The Friday night before we went to the printers, I sipped Earl Grey tea and read every story, checking every comma, ellipses, em-dash, pull quote, and photo caption. I scoured for blatant errors, only happy to find them to keep some sanity and tell myself that it’s not all for nothing. Felix slept in my lap, occasionally waking to stretch and meander across my desk scattered with proofs and pens. I worked late and typically woke too early. The exhaustion was from the accumulated weeks and months prior—brainstorming layout and visuals, getting through fact-checking and resolving any issues, and leading the copyediting team, while reporting and writing my own stories.

I lived and breathed The Review of Journalism for eight months, among my other occupations as a photographer, writer, and teaching assistant. Being the production editor meant I needed some idea about the status of all print content as we worked towards our deadline. Yet the process is fluid—problems arise, sources don’t answer the phone, and life happens. It relies on communication and collaboration to get the work done.

When a masthead member was sick, another on their team would step in and give an update. If a fact-checker was overwhelmed with their workload, the heads of research would pick up the phone. If you texted us saying you couldn’t make it due to commuting in a blizzard, no worries, just let us know what you’re working on and if you need help. It was not always so easy and there were conflicts, but we looked out for each other and learned how to work together despite all odds.

We produced an excellent magazine and insightful online stories along the way. We hosted a panel on AI’s place in the newsroom, recorded podcasts on journalism innovation, and celebrated a successful year (and Bill Reynolds’s retirement) at our launch party in April. Yet there is so much more to The Review than listing its accomplishments.

It is the challenge of pitching the right story and establishing trust with people to speak on-the-record. It’s the resilience and tenacity of getting the story even when a primary source backs out. The sleepless nights aren’t romantic like the movies but leave me with a sense of satisfaction or frustration when the computer is finally shut down. The process is akin to my relationship with roller coasters: sometimes terrifying, sometimes fun, and sometimes asking myself, Why the hell am I doing this?

You do it for the story that you’ve become so desperately attached to—whether it’s the threat of misinformation, the ingenuity of Gen Z, profiling trailblazing leaders, or exposing systemic bias or stigma, writers become indebted to their narratives—to see it through.

It rarely comes out as expected, which is the bittersweet fact of telling true stories. A journalist does not control a narrative but tells it as they see and hear it. A good journalist explores all avenues of their research and reporting to find and tell others a story supported by facts and lived experiences.

It often involves scouring the internet for information, emailing and setting up interviews with sources, and dissecting details from your notes to pull the narrative together. Yet two years of j-school taught me that good journalism also requires cold calling and showing up unannounced, fostering relationships with people you want to talk to so they will talk to you, and dealing with rejection upon rejection when you’re digging into a good story.

Our masthead did some really great journalism this past year and I encourage you to read or subscribe. Cheers to another successful issue of The Review of Journalism!

A Review of The Review

Pride & Journalism

Me & 2023