So yeah; me and my twisty, blackened morals have been accepted to a university in Edinburgh to do an honours degree in Journalism and English- my two dream subjects/career paths. Excellent, no?
Now, all I have to worry about are things like financing, finding somewhere to live, whether or not I’m suited for the course, whether or not I’ll be able to meet deadlines on time, if I’m going to be able to fit in properly with other people at uni, being able to find and buy the books that I will need to revise, my ability to revise and swot up on things before exams, being poor in the most expensive city in Scotland and whether or not I’ll miss the people I know where I live currently.
The stereotypical image of a journalist as a sleazy, morally bankrupt asshole does not have a home in my head. In my head, journalists are idealistic, contantly seeking the truth so that the general public gets to know. The real image is probably in between those two.
But I still want to be a journalist. I am not idealistic, but I have morals. Albeit twisty, blackened versions of the socially acceptable kind, but morals nonetheless. To me, being a journalist has a lot to do with them; the truth is ambiguous, and it will be my job to decide what is morally right and wrong to print, eventually. Of course, I have no illusions, I don’t think; I am aware that it will probably be a very, VERY long time before anything I say is read by the general public, or even a specialised section of it!
But I still want to be a journalist. I am good at writing things. Very good. And more importantly, I’m cynical; I am realistic in my expectations, I think. I know it most likely won’t pay a huge amount, unless I’m very, very good at writing. I know I probably won’t write anything truly momentous, that will attract a lot of attention and make me famous, and I know that there is probably nothing that I can ever say that will change other peoples’ minds.
But I still want to be a journalist.