accuracy and analysis more than literary flair. Micro-
history and the much-vaunted revival of narrative in historical
writing were responses to structural or quantitative history.
Narrative journalism and the nonfiction short story were
reactions against investigative journalism’s emphasis on fact-
finding over prose style.

Both micro-histories and nonfiction short stories tend to

concern themselves with the everyday experiences of
ordinary people; a means of offering broader cultural
interpretations, moving from events to structures. Both genres
selfconsciously employ the techniques of dramatic fiction,
including character development, plotting and conflict
resolution. Most micro-historians and narrative journalists
aspire to write narratives thickened with the butter of detail
and the flour of implication.

Micro-histories and nonfiction short stories also fall prey to the

same dangers. Peter Burke considered small stories’ greatest
pitfall to be their tendency to focus attention on the
sensational. Both academics writing micro-histories and
journalists writing nonfiction short stories are drawn to the
drama of murder trials, suicides, kidnapping, rapes and other
miscellaneous crimes and disasters.

It’s easy to push this parallel too far. Crucial differences

separate these two genres. Micro-histories are not nonfic-tion
short stories; they are micro in focus, not in length. Journalists
sometimes write about the past, but most narrative journalism,
of course, is not historical.

Still, the similarities are intriguing and they raise a key

question. If narrative history and narrative journalism use
similar devices, consider similar subjects, and are the
consequence of related trends in the politics and the arts, why
then are historians and journalists not on better terms? It must
be said that a great deal of the animosity so commonly
expressed by academic historians towards popular history
boils down to this: History books are selling like hot cakes, but
journalists are making all the money.

To be fair, most historians have few intellectual objections to a

rattling good history, so long as the story is told in the service
of an argument. Often it isn’t. In 1992 Peter Burke warned that
the revival of narrative might lead to a return to pure
antiquarianism; to storytelling for its own sake. Part of what
grates academic historians is that many popular histories are,
from their point of view, actually miscarried micro-histories.
That is, they tell a small story but fail to use that story to
interpret larger historical structures. At their worst, popular
histories are all headlines. They gesture at significance but fail
to demonstrate it.

Far from thickly narrating a life, the worst popular histories

also tend to rip people out of the past and stick them to the
present. These people from different places and times, they’re
just like us, only dead. Bad popular history, like bad historical
novels and films, manages at once to exoticize the past.
Descriptions of clothes, hairstyles, houses and the minutia of
daily life are always lovingly recreated while rendering familiar
the people who lived in it. Fashions changed, but complicated,
historically specific ideas like sovereignty or progress or
childhood magically transcend history.

It’s just this kind of writing that [Princeton University historian]

Sean Wilentz condemns as passive nostalgic spectacle. But
is narrative and are journalists to blame? Since both
historians and journalists have embraced narrative, the line
between scholarly and popular writing is now much more
difficult to discern. Truman Capote is not responsible for
David McCullough, but he’s not irrelevant, either.

Much history today is written under the banner of narrative.

Does it inevitably render its readers passive? No, but perhaps
it should. One kind of passivity, or maybe we should call it
enthrallment, is a measure of success. Readers can be nearly
paralyzed by compelling stories confidently told. In the hands
of a good narrator, readers can be lulled into alternating
states of wonder and agreement.

Storytelling is not a necessary evil in the writing of history. It’s

a necessary good. Using stories to make historical arguments
makes sense, because it gives a writer greater power over
her reader. A writer who wants to can pummel his reader into
passivity, but a writer who wants to challenge his reader
betters his odds to success by telling a story.
Writing About Ordinary Lives
by Gay Talese

I believe that the role of the nonfiction writer should be more

with non-newsworthy people—insignificant people perhaps,
but whose lives represent a larger significance than their own
lives are allowed to be represented in the public print.

The fiction writer, the short-story writer, the playwright, the

novelist, deal with private life. They deal with ordinary people
and they elevate these people into our consciousness and
give them names and give them a place in life because of the
power of the writer, the power of the word, the power of the
stage writer. The world of nonfiction—journalism,
contemporary events, biography—primarily deals with the
lives of people who are known to us, names that were known,
and they are embellished or they are brought to a larger
consciousness into our own lives by the work of the writer, by
the biographer.

The private life that I wanted, as a young journalist on The

New York Times, to delve into was the life of the person who
would not be worthy of news coverage. But I thought that
person had a sense of what was going on and, if we could
bring them into the larger consciousness of readership, they’d
be representative of trends. I wanted to write about people
that others weren’t writing about. I wanted to move the realm
of curiosity into the lives of people who had been ignored,
because I thought they had something to say and their lives
had something to represent in terms of higher reality.

That has been part of the style that I have followed, in terms
of nonfiction, indulging my curiosity. The first stage is curiosity
and looking at the world in a different way. It is seeing
nonfiction as a creative form of telling the story of your time.
Creative. Not falsified. Not making up names. Insisting on real
names. Not composite characters. No taking liberties with
factual information, but getting to know your characters
through research and building trust, building relationships, so
you know them so well they are part of your private life. They
are your spouse. They are your love affair. Your sources
become known to you and you have this trusting relationship
which you do not take advantage of.

Curiosity is the beginning. We have a way of looking at the

world. I never had bookshelves in my home. I didn’t have
people who went to college. I didn’t have anyone reading the
great nonfiction, but I had a father who was a tailor who was
interested in a life beyond his own—moving out—but always
relating it to himself. So this curiosity I always related to
myself. I bring respect to some of the people I’m interested in
talking to. And when I write about them, I write with respect. I
don’t make allowances, necessarily, for their dalliances or
their deviations, but I find a way to write it that gets it in there,
slides it in there, but is not hard, is not insulting.

This is where careful writing can allow you to do enormous

things, in telling the truth, that sloppy writing will not allow you
to do. Taking care with the language. I get this from reading
the fine fiction writers. I was of an age when there wasn’t
much in nonfiction that I looked up to. But I did look up to the
great writers of fiction: [F. Scott] Fitzgerald, John O’Hara,
Irwin Shaw—these were fine short-story writers. I would read
them in The New Yorker and they would write about private
life, would write about girls in their summer dresses, the 80-
yard run with a football player and his relationship with a
woman. And Carson McCullers wrote a little piece in The New
Yorker called “The Jockey.” In her short story, she described
the trainer by saying that every time this guy eats a lamb chop
you can see its formation on the side of his ribs. And I
thought, that’s interesting. And I was interested in sports
writing, and I said, “If I ever do a sports book, I want that kind
of detail.” Now, I can’t make it up, but I want that kind of little
detail that would have the reader remember something. To
develop a special eye.

But it was fiction. I wasn’t reading some sports writer from The
Saturday Evening Post. It was fiction. And the fiction writers
were my idols. But I wanted to bring in nonfiction, and truly
nonfiction, the sense of reality and the story sense of people’s
lives. I wanted to write about people as people. Even when I
was a daily journalist and I was stuck with hard news, I
wanted to tell the hard news through people. I wanted to write
about people looking outside the windows of the fire when the
fire was in these neighborhood tenement buildings on both
sides of the street. But people who never talk to one another
were talking across the street about the fire below, and there
was a kind of unity to the neighborhood because they focused
on a fire.

This was not a major fire, but I wrote about the fire through
the dialogue of the people talking to one another. And the
firemen were down there and the dog was barking and the
hoses were all over the street and traffic was blocked. It was a
scene. So this one- or two-bell fire became a feature story. It
was just a way of looking at the fire.
Writing in a Personal Voice
By Emily Hiestand

Tips About Style and Personal Voice

 Sensory material awakens a fuller spectrum of your

reader’s intelligence.
 Embody the themes/ideas of your piece in the quality
of the language itself.
 Paint the picture.
 Sensory writing is similar to conversation.
 Allow yourself to enjoy a robust and rangy
vocabulary.
 Experiment with form.
 Read your work out loud.
 Style can emerge at any point of the writing process.
 Treat yourself to a visual art class and/or a poetry
workshop.
 Compose the pace.
 Have fun.
 Read the work of people you love.
 Rewrite.
 The personal voice does not necessarily mean “I.”
 Find your own style.

Because of my background as a visual artist and a poet, my

strengths really lie in the particularity of language. And as a
magazine editor and a literary consultant, most of what I’m
doing when I help other writers is giving them a hand with
texture and color, with imagery and tone and rhythm and
cadence, almost the molecular level of prose. These
ingredients add up to prose style.
These are techniques and particularities that are the toolkit of
poets. A lot of this can be imported directly into your prose
and with very good results.

I’d like to start by paying homage to what Mark Kramer and

maybe others here call “news voice,” the conventional, most
typical voice in journalism. It’s crisp, lean, quirk-free, just the
facts ma’am. And that, of course, is a style. In my view, it’s a
great style. It is a thing of beauty. It’s a great accomplishment
and of enormous importance in our civic life. It isn’t full of
personality and color, but it’s a very elegant, stylistic
achievement. News voice and personal voice do different
things, and we really need them both.

I see dozens of essays every year written in personal voice,

and many of them would benefit from your good reporting
skills. Your training as journalists is a tremendous platform on
which to layer or from which to develop a personal voice. And
much of your journalistic ethic is completely germane to
writing in a more personal voice.

When you write in a more personal voice, you have most, if

not all, the main journalistic responsibility to be scrupulous, to
get it right, to have as much intellectual humility as you can, to
fact check, and to report thoroughly. And you add to those
responsibilities some additional literary responsibilities. And
the additional responsibilities come because the personal
voice is, of course, quirkier and more idiosyncratic, and it
reveals inevitably more of your own humanity.

In the personal voice, you are not only allowed to be, but you
are expected to be, exploratory. The personal voice is the
realm of why and how, and it almost always brings in more
description and more interpretation. And it relies very, very
strongly on sensory knowledge. Not just sensory data, but
sensory knowledge rather than the sheer accounting of fact.

We have a multilayered intelligence, all of us. When we

include a great deal of sensory materials in our writing, what
we are doing is awakening in ourselves and in our readers not
only the analytical intelligence but also our visual intelligence,
our auditory intelligence, our emotional and kinesthetic
intelligence. So in the personal voice, whether it’s the lyrics,
essay, or piece of narrative journalism, what we’re doing is
engaging in a much fuller spectrum of the reader’s mind.
That’s why I think when the personal voice is good and
authentic, it touches us on such a deep and lasting level.
That’s why this kind of writing can be so memorable and why
it has legs. It’s because it’s working on so many levels.

Embody the themes and ideas of your piece in the nature

of the language itself. This tip comes out of the idea that
language is itself the idea. The particularities of your
language, the tone, the color, the rhythm, the cadences, the
elusive qualities, the alliteration, all those textural
particularities can embody the idea of your piece. Whatever
else your words are overtly expressing, the quality of the
language itself is a source of information for your readers.
And it’s a source of information on a very deep and
memorable level. So this is really a central point about style,
that the language is itself the idea.

The title of my story, “Neon Effects,” refers as much to the

nature of the language as it does to the artifacts of the neon
tubes. I wanted the language of that story to be sort of flashy,
to have kind of a jazzy, glowing feel. And that feel was
juxtaposed in the piece.
By saying that you can embody the subject in your language,
I’m not saying that the personal voice is a kind of chameleon,
that it simply takes on the coloration of whatever the subject
is. Your voice, your personal voice will, of course, have a
signature, will have a steady and recognizable signature that
is your own. And is identifiable from work to work. I think it
represents an exploration and a kind of research that you are
making in the piece. It’s kind of an investigative strategy.

If you decide you want to try this, you want to try bringing the
quality of the subject into your writing, into the language itself,
let yourself feel and think, “What are the basic qualities of my
subject? Is this subject fizzy or elegiac? Is it majestic or
funny? Or is it some combination of all of these things?” Then
simply create language that is itself that way.

Paint the picture. Readers feel really respected—and rightly

so—when you give them the picture and the whole
experiential surround and trust them to make the
interpretations. So be like a painter. Be like a sound engineer.
Give your reader the fullest possible sensory experience. All
the colors, the sounds, the details, the impressions, that you
yourself have experienced in a place.

I’ve seen this kind of attention to detail called immersion

reporting. Here’s where you as trained journalists are going to
be so much more skillful than many other writers at noticing
and getting down these important details. I don’t remember
every detail, so I encourage writing down even more than you
think might be important in the moment.

I’m proposing that the sensory surround is the meat, the field
of texture and observation out of which other kinds of insights
can arise and arise with more power. Now, obviously there
are different tones, and you may very well want to move more
into setting out of fact or background or history. But that
doesn’t have to suddenly be in this other voice, this dry voice.
The same qualities, the same attention to cadences and
rhythms and great word choice can be sustained through the
whole piece.

The way you talk. This is closer to your conversational voice

when you’re talking with friends and family. The written
version of your personal voice will, of course, be shapelier
and more well wrought and more layered than conversation.
It’s very akin to good conversation in that it has this animated,
intimate voice. And it’s quirkier. It can shift. It can go from
being very colloquial and familiar to being more formal. Just
the way we do in conversation.

Allow yourself to use a robust and rangy vocabulary. One

of the things that poets do, and great prose stylists, is to work
with words that have been forgotten or that have been
damaged from overuse or improper use, or words that have
been sullied in some way. As prose stylists, you can restore
these words, redeem them. This adds a great spectrum of
words that may seem off limits.

Have fun with vocabulary. And listen for specialized ways of

talking, for the lingo of subcultures. The way that neurologists
talk, or auto mechanics, or urban teenagers. Much great new
language is actually being generated by people in
subcultures. So scope that out. That is a gold mine. I would
really urge you to use in your writing and as much as you can
in journalism as well this more personal writing you’re doing,
any words that intrigue your ear, even if they are unfamiliar to
most people. If anything, a rich vocabulary keeps readers with
you because you are a source of surprise.
Experiment with form. The form that a piece of nonfiction
writing takes can be very elastic. Those of you who are really
involved in creating this movement of narrative journalism are
doing exactly this. You are in the midst of an experiment with
form. You are redefining a genre and really part of an
emerging form.

While I’m talking about form, I wanted to mention one

reservation that I have about narrative form. I love narrative
structure, partly because it comforts us, because it suggests
an order in a world that seems to be lacking. And because I
think it can actually show us how to bring more shapeliness in
our lived lives. But my reservation about narrative structure
comes from knowing in truth we are always in the middle of
things. The influences of the past are not always understood
and the future is always uncertain.

So narrative is more like science. It offers a provisional truth.

It’s the best we can do right now, based on limited knowledge.
While I think as much as anyone I enjoy that structure of a
beginning, a middle, and an end, I’m also very fond of
structures that are more experimental, that do not necessarily
offer closure, that may be more cubistic.

A good thing to do in narrative, if you feel stuck or there isn’t

enough energy in your story or you feel it’s too predictable the
way it’s proceeding, is just shift the lens. Stop there. You don’t
always have to just continue in a chronological sequence. You
can just stop and come from another point of view or another
time and let those layers accumulate.

Read your work out loud. Reading your work out loud is a
minor miracle of the writing process. When we say the words
out loud, we get a better sense of the rhythm and the meter,
the pace, the flow, the way the sentences work or do not work
with the breath.

Style can emerge at any point of the writing process. It can be

an establishing tone, or it can be layered.

Treat yourself to a visual art class or poetry class. A lot of

what artists are doing in art school is learning to see. Even if
you never plan to practice as a visual artist, or never plan to
practice as a poet, this can be a fabulous way to increase
your ability to see.

Compose the pace. Readers are in your hands; they will go

with you at any speed. You don’t need to rush as long as you
are giving them the sense of immersion in the story.

Have fun. Write about not only what you know, but also what
you think it would be fun to find out about.

Find your own style. As Dexter Gordon wrote in “Round

Midnight,” “You don’t just go out and pick a style off a tree one
day. The tree is already inside you—it is growing naturally
inside you.” It’s about mastering craft and then letting your
own bone-deep, built-in, inimitable style emerge naturally. The
style, your style, is in there. It’s in you. It’s like a tree growing
inside you. It’s your own unique, emotional, intellectual,
aesthetic, spiritual, moral response to the world translated into
words. Or it is sometimes discovered, often discovered,
through the act of using words.

That’s why style is so important. It’s a tree inside you and it

keeps evolving as you do. And that’s why it’s so important to
readers. Great style tells them that some other human being
is really alive and present to them on the page. They pick up
that something human is going on, and they respond to that
humanness and that imagination.
Scenes, Suspense and Character
By Adam Hochschild

Joseph Conrad once said, “My task…is, by the power of the

written word, to make you hear, to make you feel—it is, above
all, to make you see.”

Well, how do you do this? I find that the more I write, the more
I try to pay attention to why other people’s writing moves and
delights me. I do it when I’m reading, whether I’m reading a
piece of fiction, a novel or short story; whether I’m reading a
nonfiction book or an article; whether I’m watching a film that
really succeeds in holding my attention. Always, after all these
things, I try to take them apart, draw diagrams of them, figure
out how did the writer of this novel, of this article, this
magazine piece, this book, how did he or she manage to hold
my attention? What can I learn from this?

I find almost always that what really succeeds in holding my

attention is not the beauty or elegance or eloquence of
language, even though I love good language as much as any
of us do. It’s rather the old-fashioned basics of narration,
which for me come down to three basic things: scenes,
suspense and character. Everything really boils down to one
or another of those three things.

When I’m writing, I find it very helpful in thinking about trying

to keep the idea of scenes in my mind all the time, to think as
if I were a filmmaker and that I’m constantly making the
decision about when I’m sort of panning the camera across
the landscape in a very sweeping way and when I’m zeroing
in for a close up on somebody or something or some episode.

Of course, it’s also helpful if you can have some sense when
you’re actually doing the reporting as to whether the particular
episode, encounter, conversation, visit that you’re observing
at a given point in time is going to be one of those close-up
scenes. And if I sense that it is, I really, at that moment, turn
into a kind of literary vacuum cleaner, where I’m just trying to
gather up every scrap of information I can about the scene
that I’m witnessing so that I’ll have abundance of ammunition
with which I can put it together on the printed page.

I’m deeply grateful for the invention of the pocket tape

recorder. It was much harder before they came along. The
reason I love working with the tape recorder is because you
can leave it on to record the conversation while you are
frantically scribbling away in your notebook about all sorts of
details other than the sound. What the person you’re talking to
is wearing, what are the books on his shelf, what are the
paintings on her wall, what are the surroundings, what are the
expressions on other people’s faces as the person you’re
concentrating on is talking.

When I sense that I have stumbled on something that’s going

to be a scene in an article or a book that I’m writing, I just try
to become very greedy in terms of gathering all the
information in every possible way I can about it. Even by
calling up other people who were participants or observers
there, asking them what they noticed. Just trying to get
everything down.

On the second great ingredient, suspense, my latest tutor in

suspense is the novelist Patrick O’Brian. He writes these
wonderful, wonderful stories about British naval officers in the
Napoleonic Wars. But they are not sea stories, they are
literature, and they’re some of the most suspenseful tales
ever written. They are always about the three or four clocks
ticking in the background having to do with suspense. And
that’s really what keeps you reading.

Now, how do you do this in nonfiction? Especially when it is

harder because most of us don’t have romance to work with.
We don’t have naval battles and storms at sea to work with,
but you’ve got other techniques, and you have to find
techniques of generating some sort of suspense in the story,
whether it’s a long article or whether it’s a book, because if
you don’t, people are not going to read it.

I see a couple of different, familiar devices through which one

can generate suspense effectively in nonfiction. One is by
strategic withholding of information. I’m a great admirer of
John McPhee, who I think is really one of the great reporters
alive.

Sometimes another very useful, suspense-building device I

think that is an ancient one, it goes back to the “Odyssey,” is
the device of a journey. When we follow a character or a set
of characters on a journey, we always want to know how the
journey is going to end. Are we going to get to the place
where we think we’re going to get to? And also with the
journey, there’s always the assumption, in a good piece of
writing, that an external journey, a geographical journey, is in
one way or another paralleling some kind of internal journey
of discovery.

Characters are the stuff of good nonfiction just as much as

they are the stuff of fiction. You need to bring characters alive.
You need to make readers hear the sound of their voices. You
need to listen to the distinctive phrases that they use and the
distinctive ways of talking that they have. Without good, lively
characters, very few people are going to read a book or even
read a long magazine article. This is what makes people read.
People want to read about people, and they want to read
about people whose voices they can hear, who are alive, who
live and breathe and practically walk off the page.

I want to say one word about problems that I think nonfiction

writers get into when writing about characters, particularly at
book length, although it can also happen in the length of a
long article. One is having too many characters, and the other
is forgetting that in writing, as in creating a play on the stage,
you need to have major characters and minor characters. The
major characters are the ones who you want your readers to
remember and have fixed in their heads from near the
beginning of the book or the article until near the end. The
minor characters are the people that the reader doesn’t have
to remember. They can be lively and vivid; they should be
lively and vivid, too. But they just come on stage briefly and
then go off again.

Readers have only a limited capacity to hold a certain number

of characters in their head. My rule of thumb is that in a long
article, you should have really only one major character or
perhaps two if there is some close relationship between them.
Rivals having a feud, a husband and wife, a mother and
daughter. Some kind of connection between them, and you
can play them off against each other.
The Quote Diet
by Chip Scanlan

Get out one of your stories and start counting. Not all the
words, just the ones between quotation marks. Chances are
you’ll get quite a mouthful.

We all know the importance of avoiding run-off sentences in

our copy, but too often our standards drop when those twin
apostrophes enter the picture, and we end up with quotes that
run off at the mouth.

Here’s a quick and easy way to avoid journalistic logorrhea,

one inspired by the current national obsession with calorie
and carb-counting: Put your quotes on a diet.

The value of quote reduction became evident when I asked

bureau reporters at a metro daily to add up the quotes in their
stories. Many quotes weighed in at 30-40 words with some
tipping the scale at 40-50 and even higher.

On closer examination, it became clear that reporters were all

too often using quotes as filler, bulking up a journalistic meal
with the empty calories of verbiage. Or they served them up
the way bad fiction writers use dialogue, to provide exposition:
the “Ah, Countess Mirabelle, how good to see you. How are
you and your husband the Count, who was wrongfully
imprisoned on Devil’s Island but miraculously escaped, and
your daughter, the brilliant concert pianist whose career was
tragically cut short by a brain tumor” school of dialogue.

By comparison, a story by Jeffrey Gettleman of The New York

Times, about a two-car collision that killed two Alabama
sisters who were traveling to visit each other, quoted six
people, but each utterance illustrates what the Roman orator
Cicero called brevity’s “great charm of eloquence.” Notice how
Gettleman can use brief quotes and even sentence fragments
by blending them with exposition or action, either on the front
or back end.

“What are the odds of this? One in a million? One in a billion?”

asked Wentworth’s husband, Brian, as he took a long, sad
drag on his cigarette. 14 words

“Sometimes, it makes the hair stick up on the back of your

neck,” said Bo Hall, whose mother was killed. 13 words

“They weren’t fancy women,” said their sister Billie Walker.

“They loved good conversation. And sugar biscuits.” 11 words

In 1982, Hall was driving with her son, Bo, when they skidded
off a bridge and into a creek. Bo, then 12 but thick for his age,
bent the door open and sat his mother on top of the car. “So
she wouldn’t drown,” he recalled. 4 words

“After that, we just don’t know what happened,” said Chuck

Martin, the deputy county coroner. “Did they see each other
and wave? Did one lose control?”19 words

Wentworth was the family joker. She liked to tell people about
the time she was baking biscuits and asked her first husband
to go get some cigarettes. “He came back 11 years later,”
said her sister Billie Walker. “That was the thing about Sheila.
She’d make you laugh.” 16 words

“God, there will be times when we want to go hunting together

and shopping together, but we can’t,” said the pastor, Steve
Johnson. “There will be times we just want to sit and chat, but
now, God, we can’t.” 34 words
As the service closed, relatives walked slowly back to their
pickups.“Y’all be careful now,” the pastor said. 4 words

Bingeing on quotes is an easy trap to fall in when the people

— especially when the source is a politician, school board
official, a lawyer, or any of those professional types — talk as
if they were billing by the word.

But a 45-60 word quote explaining a sewer bond proposal that

seems like an easy solution for the writer can choke a reader.
(The quote diet is a timely discipline now during campaign
season when the temptation is to let politicians and their
mouthpieces go on ad infinitum.)

Obviously, there are times when it’s important we get the

news directly from the source’s mouth. No paraphrase would
have the impact of President Bill Clinton’s declaration “I did
not have sex with that woman, Ms. Lewinsky.”

Getting quotes is one thing. Using them effectively is another.

Many reporters use quotations as a crutch. They forget that
they, not their sources, are writing the story.

By all means, fill your stories with voices, but just as you’d
steer clear of a windbag at a party, spare your readers those
bloated quotes that deaden a piece of writing.

Here are some strategies for the quote diet:

Take ten percent off the top. Most speech is bloated. Trim
the fat, leaving the verbatim message, or paraphrase.

Raise your quote bar. It’s the writer’s job to make meaning
with the materials collected during the reporting. You decide
which quotes convey the information and which are better
paraphrased. Quotations, as Kevin Maney of USA Today puts
it, should occupy a “place of honor” in a story.

Punctuate with quotes. Use quotes to amplify, to drive home

a point at the end of a paragraph. I had several screenfuls of
interview notes for a story about the dangers of pre-teen
dieting, but used just one 10-word quote from a source to
buttress the theme of the story.

In trying to correct one problem — one in five children is now

overweight – doctors, parents, schools, and the media have
unwittingly caused another.

“This whole pressure to be thin has backfired on children,”

said Joanne Ikeda, a dietitian at the University of California at
Berkeley who counsels parents and health professionals
about children and weight issues.

Three little dots. What about ellipses, … that indicate that

one or more words are omitted? Some older journalists say
they were told to never use them because the average reader
wouldn’t know that an ellipsis is a punctuation device that
alerts a reader that there are words missing from the
sentence — words that the writer has left out for space or
clarity but whose omission does not alter the meaning. That
makes sense to me, but editors I respect disagree. The AP
stylebook, followed by most news organizations, advises
using an ellipsis “to indicate the deletion of one or more words
in condensing quotes, texts, and documents” and cautions
against deleting words that distort the meaning.

Watch out for the echo effect. Notice how many stories
contain quotes that echo what you’ve already written:
The mayor said he’s pleased with the election results, noting
that his victory demonstrates his popularity with the voters.
“I’m pleased with the results,” said Mayor Foghorn. “It proves
my popularity with the voters.”

“Echo quotes” often mean the writer isn’t giving readers

enough credit. Readers don’t need a paraphrase and a quote
to understand. One or the other will suffice.

Listen. Keep your quotes lean by always reading your story

aloud as you make final revisions. Reserve quotation marks
for words that reveal character, advance the narrative or drive
home a controversial point. Use a blend of quotation and
paraphrase. Don’t use every quote in your notebook to prove
you did the interviews. That’s not writing; It’s dictation.

A final caveat: I’m not advocating a uniform length for quotes,

but instead urge greater attention to the power and value of
brevity. What makes a quote too long has less to do with the
number of words and more to do with the content, rhythm,
and purpose of the passage. The point is not to go on the
quote diet for the sake of it, but to produce stories where
every word counts, including those spoken by others.
Finding Time to Write
by Stewart O’Nan

Joseph Conrad, a very prolific writer, said that there are only
two difficult things about writing: starting and not stopping.
And that’s absolutely true. Because you’re professional
journalists, I imagine that you have already started some large
project that you’re doing on your own time that is not attached
to your work, your everyday work.

Most writers have some other job besides just being a writer.
They have to find the time, make the time, or steal the time.
The first rule of not stopping and of getting work done is make
yourself accountable. No one else is going to pick up on it.
You’ve got to finish what you start, even if you don’t like it.
That’s hard. Even if you’ve sort of fallen out of love with your
project, you have to go through to the end. Finish it. You can
always fix it.

How do you do it? How do you keep the work rolling while
you’re working, say, at engineering? I was in test engineering,
which is feast or famine, so I’d be working seven days a
week, 12 hours a day. And I also commuted an hour to work.
And had a family. And somehow I had to keep the work
rolling.

Very simple things like keeping the manuscript with you at all
times. Always keep it with you. That way you can always go
back to it. Doesn’t have to be the whole manuscript. Another
way to do this is to bring only the very last sentence that you
worked on—where you left off, basically. Bring it with you on a
sheet of paper or index card. Keep it on your person so that if
you’re running around the building where you’re working, you
take that five seconds to pull it out and look at it and say,
“Okay, oh, maybe I’ll do this with it. Maybe I’ll do something
else with it. Maybe I’ll fix it there.”

In keeping the work connected to me, somehow, even

physically connected with me, it would stay there. Even if I
was thinking about it just sort of subconsciously, it would be
with me. I wouldn’t be away from it completely. Some days I’d
get a sentence. Some days I’d get two sentences. Some days
I wouldn’t get anything.

Use your time, steal the time, manage the time somehow.

A notebook? Yes, so you can always be taking notes. In

fiction, what I do is I will often put on the mask of the
character that I’m writing in the persona of. I go through the
day in the point of view of my character. So put on the mask
of the person that you’re writing, even if that person is in a
nonfiction book. Think about how would this particular person
see the world and details will come up and jump into you and
stick with you. And you can get them down if you have that
notebook, if you have that pen and that piece of paper, no
matter where you are.

If you don’t write it down, it’s gone. You may not use what you
write down. I’ve got notebook after notebook filled with details
that I will never, ever use. But in sharpening my eye to look at
the world and to see the world through other people’s eyes,
now I’m gaining on the work.

If you got that notebook, take the notes, organize the notes.
Sometimes when you can’t write at all, when you’re stuck and
you don’t know what to do, you feel like you’re going nowhere,
get out those notes. Go over them, highlight them, reorganize
them. Take notes on the notes. Just get more organized so
that when you will have time to write, you’ll have everything
laid out right in front of you. Especially if you’re writing a
narrative nonfiction. Sometimes those notes can help you
write the book. It’s just organizing them in the right order
there.

After that first admonition—hold yourself accountable—the

second very important thing is that the work is on paper. The
work is on paper. You can research all you want, you can go
and do your legwork all you want, but, ultimately, that work
has got to be on the paper. You can say, “Oh, I’ve been
thinking about this novel, I’ve got it all in my head.” I can’t do
anything with that. You’ve got to get down and work on the
paper.
Helping Reporters Improve Stories
by Steve Buttry

Each reporter is different and each story is different. None of

these techniques will work in every situation or with every
reporter. Gauge the needs and personalities of your staff and
try these techniques as you think they fit the situations and
people. Remember that you are working not just to improve
the story at hand, but future stories as well.

Before The Reporter Turns In A Story

Talk early and often. However strong your word editing

skills, that is the least effective way to improve a story. From
the idea stage through revision, talk with the reporter about
the challenges the story presents and how she is addressing
them.

Respect the reporter's authorship. Understand that

reporters do their best work on stories where they feel a
sense of control and responsibility. When possible, allow
reporters to work on stories that are their ideas rather than
your assignments. When you have to assign, ask the reporter
the best way to attack the issue, engaging him immediately in
shaping the story. Whenever possible, don't rewrite a story,
but discuss with the reporter the issues you want him to
address in rewriting. When you have to rewrite, respect the
author's style and voice and try to retain them. Never rewrite
or insist on a rewrite simply because the story wasn't written
the way you would have written it.

Discuss story ideas with the reporter. Many story

weaknesses rest with the fundamental idea. The direction you
provide at this stage can save plenty of work later in the
process. Whether you are making an assignment or
encouraging a reporter to pursue her own idea, discuss it in
some detail. Ask why we're doing this story now. That forces
the reporter to address two questions: Why are we doing this
story at all and why now?

Focus on the reader. Ask reader-oriented questions early

and often, to keep a strong focus on serving the reader. Why
will the reader care? Who is likely to read this story? What will
the reader tell others about this story? How might the reader
act on this story? What information can we give the reader to
help her act on this story? Encourage the reporter to think
about who will likely have strong interest in this story and who
will have casual interest.

Encourage specificity. Often a reporter will propose "an in-

depth look at (fill-in-the-blank)." Encourage the reporter to be
more specific, to narrow the topic, to identify and explain the
news peg, the local interest and the national or international
context.

Ask what the story is about. At various stages of a

reporter's work on a story, ask what the story is about.
Sometimes the answer will change often from the idea stage
through the rewriting and asking that question repeatedly will
help the reporter maintain a focus during the story's evolution.
Sometimes the answer will remain the same and asking the
question will help the reporter stay focused. If the answer
changes, ask why it has changed. You want to be sure it has
changed because the reporter has gathered new information
or understands the story better, not because the reporter has
lost focus.

Discuss reporting challenges. Ask what the reporter is

learning. Ask what avenues he will pursue, what people he
will interview, what information might be available online. Ask
what obstacles he is encountering. Ask how he is overcoming
the obstacles. If he is not overcoming the obstacles,
brainstorm where else he might get that information.

Discuss records. Ask what records the reporter will examine.

Start with general questions that push the reporter to consider
where she might find records to help with this story. If she
doesn't identify some records you think might help, follow with
more specific questions that steer her toward specific records.
Know the federal, state and local open-records laws and push
reporters to gain access to records.

Discuss data. Discuss where the reporter might find data to

help with the story. Ask whether the data are available online
or whether the reporter has to obtain them directly from the
agency involved. Discuss access issues such as open-
records laws, cost and which officials might be most likely to
provide the records promptly. Discuss whether the reporter
has the skills to analyze the data or needs some help from a
colleague. Help the reporter develop the skills if he does not
already have them. Learn about computer-assisted reporting
yourself, if you haven't already, so you can help the reporter
more.

Seek parallels. Encourage the reporter to find references

from literature, history, culture or everyday life that will help
readers understand stories. When you see possible
references as you're discussing the story, suggest but don't
insist on them.

Debrief. After an interview, ask the reporter how it went. What

did she learn? What surprised her? What moved her? What
did she hope to learn that the source would not tell? Who else
might have that information? When will the reporter touch
base again with that source? Encourage the reporter to start
writing, even if much reporting remains. Ask what the story is
about.

Encourage summarizing. Use some technique to encourage

the reporter to summarize the essence of the story in a few
words. Jack Hart of the Oregonian recommends a theme
statement of 6 to 8 words. Bill Luening of the Kansas City Star
recommends boiling the story down to a three-word sentence:
subject, verb and object. Bruce DeSilva of the Associated
Press advises writing a headline for the story (insist on a good
headline). You may not use any of these devices in the final
story, but they are helpful in focusing the story.

Ask about the lead. The reporter probably is thinking about

the lead without prompting from you, but talking may be
helpful if the reporter is struggling with the lead. After your
discussions about the lead, forget about them. The reporter
may come up with something different, and if you force him
back to an old lead, you'll kill future early discussions about
leads. Ask how the lead will entice the reporter into the story.

Set short-term writing goals. As the reporter is starting to

write a story, challenge her to focus on improving a single
skill. You can focus the challenge on past weaknesses: For
instance, if you noticed unnecessary passive verbs in the last
story, challenge the reporter to focus on verb usage this time
and to use one rewriting pass to concentrate strictly on
making sure each verb is as strong and active as she can
make it. Or you can focus the challenge on the story at hand:
This one is complex and required the reporter to wade
through a lot of bureaucracy and regulation. Challenge her to
find an analogy from everyday life that will help the reader
understand. Or build on previous successes: I loved the way
you made the reader see and hear and smell the scene in the
last story. Make sure you take the reader right into the main
character's kitchen in this story.

Suggest sidebars and graphics. Ask the reporter what facts

you can tell better in graphics than in prose. Ask what points
should be told in sidebars, rather than bogging down the main
story. Can a photo make a point better than prose?

Suggest an outline. If a reporter appears disorganized on a

story, suggest that he outline. If the reporter resists or has not
outlined effectively in the past, talk through an outline. You
might write down the outline yourself as the two of you identify
main points.

Suggest writing without notes. Notes can distract a

reporter. The story should be in the reporter's head. Suggest
that she review the notes, then set them aside and write
without pausing to find facts and quotes. When she's finished,
she can return to the notebooks and get the facts and quotes
right. In the notebooks, she'll find some things she omitted.
Ask whether they're really that important if she forgot about
them. (They may be, but tell her to be especially demanding
of any passages she adds to the story.)

Study work habits. Ask and observe how the reporter works.
In some cases, you might be able to suggest new habits that
will help a reporter improve: writing as he reports, writing from
notes and then seeking quotes on the tape rather than
transcribing every interview, writing without notes, working
harder on revision. In other cases, you can tailor your
suggestions to a reporter's habits.

Ask for a plan. If a reporter has organizational problems or is

taking on a story more complex than he has tackled before,
ask for a written plan. Have him outline sources to interview,
records to check and data to analyze. Deal with sidebars,
graphics and photos in the plan. Set deadlines, allowing time
for rewriting. The plan should be a collaboration, but more of it
should come from the reporter than from you. And you both
should be flexible when breaking news, inexperience and
unexpected obstacles force changes in the plan.

Share the joy of discovery. If you discuss the story early

and often with the reporter, you and the reporter and your
fellow editors will develop expectations. You may commit
those expectations to budget lines, whether you write them or
the reporter does. As the reporter reports and writes, she will
discover a story that does not meet those expectations. It may
fall short of them. It may exceed them. It may go in a different
direction. Share the joy of discovery with the writer. Don't hold
her to expectations you developed early in the process or you
will thwart early communication on future stories.

Encourage reporters to write early. Writing as they report is

one of the best ways for reporters to improve their
performance in each skill. Encourage it generally and
encourage it in each story. While the reporter is gathering
information, ask frequently if he is writing yet.

Talk about story elements. To encourage storytelling by

reporters, ask them questions about story elements. Who's
the main character? What's the conflict? How are you going to
describe the setting?

Encourage rewriting. Perhaps the best way to see dramatic

improvement in a reporter's work is to encourage a reporter
who turns in first drafts to spend some time rewriting. Don't
approach this as remedial work, but as professional
development. Even good stories benefit from rewriting. Even
great stories benefit from revision. Set a deadline for finishing
the first draft, then another deadline for finishing the rewrite.
Talk about specific things to look for in rewriting: strong verbs,
sentence length, redundancy, etc.

After You Get The First Draft

Encourage alternatives. Encourage the reporter to try a

different lead. Even if you both like the first lead, encourage
trying a different approach. Coaching should not concentrate
only on making bad work good, but on making good work and
even great work better.

Don't suggest or dictate exact words. As you discuss story

approaches or leads or as you edit, don't take over the
reporter's job, which is to write the story. Ask questions that
stimulate or direct the reporter's thinking. Suggest approaches
to consider. Explain problems you have with the first draft.
When you hear words you like, react enthusiastically and
encourage the reporter to write immediately. But when you
suggest or insist on exact words, you discourage the reporter.
And you limit the story.

Ask the reporter to read aloud. If a lead is long or a story is

laden with long sentences or does not flow well, ask the
reporter to read it aloud, to you or to herself. Often that will
help the reporter identify the fat sentences and weak
passages. Also ask the reporter to read aloud the passages
you love. That will underscore how well those passages work.
Ask the reporter to imagine a reader reading this passage
aloud to a spouse.

Suggest areas to condense. Avoid cutting stories yourself.

Instead, suggest that a particular passage could be
condensed, that a particular sentence seems too long. Ask
what certain passages add to the story. Ask whether the
reader really needs to know all the information in a particular
section.

Count words in the lead. If a reporter has written a lengthy

lead, count the words and ask whether the story needs a 35-
word lead. Or suggest that the reporter count the words in this
lead. Or suggest that the reporter always count the words in
every lead.

Don't rewrite the lead. Tell the reporter what's wrong with the
lead. Suggest possible alternative approaches. Demand a
shorter, brighter or clearer lead. But make the reporter rewrite
the lead.

Don't insist on your approach. If you do rewrite the lead, or

suggest a different approach, don't insist that the story has to
use your lead, or your approach. Explain why the original
version didn't work and explain the thinking behind your
revision. Then challenge the reporter to write something better
than either.

Find examples. If the story needs to be cut considerably,

identify a few phrases, sentences or whole passages to cut
and explain why you think they are expendable. Then
challenge the reporter to find and make similar cuts.

Admit when the hole is too tight. If the story is good enough
to run as written, admit that you're requiring cuts because the
paper is tight. Reporters should know when they have to cut
because they're telling more than the reader will want and
when they have to cut because you don't have room to tell all
the reader will want.

Challenge reporters to raise standards. Sometimes when

you cut a story you cut substance. But sometimes you raise
standards. If a reporter has written a 25-inch story and you
only have a 20-inch hole (or think the reader will have only 20
inches of interest), challenge the reporter to raise standards
and keep only the best 80 percent of the original draft.

Explain editing changes. Whether you changed because of

style, grammar, clarity, brevity or some other reason, explain
why you changed a story. Those changes will help the
reporter turn in a better story next time.

Reduce attribution. Ask the reporter whether he knows

something as fact. If so, can you reduce unnecessary
attribution? Or maybe you can condense attribution when you
are attributing lots of information repeatedly to the same
source. If the reporter doesn't know something as fact, ask
whether the reporter can check other sources that will confirm
or contradict the first source.

"How do you know that?" When the reporter states facts

without attribution, ask how she knows that. Perhaps you
need to add some attribution.

Challenge every fact. For big stories or projects, consider

"line-by-line-editing." For every fact, the reporter has to
present the supporting notes or documents.

Give feedback. Ask the reporter what he liked about the

story. If you agree, say so. If you liked something else, tell
what pleased you. Ask how the reporter achieved the
successes and discuss how these techniques might apply to
specific stories in the near future. Ask the reporter what he
wished he had done better. If you agree, discuss ways to
improve in that skill, if possible on the next story. If you wish
the reporter had done better in some way he didn't identify,
present a challenge for the next story. Don't present a laundry
list of faults for any one story.

Apologize. Maybe you were on deadline and didn't have time

to consult with a reporter on a story. Say you're sorry (even if
you also have to encourage the reporter to get future stories
in sooner). Maybe you edited an error into the story.
Apologize. Even if you made the error in trying to clarify a
muddled passage. However bad the original copy was, you
should have run such a change past the reporter, so say
you're sorry without excuses. Deal with the clarity issue in the
next story. An editor who doesn't apologize is either a perfect
editor or an editor who's damaging relationships with
reporters.
Editors and Reporters: ‘Quite frankly, we
need each other.’
by Jacqui Banaszynski

A good reporter sees the world and questions. Everything

they do is in the form of questions. Their lives are a major
jeopardy game.

A really good editor sees the world in terms of problem

solving, and they have all of these logistical minefields to
negotiate through the day.

If the writers out there can see this world and what the editor
is up against with the goal of taking all these wonderful ideas
and questions and figuring out how to get them into this box,
or into the magazine version of this box and, eventually, how
to get them up here with the picture and art and not have any
of them go away. Make those two worlds merge because,
quite frankly, we need each other. Whether or not we think
we’re on opposite sides, we only do stories when we do them
together.

One day I realized as a writer, I was blaming my editor. I had

spent 15 years blaming my editor for not being perfect, for not
understanding me, for not knowing when I was having a bad
day, for not having a perfectly toned ear. So I walked into his
office one day and I sat down and I handed him a document,
and he said, “What’s that?” And I said, “It’s the owner’s
manual.” And he said, “Well, what do you mean?” I said, “I’ve
listed for you who I am. I’ve sat and thought about my process
as a reporter and writer, who I am, what I do. And I’ve listed
the things that if you do these things, I will be loyal to you and
follow you around forever and be your best advocate and
guardian angel in the newsroom.”
And he looked at it and said, “Well, what are we supposed to
do with this?” I said, “I’m trying to give you a language to
negotiate with me when we have problems. I’m trying to let
you know where my motherboard of push buttons are
because I don’t want to battle with you, I want this to work. I
want it to work for you, for me, and for the newspaper. And I
realize it’s time I take responsibility for that. Now, what do you
need from me?”

And it occurred to me, very seldom do writers ask editors,

“What do you need?” “What are you up against?” But by
giving him that, I opened the door. Now, the reason that
owner’s manual was important was because it taught me
some things. It forced me to assess myself, to take kind of a
fearless and searching moral inventory of myself as a
reporter/writer. It forced me to articulate what I need, what
gets in the way, and what helps when I’m writing. It forced me
to identify gaps in the process and then to take stock of who
had responsibility for those gaps. Was it me? Was it the
editor? Was it the system? Was it just the news of the day?
So I could quit kind of being in this battle and wasting time.

Most importantly it created this contract between us. And I’ve

used it ever since and with writers as an editor: “Here’s my
contract. Where’s yours?” Mostly what I like about it is you
have to assess your process and your writer’s process—or, if
you’re a writer, your process and your editor’s process.

The relationship between the reporter and the editor is one-

on-one. The relationship among the editor and
writers/reporters is one-on-four, one-on-eight, one-on-50, one-
on-300, depending on what level the editor is at. You need to
let the writer know that, because as the writer, I lose sight of
it. I’m only worried about my story. My editor occasionally
has to let me know there’s a bigger world out there, treat me
like an adult and say, “Let’s negotiate the rest of this context
so you know what you’re doing.”

I have what I call the seven-out-of-10 rule in life, which is, if

you can list 10 things you really want in life—out of a partner,
out of an editor, out of a job, out of a house—if you’re really
lucky and really smart, you’ll get seven.

For writers this rule is really important because they need to

understand that no one editor can give them everything.
Some editors are great at line editing, they’re skilled with
looking inside words and figuring out how to restructure them
so it has just the right tone and pacing. Some are real good
puzzle masters: They can look at a story and figure out which
pieces go where and what’s missing and which are just sort of
out of sorts. Some are very good “heart” editors: They can
hold writers’ hands and make them feel like, yes, everything is
possible, you can do this work. Some are very good political
editors: They can maneuver through the system to get stuff
taken care of and elbow things out of the way.

Very few are good at everything. So if the writer learns that

they can’t expect the editor to be everything for them, then my
challenge to editors is, you can’t try to be everything for your
writers. You can’t try to own them entirely: You have to give
them permission to go to other places where they’re going to
get those needs met.

Part of the reason that I really believe in having this big

discussion ahead of time about who are we and what do we
want from each other is so we know what mutually we’re
committed to. Writers are committed to their stories, but they
also have a lot of other stuff going on—ego, competition in the
newsroom, concern about where they stand in the pecking
order, lack of knowledge about where they stand. There is no
such thing as enough feedback for a reporter and writer. You
can talk to them 12 hours a day and, you know what, they
need 13.

And many editors are very good at telling writers what’s

wrong—that there’s something wrong with their copy or their
story. Very few are good at telling them what’s wrong with it in
a specific way, and extremely few are good at helping them
come up with options for what might be better about it and at
the same time leave the ownership in the writers’ hands. It’s a
very rare quality. “Here’s where I stumbled as a reader, and
here were the speed bumps. Here’s what got in my way, and
let me suggest a few options. Here are some ways to think
about making it better.” That’s very rare, and writers don’t get
much of that.

Start opening up and being honest, because your writers

need that from you. I would encourage you to ask your
reporters to open up their process so you can see what they
need and how they work and how they think, so you can start
working in it. Communication all along the line so the writer
can get course-corrected or can vent or can panic and the
editor knows when to course-correct, what needs to be
addressed, and how to calm the panic. By the end, then,
you’re totally in sync and you can say things like, “Gee, Dan
showed up in your story way too often, let’s peel him back,”
because by then the writer’s like, “Yeah, okay,” because
you’re in it together, and it still feels like theirs.
Tips for Editors
‘Pick three things and just keep working on them, keep
reinforcing them.’

Think of each of your reporter/writers as a one-year

investment. Match the assignment to the writer, but stretch it
each time. Give them things to work on. But the key is to
identify what you want them to work on so they’re not working
on everything at once or they’re not working on one thing this
week and another the next and another the next. Sit down
and assess where you think that writer can go and pick no
more than three things, in any given year, to have them really
work on. And keep finding assignments that reinforce those.

If your reporter really needs to learn how to interview, keep

finding assignments that reinforce that. If she needs to learn
how to do narrative description in little moments, teach that
reporter that moment by moment, paragraph by paragraph,
story by story. They’re becoming Rick Bragg because, guess
what, he didn’t pop out of the womb able to do this stuff any
more than I did. It was a story by story, brick by brick process.

Pick three things and just keep working on them, keep

reinforcing them.

Second trick: Give them edit memos where you reinforce that.
You say, “Here’s what you did well. Now, here’s three things I
want you to work on when you do a rewrite.” Or “The next
time you do a piece, I want you to pay attention to these three
things.” Be very specific. Anywhere from the depth of your
interviewing skills: “Ask five more questions after every
interview.” Or things like, “You use too many intransitive verbs
and here’s how it slows down your copy.”
Last little trick, I call this the Magic Marker trick. I love this. It
really works. Every month, grab your reporter/writer, your
“young baby,” and have them print out maybe five pieces of
their work. Take a Magic Marker, pick one thing, one thing
only—pick verbs, pick dependent clauses, pick “-ly” adverbs,
pick metaphors, pick description, pick attribution, only one
thing at a time, and go through their hard copy with that Magic
Marker and in each of their pieces underline every time they
do that. What they will get is a visual road map of their
patterned strengths and their patterned weaknesses. And
then when they sit down at the computer they’ll see that pink
Magic Marker blinking in their face every time they write an
intransitive verb or a weak transition. But do it piece by piece.
Don’t take it on all at once. And very specific stuff.

Don’t forget the skills of a reporter, because we’re all

storytellers. When I was a reporter out in the field, my job was
to find people who were doing something, who were
interesting, and it was to get them to tell me a story, to turn
them into a storyteller—that’s what narrative journalism is. I
turned people into storytellers when they didn’t know they
were one, and I turned around and I wrote their story.

As an editor, your job is to interview writers and get the story

out of them, turn them into storytellers. Writers get lost in all of
the mass of information they know, and it’s all equally
important and every source they talk to is very important and
they’re very committed to it all. Your job is not to say to them,
“When’s your story going to be in? How long is it going to be?
What’s the structure? Do you have pictures?” but to say, “Tell
me a story. What happened? What was the most interesting
thing? Did you like the person? Why did you like them?” Re-
interview your writers and turn them back into storytellers and
then give them overt permission to go write that story. Then
write down what you did and stick it on your terminal. That’s
very helpful. —Jacqui Banaszynski

‘If the reporter feels like he stubbed his toe, then believe
me the reader has, too.’

The best tip I think in getting a reporter to better organize his

story is just say, “Okay, you can use as much color and
imagery and detail as you want as long as it’s going
somewhere. What does it illustrate?” Hold them to this
standard. “Write as much, as effectively, and as poignantly as
you want, but it has to say something. It has to be leading me
along.” If the reporter feels like he stubbed his toe, then
believe me the reader has, too. —Rick Bragg

What is this story really about?

I learned this lesson because of the way this editor taught me.
A guy I worked with in Providence was forever asking,
“What’s this thing about?” The instance that comes to mind is
this story about a seven-year-old blind boy. “Go out to do a
story about him. He’s in public school. He rides a bike. And,
you know, he’s got a very normal life, which has been very
calculated on the part of his parents.”

I turned in the story, and this editor came up to my desk and

said, “Have you spent an entire day with this kid?” Of course I
was very defensive and said, “Well, jeez, I mean, did you see
the pictures? Where do you think I’ve been? School with him
one day and I went to camp and I had dinner with his family
and interviewed his parents.”

“No, no. Have you spent an entire day with him?” And I said
“Well, no.” And he said, “Well, what is it about? What is it
really about?” I didn’t know what to say. And he said, “You
know, what is it like to be seven years old and blind? What
does that mean? What is your life like?” And then he said,
“What’s the first thing you do when you have a baby? What’s
the first thing?”

And I didn’t have any children then, and I didn’t know, but it
turns out he was right. He said, “We count the fingers and
toes.” That’s the first thing you do when you see this newborn.
Before the baby’s born, you’re begging, pleading, beseeching,
“Make my baby healthy and happy and normal.” So for them,
this is an incredible nightmare.

But, he says, “The question is, what do you do about it?” And
then he said, “Now get your ass back there. Get there before
the kid wakes up and stay until he goes to bed, and let’s do it
again.” And for me, that was a pivotal moment because I
realized that I had to decide what the story was about, then
support it with evidence.

There probably should be another person saying to all of us

“It’s about the reporting.” Because that’s what narrative comes
from. It comes from being there and watching and being
bored and waiting for something to happen. That reporting
can be governed by critical thinking. You are almost roaming
around your story like one of those auto-focus cameras, the
lens going in and out. So that’s the way an editor helped me,
by forcing me to confront what the story was about. Then, in a
sense, everything that story became grew out of that exercise
in critical thinking. —Chip Scanlan

‘If it sounds bad when it’s read out loud, it’s bad. No
exceptions.’

Editors who have helped me with voice have done just a very
simple thing. They’ve told me to read my stories out loud and
hear what they sound like. That’s all it is. If it sounds bad
when it’s read out loud, it’s bad. No exceptions. Hear what it
sounds like.

I do this all the time now to my writers. And writers who have
a problem with voice, I get fairly aggressive about it. If they’re
not reading their stuff out loud, I’ll read it to them or even have
a conversation with them, try to talk to them in the voice of
their story. Say something like, “Hey, Jack, did you hear about
the midnight rampage that broke the stillness of our affluent
neighborhood? I hear that club-wielding police rushed to the
scene and subdued a roving band of youths.”

If the writer has any chance at all of learning anything in this

business, he goes, “Please, give me my story back and let me
do something about that.” It’s very simple. —Bruce DeSilva

‘You can’t really build a story that just keeps rolling out in
front of you without any interruption.’

One of the tricks in terms of being an editor is that if there is a

lot of material in the course of a big, sprawling documentary
project, break it into chapters. Doesn’t matter how long the
chapter is—it can be six minutes long, it can be 15 minutes
long. Break it into chapters or acts. Acts work wonderfully, by
the way. Classic Shakespearean five acts works really well.

Give each chapter a title and know what that title means, and
then cut that piece to make it work and then move on.
Otherwise, you can’t really build a story that just keeps rolling
out in front of you without any interruption. It needs natural
pauses and dramaturgy.

We think in terms of drama and we think in terms of acts all

the time. When we’re sitting around looking at the material
you’ve brought back, we sit down and do the boxes. I have
this habit of making boxes with little arrows that join them, and
each box has to have its idea in it. —David Fanning
More Tips for Editors: A collaborative
relationship at The Oregonian
by Jack Hart and Richard Read

It is important to establish a collaborative relationship between

a writer and an editor to do this kind of work. It’s not the kind
of work you can do in a traditional newsroom structure where
the reporter comes in in the morning and an assistant city
editor assigns a story that is then turned in after that assistant
city editor has gone home for the night, and it’s then edited by
another assistant city editor and kind of just shoved into the
maw of the machine, the way we traditionally produce daily
spot news.

Rich [Read] and I, on a regular basis, every week go over and

sit at a neighborhood coffee shop and talk about narrative, in
general, and what we’ve read and what we think of it. A big
narrative has appeared in the Chicago Tribune. We both read
it. We sit down, we talk about it. I do the same thing with
James Holman and other writers in the newsroom.

Rich has been working on a story on the evolution of the

Japanese economy for quite some time. For about a year and
a half we have talked about the story, talked about its themes,
and talked about the reporting and what the larger points are
that we’re trying to make. It’s a very interesting part of those
coffee shop conversations that we have. We track the subject
of the story. If Rich sees something that he thinks is relevant
to the larger points we’re trying to make in that story he shifts
it over to me to read.

It’s all the front-end discussion and hard thinking about what’s
the universal theme, what’s the context, what are the points
we’re trying to make. And then the reporting is focused on
producing the telling details and finding the themes that will
help make those points. You don’t just go out and
stumblebum around in the world, collecting in a willy-nilly way
a bunch of details that is somehow going to enthrall and
illuminate things for readers. —Jack Hart

Jack’s technique of editing is that you both sit down together

at his computer. And he will read it out loud. And the second
something sounds off or isn’t going to work, then we either fix
it there or we mark it and I go back and redo it. So I think it
would be pretty tough to do without an editor you really trust.
And you also need an advocate. You have to have somebody
who’s able to be in on those newsroom meetings and make
the point that no, this really is worth the space that we need to
give it. —Richard Read
The importance of fact-checking for
journalists
by David Brewer

Why It's Important To Check Facts

Journalism is about finding facts, interpreting their importance,

and then sharing that information with the audience.

That's all journalists do: find, verify, enrich and then

disseminate information.

It sounds easy, but we are dealing with volatile raw material.

Handled carelessly, the facts we uncover, research and
present have the power to cause misunderstandings, damage
and could change the course of history.

That's why it's essential that we apply robust fact-checking to

all our journalism.

This is the process that distinguishes facts from rumour

and gossip.

The following is a check list that all journalists might want to

follow if they are to play an effective role in informing the
public debate.

Are you preventing thorough fact-checking?

The first obstacle to accurate fact-checking could be you. Do

you have a vested interest in the topic, as opposed to a
genuine journalistic interest?
Did you investigate the situation because you have a
desired outcome in mind? Are you trying to make the
facts fit a headline you have already prepared in your
head?

If so, you may have compromised your objectivity which will

make it difficult to produce a piece of journalism that is strictly
factual.

Of course there will always be causes dear to your heart, but

you must not let this influence your work.

The two reliable sources rule

Most media organisations have a rule that all facts should be

confirmed by two reliable sources.Often the wires will be
counted as one source.

The journalist then has to find another source that is willing to

go on record to verify the information. Ideally, you should be
able to attribute the information found to that named source.

Sometimes, because of legal reasons, privacy issues or the

likelihood of danger, it is not advisable to name sources.In
such cases you need to be sure that your source is
trustworthy.

You will need to be able to convince your editor that the

source is legitimate and the information the source is sharing
is correct.

Don't rely on the news wires, they could be wrong

Some media organisations simply copy and paste wires

stories. That's fine; media organisations pay a lot of money for
wires feeds, so they may as well make the most of them.
However, the wires will sometimes get it wrong and issue
retractions. You don't want to have to apologise to your
audience for having blindly copied and pasted unverified
information.

If you do, you may have let your audience down and you will
have reduced the standing of your media organisation, and
yourself, in the minds of those who had previously turned to
you for verified and reliable information.

Who can a journalist trust?

Well, the truth is, nobody. A journalist must never accept what
they are told without scrutinising the information.

Journalists should take a sceptical view of every piece of

information shared with them.They should not blindly trust
contacts – even if those contacts have proved reliable in the
past.

This could lead to a cosy relationship that results in you

dropping your guard, compromising your standards and
publishing or broadcasting incomplete or unreliable
information.

Breaking news, attribution and qualification

There will be times when you break the two-sources

rule.There may be breaking news on the wires and, although
you are unable to confirm the information, you have evidence
that it has happened and want to get the news out quickly.

This will be a senior editorial call. In those cases you will add
the words "according to the wires" or something similar.
You also may want to qualify the information by saying "we
have not yet been able to confirm the reports" or similar
words.

There are other exceptions.

When I worked on my first newspaper we would do the daily

calls to the police, fire and ambulance services.They would
read the list of incidents that had taken place since the last
call. We would then seek out witnesses, neighbours etc
before publishing.

When I moved to local radio we had hourly news

deadlines.We would call the emergency services from the
newsroom and broadcast with attribution and qualification,
such as ‘"police are reporting that", or "according to police."

However, for big stories we would always seek confirmation

either by sending a reporter to the scene or calling victims or
those affected.

Stakeholder influences and sources

So, to recap, a journalist is bombarded with facts and so-

called facts. These come from a wide variety of sources;
stakeholders, contacts, the journalist's own research and
digging.

Whatever the source, whether it is a previously reliable

contact, a trusted friend, or a figure in authority, the same
rigour needs to be applied to all fact-checking.
Senior colleagues:

Did your editor or a senior editorial figure push this story? If

so, why? What was their reason? Don't presume that a story
is legitimate just because it has been handed down to you to
follow up.

News releases:

Did the information come from a news release? If so, what is

it that the publisher wants to promote or hide? Your job is to
reflect all sides of the story.

Wires:

Why did the news agency pick up on that particular point?

What's the reason for putting it out? Did they just regurgitate a
press release?

General public:

Did you get this information directly from a contact? Are they
reliable? Are you sure that you are not being used? Could you
be too close to them? Have you worked with this contact
before? Did you deal with them with integrity? Could they be
expecting favours? If so, what did you do to lead them to
believe that you could be manipulated?

Yourself:

Sometimes you, the journalist, can be the biggest obstacle to

the delivery of reliable information. Be honest about your
interests, weaknesses, favouritisms - you may think you are
beyond reproach, but if you do have a vested interest it will
show through to the audience.
Your job is to deliver facts to your audience so they can make
informed choices. If you deliver lies or distorted facts, you are
adding to the confusion rather than clarifying issues. That is
not journalism. Accuracy in our fact-checking is at the heart of
all we do.Being manipulated and not realising it, is the biggest
danger to fact-checking.
A journalist's guide to verifying info on the
web
by Jennifer Dorroh

When a frustrated computer programmer created a fake

website and press release about a study showing Internet
Explorer users are not as smart as people who used other
browsers, major media organizations fell for the hoax.

CNN, BBC and other news outlets ran stories on their sites
describing the study. When it was revealed as a hoax, they
had to admit that they hadn't properly checked their facts.
(Oddly, this CNN story contains no mention that the study was
fake.)

How could this embarrassment--and an instance of

misinforming the public--have been avoided? Instead of
rushing to publish, the news organizations should have
followed a few simple verification steps, say digital journalists
and journalism trainers Mandy Jenkins and Craig Silverman.
Jenkins, social news editor for the Huffington Post, and
Silverman, editorial director of OpenFile.ca and editor and
author of Regret the Error have these tips for verifying
information found on the web:

 Start with a Whois lookup on the domain to see who

has registered the url.
 Check the Internet archive to get a feel for the overall
history of the site, organization, or person reporting
the information.
 Check the site's Google PageRank. If the page rank
is high, that probably means credible sites have been
linking to it.
  Is there a clear and credible owner of the site? Check
the site footer. Does it point to a real ownership
entity?
 Run blog and news searches to see if the person,
topic or company has been talked about before.
 Are people sharing it on social bookmarking sites like
Digg?
 Make some phone calls and try to get the source of
the info on the phone before you publish anything.
 Check names. Do they have a personal history? Is
the name drawn from history or literature? Hoaxers
often like to be clever by giving themselves historical
names.
 Do the numbers add up? In the case of the fake
Internet Explorer story, the study supposedly
questioned more than 100,000 users, a scale that
would be very difficult to pull off.

When news organizations do decide to report something that

isn't 100 percent confirmed, they should make it very clear
that "this is what we know, this is what we don't know, this
hasn't been confirmed," Silverman says. "It's important to be
brave and transparent about what you don't have."
How to verify news accounts posted on social
media
by Jeff Sonderman

How do you decide what to do with reports found on social

media? Every situation is different, but the considerations are
the same. There are three distinct questions to evaluate:

 How credible is the information?

 How important is it to your audience?
 And how urgent is the situation?

With carefully thought-out answers to these questions, you’ll

be in good position to decide how to proceed.

Evaluating Credibility

Consider the social history of the source. Has this person

been on the network for years, or is this a brand-new account
with no profile photo, friends or history? Has the person
regularly posted information that was credible? In the rare
case that someone deliberately tries to spread false
information, it will probably be from a newly created or
fictitious account, not from a social profile someone spent
years building up.

Ask: Was the source in a position to know what he claims

to know? Much social media misinformation comes from
sources who are mistaken, not outright liars.

 Determine if he witnessed the event firsthand or is

passing along hearsay. Does this person live nearby
or know the people involved?
  Consider whether the source made assumptions. For
example, did he really see fire or just smoke?
 Think critically about whether the source could have
missed something important. Was she driving by (less
reliable) or standing at the scene?

Try to pose these questions directly to the source, and if you

can’t, analyze whatever context you can find.

Seek official corroboration. Do police, firefighters, traffic

cameras or any other official sources of information back up
the claim?

Seek social corroboration. Are other social network users

posting similar, independent reports from the same location?
If a tornado really touched down in a city of 8 million people,
for example, there ought to be more than one photo of it. Be
sure to look for other primary-source reports, not just retweets
or messages based on the account you already have.

Evaluating Importance

Credibility and verification is the most important piece of the

decision, but not the only one. In many cases you’ll reach
some degree of confidence in the report, but fall short of
certainty. You should also consider the nature of the
information itself.

Ask yourself these questions:

 How important is the information to the news that

you’re covering? Is it a fundamental claim (“There
was a shooting at the fireworks tonight”) or an
 incidental fact (There must have been 5,000 people at
the fireworks tonight”)?
 How important is the story to your general
newsgathering mission? Is the overall story
something important enough to consider taking a
risk? Or is it a minor story with little public impact or
interest?
 What are the risks and rewards of publishing this
information? If it turns out to be wrong, what damage
would your report have caused? If it’s true and you
withhold it, how underinformed would your readers
be?

Evaluating urgency

In addition to credibility and importance, you need to be aware

of how time-sensitive the situation is. Consider whether the
information is urgent, and whether it may become irrelevant if
you wait too long to make your decision.

How quickly must you decide what to do? What damage could
be caused by waiting to publish this, perhaps until you
become more confident in your source’s account? Is there a
benefit to waiting? If you are dealing with a report of an
alleged ongoing public safety incident, you must consider the
value of alerting others to the potential danger as soon as
possible.

All of these factors should weigh into your decision. Consider

the overall credibility of the source and your confidence in the
accuracy of the report. Decide how important the information
and the overall news story are to your audience. And weigh
whether the information is time-sensitive and requires an
immediate decision.

If you decide to publish the information, you should disclose to

your audience how you received and vetted the information,
and you should note any caveats or conflicting reports. Be
transparent about your difficult decision, which will empower
the audience to make their own call about whether to trust the
information.
A journalist's guide to verifying news tips on
Twitter
by Jennifer Dorroh

When information appears on social media, it's tempting for

news organizations to race to report it first. Resist that
impulse. You'll have a more complete story -- and one you
won't later regret -- if you follow a few steps from digital
journalists Mandy Jenkins and Craig Silverman.

Jenkins, social news editor for the Huffington Post, and

Silverman, editorial director of OpenFile.ca and editor and
author of Regret the Error, shared their advice during their
presentation, "B.S. Detection for Journalists," at the recent
2011 Online News Association Conference in Boston.

Here are their tips for verifying information found on social

media:

Step 1: Check the person's credibility:

 On Twitter, check when the account was created. Be

suspicious of brand-new accounts.
 How frequent are the updates? Is this a regularly
used account?
 Do they have a photo? If they haven't bothered to add
one to the account, that might be a sign that it's a
fake.
 Do they have friends or followers? Do they follow
others? Do they have any random followers, - namely
watch out for "random, porn spam bots?"
  Are there interactions between this account and
others? No interaction may be the sign of a fake
account.
 Check the account's Klout score to assess the level of
interaction.
 Google the Twitter account's name, or handle, along
with "spam," "scam," "spammer" etc. to see if others
have complained about this account.
 See if you can find other accounts online with the info
you have. Search the username or use Identify in a
Firefox browser, or HoverMe in Chrome.

Step 2: Follow up on the tip

 Ask for a phone number and call the person.

 Ask if they witnessed what they reported first-hand, or
if not, how they heard about it.
 Ask what they witnessed, how they saw it and when
 Ask who else may have the same information

Step 3: Check the credibility of the info

 Check earlier tweets or updates. Did they mention

something about why they were on the scene? Is
there anything leading up to their news tip that makes
sense or puts things in context? Do they indicate
plans, location, etc.?
 Do any follow up tweets or updates make sense in
context?

 Does it read authentically? Misspellings, bad

grammar, typos can also be a sign of a real person.
  If there is an image attached, check to see if it has
geolocation data or exif. Read more about verifying
images here.

Step 4: Corroborate the story

 Check the scanner or police sources to verify

 Back it up on a Twitter search to see if other social
accounts are reporting the same thing
 Use the "Andy Carvin method:" Ask followers to help
verify the information

Step 5: Evaluate your options. Ask yourself:

 How urgent is this information?

 How important is the tip to the overall story? Is there a
story without it?
 Is it worth the risk if it is wrong?
A journalist's guide to verifying images
by Jennifer Dorroh

Breaking news sometimes brings out people who want to fool

the public with doctored images, so every journalist should
know how to verify the authenticity of photos and videos.

Here are their tips for verifying images:

 See what info is attached to the image in an exif

(exchangeable image file format) viewer.
 Check for edits to photos. Use Image Level Analyzer,
which uses photo quality to determine whether a
photo has been altered. (Images saved as jpeg files
lose quality each time they are saved. If someone has
pasted part of one photo into another, different parts
of the image will have different levels of quality.)
 Reference the image's supposed location against
maps and existing images from the area. Examine
weather reports and shadows to confirm that the
conditions shown fit with the claimed date and time.
 Check clothes, building, languages, license plates,
vehicles, signs and other elements of the photo or
video to see if they support what the image claims to
be.
 Review the uploader's history and location to see if he
or she has shared credible content in the past or may
be "scraping" content from others.
 Are there images the shooter took before and after
the one you are trying to verifty that you can use as a
comparison?
 Get the shooter on the phone or Skype to talk about
the image. People are less likely to lie to you when
talking to you directly.
 Beware of the amazing shot in a breaking situation. If
it seems too good to be true, it probably is.
 Use TinEye, a reverse image search engine, which
“finds out where an image came from, how it is being
used, if modified versions of the image exist, or if
there is a higher resolution version,” according to the
site.