How does feel to write a story and then, just like that, have everyone read it as well as be interested in reading it?
How would it feel to not have to hope quasi-desperately that a story does well after having spent hours – if not days – on it?
How would it feel to not slog and slog, telling yourself that you just need to be proud of covering a beat few others have chosen to?
“Good journalism can only emerge from being a good citizen” – but is there a way to tell what kind of citizenship is valuable and what kind not?
Of course, I’m also asking myself questions about why it is that I chose to be a journalist and then a science journalist.
The first one doesn’t have a short answer and it’s probably also too personal to be discussing on my blog. So let’s leave that for another day, or another forum.
Why science journalist? Because it’s like Kip Thorne has said: it was the pleasure of doing “something in which there was less competition and more opportunity to do something unique.”
When I tell people I’m a science journalist, a common response goes like this: “I’ve distanced myself from science and math since school”. And it goes with a smile. I smile, too.
Except I’m not amused. This mental block that many people have I’ve found is the Indian science journalist’s greatest enemy – at least it’s mine.
What makes it so great is that, to most people, it’s a class- and era-specific ‘survival skill’ they’ve adopted that has likely made their lives more enjoyable.
And we all know how hard it is give fucks about the wonders that unknown unknowns can hold. It’s impossible almost by definition.
Then there are also so many fucks demanded of us to be given to the human condition.
But Ed Yong’s tweet I will never forget, though I do wish I’d faved it: there’s so much more to science than what applies to being human.
Of course, there’s the other, much simpler reason I’m thinking all this, and so likelier to be true: I’m just a lousy science journalist, writing the worst poem ever.
Featured image credit: Pixel-mixer/pixabay.