Getting ahead of myself

It’s been awhile. I know. I have been sorely neglecting my poor blog because 1. there’s a decided lack of things I feel like blogging about, 2. I have a lot less time in my day than I used to, and 3. I’m lazy.

Something just struck me though.

Life is changing, rapidly. I have a full-time job and all the ups and downs that come with it, and the people I used to know are spreading out across the country although for the most part not much further than a 100km radius from Hamilton.

What hit me is seeing people doing the things that I wish I was doing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy where I am and I’m hugely grateful for the job I have and the career I’m beginning to build, but it’s still a little hard seeing people following my dreams.

I want to be a broadcaster, I’ve known that pretty much since I decided I wanted to be a journalist. As a child I wanted to be an actor, and in a way it’s not such a huge leap, you can see how wanting to act and wanting to anchor the six o’clock news could appeal in a similar way.

A friend of mine from class who, to be honest, I haven’t spoken to very much since leaving tech (but then I’m already out of touch with most of them), got a job at TV3, which is one of the places I want to end up.

Another person I know got a job there too, although we didn’t study together and I don’t know her particularly well. It’s still a case of seeing everyone but me getting a job in television.

I had to stop and give myself a little pep talk: Yes, others are getting the jobs you see yourself in, but this is not the right time for you.

I’d already decided before finishing studying that I should start out in print and stay there for a decent amount of time before (hopefully) diving into broadcasting however I can manage it. Just because other people are getting there before me doesn’t mean anything – it’s not as if I was applying for them. I just had to take a moment to remind myself that I am exactly where I need to be right now. I am following the path I need to take, and I don’t have to rush it.

It’s hard, sometimes, to go where life takes you when you have your sights set on the bigger picture. I think it might be time to start focusing on where I am at the moment and worry about the big stuff later.

On that note, my Sam has finally moved to Wanganui, and for the first time in three years we are living no more than ten minutes apart.

What a breath of fresh air.

Dogs and chooks and old people

Work has been interesting.

For example, someone called me up the other day asking if I could put something in the paper about their dog who had gone missing a week ago. We’d recently put in something else about somebody’s missing dog, so my deputy editor gave me the go ahead and I wrote something up, which went in the Saturday paper.

By Sunday, the dog had been found – at the other end of the country.

Someone staying in Wanganui had found him, didn’t want to leave him alone on the street, and took him back to Auckland with them, about 400km away. Needless to say, that was a funny story to write.

A story I did last week wasn’t quite so nice.

A day care centre down the street had three little chickens they kept in their back yard play area, and overnight somebody hopped the fence and killed the chickens. I went over to interview the manager and while I was there somebody found the chickens’ bodies hidden in the children’s water trough.

I felt sick. My skin got that creeping feeling – not the one where you get goosebumps, but the one where it actually feels like yours skin is crawling.

The other day I went to a retirement village and joined in a fitness routine that the elderly residents do twice a week, and then I had to go back to work and write about it.

This job keeps me guessing every day. Wonder what I’ll do tomorrow.

The apparent downfalls of court reporting

I sat through my first day of court on my own today, and half of that time was spent (unbeknownst to me) with my shirt on backwards. Good start Melissa.

Luckily it was the kind of shirt you couldn’t tell was on backwards. The only sign was the tag, which wasn’t actually visible. The two little lines where it was sewn into the shirt were what caught me eye as I went for a bathroom break. I sheepishly turned my shirt around and went back into the courtroom, looking as nonchalant as I could.

I also worry that I might have appeared to hit on the police prosecutor during a lunch break. I’d gone up and introduced myself, asked him for a summary of facts on a particular case, and then said “nice to meet you” before returning to the press bench. Doesn’t sound too bad, right?

Unfortunately, my voice and face conspired against me as I uttered my parting line, and the “nice to meet you” came out sounding – and looking – somewhat suggestive. Hopefully I played it off with the awkward drumming of my hands on the table as I returned to my seat. ‘Just be cool,’ I told myself.

Apart from that the day went relatively smoothly. It was second time lucky, though. I showed up yesterday ready for action only to be told by the security guards that the judge’s list wasn’t until the next day. I went back to the office with my tail between my legs, feeling like a muppet.

Stay tuned for more adventures of Melissa the inexperienced court reporter.

Falling to certain death

Blog posts are coming few and far between, I’m afraid to say. It’s been two weeks since I last wrote, and every day I feel a little guilty that I’m letting my poor little blog sit growing dust while I gallivant off around the countryside, travelling between Wanganui and Tauranga and everywhere else under the sun.

Today I dropped 80 metres from a bridge above a canyon, all in the name of journalism.

That’s right, as part of my job, I was sent off to Gravity Canyon near Taihape to get strapped into a harness and do a bridge swing while our photographer took unflattering photos of my facial expressions. Needless to say, my throat hurts from all the screaming. He, of course, didn’t make a peep when it was his turn.

“You have to scream like a girl so that I don’t look like a wuss,” I said to him as he was getting strapped in.

“Bastard,” I muttered under my breath as I watched him fall and swing in total silence. The pictures afterwards only showed a look of mild concern on his face, nothing close to the almighty terror I was exhibiting.

Yeah, that terror.

 

My life now

I’ll be the first to say it: I’ve been disgustingly slack at putting any blog posts up lately.

It’s annoying, because I’ll think of something part way through the day that I want to write about, but by the time I get home from work and do all the things I want to do, I’ve either forgotten, or I just can’t be bothered. I feel a little guilty.

So here’s what’s been up since the last time I posted:

• I’ve been writing a bunch of cool news stories. In fact, I was on my way to work the other day when I saw smoke. Having a little time on my hands, I decided to head over and check it out. It was a house burning down. I felt like a real journalist. I even got there before the fire engines did. Neighbours were gathered out on the street in their dressing gowns, and there was one man there who still had shaving cream on his face.
• I’ve been playing squash with a friend, and slowly getting better at it. Slowly. My boyfriend bought me a squash racquet for Christmas, and I’m unreasonably excited to use it.
• I went to the beach with my Wanganui family, including my cousin’s three small children. They’re still a little shy around me, but the three year old spent half the day putting sand on my leg, so I take that as a sign of acceptance. Possibly the cutest part of the week was when my uncle was swimming in the waves and dived underneath. The three year old, who was up on the sand, stretched out his hand and cried “Poppa!” in the most devastated voice I’ve ever heard a toddler use. He then burst into tears, thinking his grandad had just been washed away in the surf.
• I came over to Tauranga to spend Christmas with Sam and my family. Because I’m a clever cookie, I asked for a particular three days off and now I don’t have to go back to Wanganui for nine days.
• I’ve run out of things to talk about.

The new girl

I’d like to think my first day at my new job was a success, considering I came into work today and discovered a story I’d written on the front page of the paper.

There’s a different feeling being the new reporter, as opposed to being the intern. I don’t know if it feels this way for everyone, but I feel far more at home. Maybe it’s because I have my very own desk, computer, and log in account, or maybe it’s just because the people I work with are patient, helpful, and absolutely lovely, but I think what it probably comes down to is my frame of mind.

I finally feel as though I deserve to be here. I got the job because I impressed them and worked hard throughout the year to get good experience and grades. It wasn’t a case of me walking up and asking to do experience, and them putting up with me while I pottered away on some story. I was actually wanted. That’s a really great feeling, and I’d say it’s a good part of the reason I feel so comfortable.

I’ve observed that notes seem to pop up magically in my workspace without me noticing. I was working away at my computer when I glanced to my left and noticed a note with a name, phone number, and instructions not to name the person in the story I was working on. I never saw anybody put the note there, so I can only assume it is witchcraft. Later in the day, I noticed a sticky note on the bottom of my monitor telling me a patient I’d been calling the hospital about had been discharged. Where did this information come from? One can only wonder.

If the random notes aren’t confusing enough, I somehow ended up with four phonebooks on my desk.

Today I found myself wondering if journalists develop a special ability to stop elderly people rambling during interviews. The woman I was speaking to was lovely, but boy, could she talk. When the photographer and I were finally ready to go, she would not let us leave before taking a fun-sized chocolate bar each. She then grabbed my arm, pulled me in closer, and said “You have a very pale face”.

It’s an interesting job, there’s no denying that.

Reasons I’m just not coping

1. I’ve been given a job at a respectable, daily newspaper, but it’s in Wanganui, right down the other end of the North Island from everyone I love.

2. I need to figure out a start date, probably within the next two or three weeks. This means trying to sort out time to visit my Dad and family in Auckland, my mother, and my boyfriend’s family in Tauranga before leaving.

3. Sam has told me he’ll move to Wanganui too, but he wants to find a job there first before he moves, and I don’t know how long that will take, or when he’ll actually start looking. Plus, if he gets accepted in the March intake into police college, he won’t bother moving. I don’t know how long we’ll be apart.

4. Money is crazy at the moment.

5. I think my cat hates me.

6. I don’t know why I’m not coping. I just keep feeling a weird mixture of stressed, sad, angry, and tired.

But aside from all these things, I’m ridiculously excited to start my new job. So to make this sad list a little balanced, here’s another list.

Reasons I’m happy

1. I get to have a real, professional email address. Many of you will not understand the awkwardness of emailing someone for an interview with a hotmail address.

2. I’m going to live with my cousin in Wanganui.

3. I’m going to be a lot closer to family that I usually never see.

4. I can go visit my boyfriend’s best friend who’ll be living just across the river from me.

5. I’ll have a full time job which means FULL TIME PAY. Sayonara money issues. Well, I hope anyway.

6. I get to take my cat with me, even though he hates me.

7. I get to see how I’ll do as a real journalist. Spread my wings and all that jazz.

 

Something new

I’m starting to see the rewarding side of journalism.

The other day I met a man who’d been walloped with the biggest bag of lemons life could find, and he was making lemonade by the bucketful.

Figuratively, of course. There was no lemonade in sight when I went to interview him for a story, but I wouldn’t have turned any down. It was a hot day.

Anyway, if I’ve interpreted the saying correctly, what I mean is that this man had some pretty bad luck, but he was doing the best he can with what he had to turn it around. This guy was diagnosed with cancer in February, and multiple sclerosis in May. His wife had brain cancer. They had two sons, three and five years old. It’s a tragic story, but I was blown away by the man’s positive attitude and determination to do everything he could to fight his disease.

After I wrote an article about an event he was organising to fundraise for MS research, he emailed me several times saying how grateful he was that I’d interviewed him. I could tell I’d really made his day. It was an absolutely fantastic feeling to see that kind of response. You almost forget that not everybody hates journalists, so it’s a little startling to have somebody be so happy to talk to you.

Today, as well, was a learning experience. I went to interview a couple of people, and had to have one of them translate for the interview, as they were Korean. I sat there thinking about how interesting it was for me, never having had to get anything translated for a story before. It’s probably not a big deal to anybody, but I checked it off my list of random, interesting things that happened to me that day.

I’m enjoying all these new experiences.

The bull’s horns

“Have you applied for any jobs yet?”

I keep getting this question, and I’m ashamed – horribly ashamed – of my answer.

“No, I haven’t even updated my CV yet.”

The end of the year is drawing near and with it comes the end of a three year degree. Everybody is furiously applying for jobs and sending out CV’s left, right, and centre. Here I am, sitting around wringing my hands because I don’t know where I should be applying, and then wringing my hands some more because I haven’t done anything about it yet. Ah procrastination, my old friend.

My flatmate just got a job the other day. I’m not sure, but I think she might be the first person in our class to get a proper journalism job. She and I were sitting in the lounge together when she got a call, and I shamelessly eavesdropped on the entire conversation. I could barely contain my excitement for her when I heard the words “we’d like to offer you the job”. In celebration of her job-seeking success we went out to sit on the lawn and made daisy chains while our kitten ran around climbing trees.

But now the pressure is on for me. I’ve left everything so late and even now I’m still procrastinating. I mean, Hell, I’m sitting on my bed blogging instead of fixing up my CV.

Time to get onto that.

Our big adventure

My friend and I recently put our hands up to join in on a project that involved travelling to another part of the country for a night and interviewing a doctor. Pretty simple stuff. Our accommodation, petrol, and food is paid for, and once we have the interview out of the way we can spend the rest of our time here chilling out and exploring.

So here we are, living it up in New Plymouth. Well, as much as you can live it up in New Plymouth anyway.

I woke up at quarter to six this morning to make it from Tauranga to Hamilton in time to leave Hamilton for New Plymouth at 7.30. Sacha and I left the house at 7.40, and ended up turning around three times to get something from home. The first time Sacha realised she’d forgotten her laptop. The second time we figured out that neither one of us had brought the important piece of paper telling us about what we were interviewing the doctor about. The third time we decided we wanted to get the cassette thing that lets me plug my ipod into the car. By this point we realised we were actually running well on time and could afford to turn back one more time.

When we reached the hospital we got a little lost, but everything went well once we found our guy. After the interview we set off in search of our hotel.

Now, as we reached the hotel, I started to get a deep feeling of dread in my stomach. It looked like a dump. We pulled into the hotel carpark and I thought to myself “this is the place where dreams go to die”. There was a strong possibility, in my mind, that we would get murdered or abducted as we walked from the carpark to the hotel reception.

When we went inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was nice. It looked classy. We survived the treacherous trek from the car.

So as it turns out, the place isn’t half bad, and we did not, in fact, choose a dud. That being said, here’s the view from our room’s window.