PODCAST EPISODE #65: Olivia Loomis Merrion, Murrow-winning documentarian

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(Photo credit Cayce Clifford)

One good National Murrow winner deserves another.

On my last Telling the Story podcast, I interviewed WTVF-TV’s Catherine Steward, who won a Large Market TV station National Edward R. Murrow award for Excellence in Sound. She gave an invaluable breakdown of her brilliant production, from her techniques when shooting video to her commitment to gathering audio. Her piece seemed like the pinnacle of a local TV news feature, rooted in traditional storytelling.

My guest for this episode went a different route.

She told a powerful story as well, but she did it with the foundations of documentary: a steady, slow pace; methodically deployed effects, and a soft bed of music. The piece is called “Recovering from Rehab” – a team-up with Reveal and the Center for Investigative Reporting – and its accompanying investigation became a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. In my earlier post about lessons learned from this year’s Murrow winners, here’s how I described Merrion’s piece:

It’s just as effective, just as gripping, but nowhere near as sensational as its analogues in TV. Producer Olivia Merrion and reporters Amy Julia Harris and Shoshona Walter triumph here, with a straightforward but thoroughly reported story about a man sentenced to a year in prison but diverted to an alcoholism recovery program (despite no addiction to alcohol) where he mainly worked on a chicken processing plant. The super-tight shots at the start grab attention immediately, and from there Merrion and her team unfold the story with a deliberate confidence in its content.

Merrion is my guest on Episode #65 of the Telling the Story podcast.

I have worked in local TV news for my entire career, and I have received tremendous opportunities and national honors while maintaining a relatively stable salary and work-life balance. But when I speak to someone like Merrion – or recent podcast guest Emily Kassie – I always marvel at the allure and creative freedom of the documentarian route. I admire storytellers like Merrion who pursue stories with purpose, passion, and few restrictions for how to approach a subject. She has worked with major outlets and produced nationally recognized work, and she’s just five years into her career.

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PODCAST EPISODE #64: Catherine Steward, photographer, WTVF-TV

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I rarely ask a Telling the Story podcast guest to come back for a second episode. I like to spread the audio wealth and interview as many storytellers and journalists as possible to provide a full spectrum of perspectives for my audience.

But when a previous guest wins a National Edward R. Murrow award with one of the most pristine slices of video I’ve ever seen, I can make an exception.

Catherine Steward has captured numerous honors for her work as a photojournalist for WTVF-TV in Nashville. This may be her biggest yet. She took the Large Market TV station Murrow for Excellence in Sound, and the winning piece was a solo effort. Steward heard about a foundation called Strings for Hope that repurposes musical strings into wearable art, made by women who were formerly incarcerated with drug and alcohol addiction. In my earlier post about lessons learned from this year’s Murrow winners, I wrote this about Steward’s story:

It’s a beautiful concept, and Steward rises to it with an equally beautiful treatment. She captures crisp audio, whether on the Nashville streets or inside the string-spinning studio. Then she layers it in the edit with seamless fades in and out, musical and natural-sound-based scene switches, and pristine video to match.

This piece is a winner, no doubt. But it’s maybe the most instructive and practical for up-and-coming storytellers in need of inspiration.

I decided to interview Steward for the podcast because of that final observation. Young visual storytellers – photographers, reporters, or solo video journalists – should examine this piece for the myriad of techniques it includes. I asked Steward to deconstruct her story, scene by scene, nearly shot by shot, to give the rest of us a chance at producing something similar.

So BEFORE YOU LISTEN to this podcast, watch “Strings for Hope” below. And follow along with Steward on Episode #64 of the Telling the Story podcast.

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5 lessons from this year’s National Edward R. Murrow Award winners

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Awards season typically crests and winds down as the summer arrives, with one of the highest of honors coming near the cycle’s end.

Last week the RTDNA announced this year’s national recipients of the Edward R. Murrow awards. Whenever the list comes out, I spend hours watching the winners. So often, even working in journalism, we miss the majority of the great work done nationwide. The Murrows gives us another chance to witness the pinnacle of our craft.

Here’s what I learned from pieces that spanned the spectrum of broadcast and digital media:

THE STORY: Recovering from Rehab (Reveal/Center for Investigative Action)
THE LESSON: Slow and steady CAN win the race.

Working in local TV has conditioned me to expect a certain type of investigative story: URGENT voicing from the reporter, DRAMATIC confrontations with a person in power, and WHIZ-BANG graphics to hold the attention of the casual news viewer who’s debating whether to keep watching or head to bed.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. This piece shows how.

Recovering from Rehab took the National Murrow for investigative reporting among Small Digital News Organizations, and it’s easy to see why: it’s just as effective, just as gripping, but nowhere near as sensational as its analogues in TV. Producer Olivia Merrion and reporters Amy Julia Harris and Shoshona Walter triumph here, with a straightforward but thoroughly reported story about a man sentenced to a year in prison but diverted to an alcoholism recovery program (despite no addiction to alcohol) where he mainly worked on a chicken processing plant. The super-tight shots at the start grab attention immediately, and from there Merrion and her team unfold the story with a deliberate confidence in its content.

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PODCAST EPISODE #63: Here’s how my journey in journalism affects my view as a dad.

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A few nights ago, I sat in my living room at 3 AM, feeding my daughter while contemplating my first Father’s Day as a dad, when one single moment crystallized my entire fatherly experience:

My baby spit milk into my mouth.

I couldn’t have planned it. I probably can’t replicate it. I had just pulled Olivia’s bottle and perched her on my lap. I had patted her back to burp her, then clutched her against my chest to soothe her. We had sat silently, her head leaning against mine, when I turned my cheek to give hers a kiss. As my lips puckered, Olivia swiveled her head my way and sent an ounce of milk fountaining from her mouth. Most landed on my shirt, some across my face. The rest settled inside my jaw. Dignity.

But it wasn’t her action that encapsulated my life as a dad. It was my reaction. I pffted out the milk, looked at my child, shook my head and laughed out loud in a pitch-black room. I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t grossed out. I felt grateful.

I’ve been waiting so long to be a dad, I thought. A little milk in the mouth is all part of the package.

I often wonder how my job as a journalist affects my outlook as a father, and it’s not always obvious. But in moments like the Great Spitting Incident of 2018, it becomes clear. Same when the twentieth person of the week asks me, “Are you sleeping at all yet?” I am! And what little sleep I lose hasn’t bothered me. Neither have the middle-of-the-night feeds, exploding poops, and impromptu workouts from carrying Olivia on my shoulder for 20 minutes.

I can shrug it off in Atlanta because I remember Sioux City. (more…)

I never thought much of journalism workshops. Then I attended one.

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This entry initially appeared on the Telling the Story blog last year. I rewrote and expanded it for 2018, and a version will appear in the next edition of News Photographer magazine.

My first experience at a journalism workshop was, well, not good.

I was a new college graduate, looking for my first job in TV. I had won a national college radio award and was invited to accept it in Las Vegas, at a side convention connected with the enormous NAB Show. At the time I didn’t drink, didn’t gamble, and didn’t dip into the types of nightlife and debauchery for which Vegas is most known. So I ate at a few buffets, caught a concert by a Beatles tribute band, spent ten minutes accepting my award, and meandered around NAB Show unable to access anything of value.

I didn’t need to see the latest camera lenses and production trucks. I needed a job. I wasn’t going to find one here. I left unimpressed with the workshop experience. For the next eleven years, I never considered attending another.

That was a mistake.

These days I sound the clarion for workshops. When I get asked to speak, I rarely turn them down. When I don’t get asked to speak, I sometimes go anyway and always encourage others to join. Why? I love the passion and enthusiasm that always emerge.

Rarely does our business make time for education. We are expected to learn on the fly and develop our skills while making all of our deadlines in the daily crunch. This is not unreasonable; in fact, I have always found I learn more by doing than watching.

Maybe that’s why I once balked at workshops. Yes, my Vegas experience left a stain, but my entry-level bank account didn’t compel me to drop hundreds of dollars (and valuable vacation days) to listen to a few people who I wasn’t sure I’d value anyway. I prized my own independence and unique viewpoint as a storyteller. I didn’t want to learn how to tell stories like everyone else.

I don’t deny any of these reasons. And as a new father who now funnels much of my money and spare time toward my daughter, I remain stingy and selective with my workshop dollar. I also still prefer to learn by doing.

But I find great value in watching. And I realized that value eleven years after Vegas, when I finally dipped again into workshop waters.

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I just worked remotely with a world-class photojournalist. Here’s what I learned.

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Three months ago, I did something that would be considered blasphemous to the storytelling gods:

I blew off an invitation from Boyd Huppert.

When a 100x-Emmy winner reaches out to collaborate on a story, you should respond within minutes and say, “Absolutely, and where can I send the fruit basket to say thanks?” Boyd is not just a fabulous storyteller; he has been a constant source of inspiration, a guest on my podcast, and the author of the foreword for my book, The Solo Video Journalist. But on this day, I had to blow him off.

I had a good reason, though: my wife was in labor with our first child.

A day later, when our daughter had arrived and I had gained a few minutes to scroll through my messages, I saw Boyd’s note again and responded. He had discovered an extraordinary story involving a family in his region (the Twin Cities) and a 50-year-old man in mine (metro Atlanta). He proposed a video swap: I would shoot in ATL, and his team would shoot in MSP. When I realized I could shoot my part upon returning from paternity leave, I leapt at the chance.

Why? Of course I welcomed the opportunity to team up with Boyd. But I got especially excited about getting to work with his photographer. Boyd’s pieces for KARE-TV’s Land of 10,000 Stories segment are both poignantly written and immaculately shot, by photographers who regularly rank among the best in the country. I delighted at the chance to peek under the hood, use their footage, and study their techniques.

I got what I wished.

Boyd worked on this piece with Kevin Sullivan, a multiple finalist for NPPA Photographer of the Year and a recent Regional Edward R. Murrow winner. (He has since left KARE-TV to take a job with the Mayo Clinic.) Sully is a tremendous talent, and I dove into his video the way a child shovels through packing peanuts to get to a gift. I found treasure after treasure, from impeccably framed shots to beautifully captured moments. Here are three lessons I’ll take away for my own work as a photographer: (more…)

PODCAST EPISODE #62: Jay Acunzo, founder, Unthinkable Media

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The greatest influence on my work last year came from outside my industry.

I am a broadcast journalist who’s been in the business 15 years, and in 2017 I spoke at six workshops, went to several awards ceremonies, and participated in four company summits. I witnessed a slew of inspiring speakers, colleagues, and leaders.

But I transformed my game thanks to Jay Acunzo.

He doesn’t work in journalism – he actually eschewed the industry when he would have begun professionally – but he sure works in storytelling. He is the founder of Unthinkable Media and oversees a handful of B2B podcasts to reshape the way businesses connect with their audiences. But his primary podcast, Unthinkable, serves up weekly reminders of the value of carving your own path. Acunzo abhors the idea of “best practices”. He encourages trusting your intuition and developing your voice.

Those qualities might sound familiar. They’re the basis of what my podcast is all about, specifically for journalists.

But that’s the problem. Young journalists too often become funneled into the familiar through traditional media outlets that demand quantity, speed, and routine over quality, depth, and originality. I have spoken before – including directly to college students – about thinking big. I use this podcast to spotlight others who do the same. Acunzo thinks huge but methodically, passionately, and with a willingness to push beyond the norm.

Last summer I received the opportunity to launch my own storytelling franchise, Untold Atlanta, for the city’s NBC affiliate. I didn’t want to become complacent. I wanted to break ground. Around that time, I began listening to Unthinkable’s eight-part “How Intuition Works” series. Every episode bubbled new ideas into my mind. The results soon showed: original output, audience response, and numerous honors. Most recently, my first Untold Atlanta documentary received a regional Edward R. Murrow award, my first in the documentary category.

Acunzo is my guest on Episode #62 of the Telling the Story podcast. He may not be my typical guest, but that’s what makes him great. He’s a founder, creator, keynote speaker, podcaster, and soon-to-be book author. More importantly, he’s an original thinker who inspires others to follow unique paths.

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Don’t be (just) your business card

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This year I began writing regular columns for the NPPA’s News Photographer magazine. Here is my first piece, discussing how my journalistic efforts have never been restricted to my work in the newsroom.

My business card says I’m a reporter. So does my voice when I call a potential interview subject. I want to introduce myself with the simplest, most authoritative description of what I do for employment. “Reporter” meets that threshold.

But it doesn’t feel complete. Like most of my colleagues in journalism, I stopped doing one job long ago.

Yes, I am a reporter. For nearly nine years, I have produced packages, presented live shots, and covered everything from the city council to the Super Bowl for WXIA-TV in Atlanta.

But I am also a photographer. I shoot my own stories and have done so since entering the business as a one-person sports department in Sioux City, Iowa.

I am an editor. I have swung from tape-to-tape to Avid Newscutter to Edius 8.0. I can prepare a 90-second report in 20 minutes, but I’d rather spend hours – and sometimes days – poring over a four-minute masterpiece.

I am a graphic artist. For years, Photoshop intimidated me. This past year I pushed myself to learn the basics. Same with After Effects. I produce animations and creative presentations that slide into various stories.

I am a social media user and digital advocate. I need to be. Facebook didn’t exist when I entered the business. Today it delivers more than 90% of my station’s page views, so I must include it in my workflow. And it pays off.

The roles continue outside of the newsroom. I am a blogger, writing weekly entries about the journalism world for my Telling the Story blog since 2013. I am a podcaster, clearing 60 episodes of long-form interviews with luminaries in the field. I am a student, working towards an MFA in narrative nonfiction at the University of Georgia’s journalism school. I am a speaker, giving presentations at multiple conferences and workshops every year. (I also co-directed one – the NPPA Southeast Storytelling workshop – in 2016.) I am even an author. I spent two years writing, editing, and finding a publisher for The Solo Video Journalist, a how-to guide for one-person crews that has become required reading for broadcast classes at various colleges.

With this piece, I add another title: magazine columnist. I did not envision it, but I welcome the privilege and opportunity to reach and spotlight my peers and fellow NPPA members.

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PODCAST EPISODE #61: Emily Kassie, award-winning documentary filmmaker

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Her credits include the New York Times, NBC Left Field, BBC, and Huffington Post.

Her awards include the NPPA, Overseas Press Club, and the Ellie.

Her projects include captivating documentaries of varying lengths, shot anywhere from south Florida to East Africa.

And she’s 25 years old.

Emily Kassie has carved an extraordinary space for herself less than five years into her professional career, but it’s no accident. She shoots with skillful craft and composition, and she covers heavy topics with an expertise and sensitivity that allow her stories to shine. But more than that, she fights for those topics, which so often get pooh-poohed in mainstream publications and stations as too difficult or uninteresting for a mass audience.

She is my guest on Episode #61 of the Telling the Story podcast.

I always seek guests who have developed a clear voice and can guide others in doing the same. Kassie fits this mold perfectly. I sensed in our conversation a journalist who knows what she wants to accomplish, who to seek out for help, and how to execute projects that live up to her pitch – often as a solo act, shooting and editing her own reports. I admire how Kassie uses her talents and focus: to fight for those who don’t often enough get their stories told.

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I’m a new dad, back at work. And I have already missed a milestone.

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The day my daughter first rolled on her back, I left for work two hours early. I set my alarm for 6 AM, dragged myself out of bed without waking my wife, and tiptoed out of our midnight blue bedroom. Leaving before sunrise is easy … or at least easier. I can kiss Olivia’s cheeks, stand over her crib for a minute, and see only her eyelids. This means I can avoid her open eyes and their enlarged pupils, which beam even in the dark with innocence and – I hope – adoration.

I left before dawn so I could record dawn. I’m a reporter for an Atlanta TV station, and I had scheduled a full day of shoots for a story that would air a day later. I planned to profile a local DACA recipient who paints murals on Buford Highway, our city’s famed 20-mile stretch of international cuisine and culture. I wanted to capture the highway at sunrise, when adults and children spill out from their apartment complexes and await their various buses.

But I was slow to get out of bed, which meant I was slow to leave, which meant I arrived at Buford Highway minutes after the pink and orange blasts of sunrise gave way to blue. I missed the moment, and while I still got many of the shots I wanted, I wasn’t sure how I would fit them into my story. I asked myself, “Why did I leave my wife and daughter to get a few halfway-decent shots that most viewers will barely notice?”

But I know why. And the answer is now its own question I have yet to resolve.

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