New Version of Writing for the Media

When I was younger, it was ambitious to dream of writing for media outlets–newspapers, paid subscriber journals or magazines, or network television. To get such a job seemed impossible–it was grabbing the gold ring on the carousel.

With the major announcement of the merger of a large metropolitan newspaper (in the USA) with a major internet company, a long-standing trend has been confirmed.

According to Preston James, PhD, columnist for internet-based  military and foreign affairs journal Veterans Today:

You cannot easily find any young people going to mainstream mass media TV network news for information, they all go to the alternative news sites on the web like Drudgereport.com, Rense.com, Presstv.ir, whatreallyhappened.com, Veteranstoday.com, rt.com, infowars.com, amtvmedia.com, rinf.com, wired.com (danger room), and so many more fine newsfeed websites like these that it would fill pages.

Today, the reality of attaining  a media writing job is within reach.  Learn more about creating Internet content. Search “writing Internet content” on your favorite search engine. Happy reading!

So the Story Goes

According to some, there was a large gathering of those prominent in the publishing industry in the year 1880. The guest of honor, John Swinton, was a leader at the New York Times and had a significant career in journalism behind him. Someone offered a toast to America’s independent press. The guest of honor retorted:

“There is no such thing, at this date of the world’s history, in America, as an independent press. You know it and I know it.

There is not one of you who dares to write your honest opinions, and if you did, you know beforehand that it would never appear in print. I am paid weekly for keeping my honest opinion out of the paper I am connected with. Others of you are paid similar salaries for similar things, and any of you who would be so foolish as to write honest opinions would be out on the streets looking for another job. If I allowed my honest opinions to appear in one issue of my paper, before twenty-four hours my occupation would be gone.

The business of the journalists is to destroy the truth, to lie outright, to pervert, to vilify, to fawn at the feet of mammon, and to sell his country and his race for his daily bread. You know it and I know it, and what folly is this toasting an independent press?

We are the tools and vassals of rich men behind the scenes. We are the jumping jacks, they pull the strings and we dance. Our talents, our possibilities and our lives are all the property of other men. We are intellectual prostitutes.”

Justice, Part Two

Asklotta requested I write Part 2 to 8/23/2012’s short story “Justice.” Your wish, Asklotta, is my command.

I went hunting for inspiration and found it on www.zerohedge.com in Tyler Durden’s 8/23/2012 post titled “JPM’s London Whale May Face Jail Time for Mismarking Billions in CDS.” I hope you enjoy another installment of “Justice.”

Justice: Part Two

by Fay Moore © 2012

 On the 20^th floor, night’s blackness is arriving without a sound. Reds, purples and oranges chase the sun out of sight beyond J.R.’s office window.

Late nights are de rigueur at the Wall Street firm, so an analyst knows where to find J. R. when the after-hours news comes across the wire. J. R. is in his office, as expected. Unexpectedly, J. R. is in front of his desk when the subordinate knocks on the jamb of the open office door. The boss is striding back and forth atop a broad gilded stripe on the carpet, as if the line is a runway and his feet, the plane flown by a pilot practicing incessant touch-and-go landings.

The underling centers himself inside the door frame, lowers his eyes and waits politely. J. R. makes two more passes in front of the desk before acknowledging the interruption.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“You asked me to let you know if anything hit the alternative news wires. Something is up on ZeroHedge.”

The boss swears under his breath and heads for his desk. He grabs the arm of the executive desk chair forcefully, rolling it backwards, and jumps into the leather seat, driving the rolling chair forward. The ricochet reminds the subordinate of the lethal motion of a pistol slide.

The Internet article says J. R., as chief executive officer, and his firm are in trouble: in addition to the uncomfortable news of the firm’s suffering massive losses for the quarter, now comes an accusation that players in the firm engage in criminal mismarking of credit default swaps to boost reported profits with the intent to defraud shareholders and investors.

J. R. knows that regulators are three years behind in following up allegations of wrong-doing. A bigger threat, in the form of bad press, comes from self-appointed enforcers outside the establishment. Envious or angry insiders leak damaging information into the alternative news channels. Internet-based sleuths are busy lifting carpet corners, shining light on hidden filth missed by lazy, stupid or blind regulators. Going from trickles to torrents,  the news leaks push J. R. to make admissions about the bad behavior of the London-based trading office, and name names of guilty parties. To cover his own ass, he denies foreknowledge of the crimes. Then there’s the LIBOR scandal, to which J. R.’s firm is a party–if not directly, then by association.

J. R. belongs to the You-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours Boy’s Club where men help each other evade the law, at least, and commit horrific crimes, at most.

The executive admits to himself that the media snowball is rolling downhill and growing out of control. The bad news, that came in monthly dribs and drabs of disjointed factoids in the beginning,  is coming faster and faster now; from monthly leaks to weekly to daily to hourly ones.  At first, J. R.’s smooth spin paints the Internet newsmongers as “nutters” chasing phantoms. J. R. is a master at disconnecting the dots. His executive board loves him for that quality. But now the fouling of the firm is overwhelming. The big question at the top is who is going down?

J. R. is waiting for a call from his criminal defense lawyer. That’s why he was pacing when the associate showed up in his office doorway. He needs the legal firm’s resources to manufacture an escape route that will keep him alive and functioning. He is trying to keep his neck out of the noose.

The television mounted on his office wall—the one that is always on and tuned to the financial news network with the prettiest broadcasters–sounds a bell. For some odd reason, J. R. mistakes the sound for the peal of the early warning system. He looks up at the screen. The announcer speaks. The news rattles him. The former head of a competing firm is dead, shot today by an unidentified gunman while he and his wife are vacationing in the south of France.

In the middle of a sentence, the broadcaster stops speaking, pressing his finger against the device in his ear.

After a pause, the reporter says, “We have breaking news. The shooting appears to be an assassination. A source inside French law enforcement says the shooting has all the hallmarks of a professional hit. We’ll bring you the details as soon as we know more.”

“A professional hit? By whom?” the underling asks his boss.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice quieter than normal. “Look, I have a call to make. Thanks for telling me about the ZeroHedge thing. That’s all for now.” J. R. walks the man toward the door, shutting the door behind him.

He calls his lawyer again and gets the receptionist.

He identifies himself to her, then says, “This is urgent. I need my attorney now.”

The barrister’s paralegal comes on the line. He recognizes the investment banker’s voice. J. R. gets to the point.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard the latest. I fear someone is targeting investment bankers.”

“Yes, I heard the French news.”

“Then you understand. I need protection, and I need it tonight. I don’t know who is behind the threat, but. . . .”

A bullet breaks through the office window glass, striking J. R. in the back of the head and blowing a gaping hole in his frontal lobe as the projectile exits the skull. As J. R. falls, a tinny voice calls through the small speaker of the phone.

“Hello? Hello?”

In a moment, the line goes dead.

Writing Non-fiction with the Punch of Fiction

For today’s post, I borrowed a piece of writing that I thought did a good job of adding a bit of punch to a news item. The original article in its entirety can be seen at http://www.zerohedge.com/contributed/2012-07-12/preparing-inevitable. I’ve excerpted a section for educational purposes.

Hope you find this helpful when you write something like a magazine article. If you can add a bit of spice to your writing style, it may make your submission stand out to an editor. Be a good chef: know when to draw the line on the seasonings. Too much can spoil the dish.

Nuff said:

One thing we haven’t had to contend with much in the past is the impact of a computer glitch on our lives. My favorite example occurred right here in San Diego on July 4^th.

The long awaited, highly anticipated, state-of-the-art fireworks tribute to American independence is an event so spectacular that people drove hundreds of miles just for the “oohing” and the “aahing”, and the gut punching of dozens of thunderous explosions spread out over forty-five minutes.

Billed as the Big Bay Boom it is a fireworks lover’s heaven. The show itself was produced by the venerable century old firm, Garden City Fireworks, all the way from Millington, New Jersey.

No amateurs flickin’ bics in a trench somewhere. Four separate locations, including three barges brought into the bay itself, would serve as launch pads.

Because of the uniqueness of the site, this would be one of company’s biggest shows of the year and they do hundreds of them from coast to coast.

As darkness set in, people positioned themselves for what was to come.

And, then it began.

Oh, and it was magnificent! No one could recall ever seeing anything bigger or hearing anything louder. One observer described it as looking “as though a flaming planet were roaring right at us.”

It was an apt description. It had that Steppenwolf song “Born to Be Wild” lyric quality to it, “Fire all of our guns at once, explode into space.”

And then…. it was over. Done, fine, the end.

They had indeed fired all of their guns at once and the show was done in 15 seconds, pretty much guaranteeing some kind of Guinness record I would imagine.

Officials referred to the event as “premature ignition.”

But hey, it happens to all of us at one time or another, right?

The Big Bay Boom was just that, one big boom. Only a computer could do that.