university of georgia

Sometimes to tell stories, we need to confront our own decisions – and address them

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“I’m not just reporting on this city and this university. I was a student here.”

That’s how I introduced myself to viewers in dozens of stations across the country. In my first story as a national correspondent with E.W. Scripps, I covered the efforts of advocates in Athens, Georgia to gain recognition for a long-forgotten Black neighborhood. Linnentown existed adjacent to the campus of the University of Georgia … until the city and university used eminent domain to clear it out to build three new dorms. In 2021 the city apologized and pledged reparations to Linnentown descendants. The university wanted no part of their efforts.

Inserting myself into the story felt like a leap. The next lines of my stand-up felt like a pole vault.

“[I was] a graduate student in the journalism school,” I said, standing on downtown Athens’ main drag. “A school named for an old newspaper editor that once declared the white race was superior.”

With that, less than two minutes into my on-air career at Scripps, I had revealed the complexity both of my story and in my heart.

***

In storytelling circles today, you hear two increasingly loud schools of thought about how much journalists should reveal about themselves. One school says we should stay in the background, keep our social media feeds clear of opinion and controversy, and focus on being not personalities but reporters. Then there are folks like Julia Munslow, a senior platform editor for the Wall Street Journal who wrote a recent piece for Nieman Lab titled “Gen Z demands personality from journalists.”

In her essay, Munslow makes the case that younger viewers want to know – or at least be able to find out – more about who’s delivering their news. “Gen Z values authenticity,” she wrote. “They crave reality after growing up among scores of Photoshopped advertisements; they believe strongly in ethical consumption and value high-quality experiences. I believe they’ll demand these things of the news industry, and that it will lead to a call for radical transparency.”

There are two components of how “radical transparency” is taking hold. One is the lane where journalists become mini-celebrities. We post about what we’re doing behind the scenes. We post about where we went last weekend. We post photos of our families, and they become semi-public figures too. That lane comes with its own complications and is worthy of way more than a paragraph.

But that’s not where I’m focused here. I’m focused on how much we are willing to reveal about our identities, subjectivities, and life decisions. Should journalists need to reveal their voting records? Should they discuss how the stories they’re reporting make them feel? Should they project their complexities?

And, per Munslow’s point, in the future, how much will we be given a choice about these questions? Will our audiences demand answers we feel uncomfortable providing?

In my case, the choice was mine. I had lived in Atlanta for a dozen years and spent numerous days in Athens shooting stories. I didn’t go to the University of Georgia as an undergrad, but I spent weeks there during grad school walking around campus and patronizing numerous Athens restaurants. More importantly, I had made the decision to attend the journalism school and gave little thought to the man for whom it was named. I only knew about the program to which I applied. It was diverse and exhilarating. It encouraged me to think deeply and richly about the subjects I covered.

(Seriously, look back at my previous posts about the program. I rave about it. And I still rave about it.)

My time at UGA was filled with many conversations about race and culture, including at the university and its city. I walked away with complicated feelings about both. And when the time came to do a story about race in Athens, I was equipped to cover it with the complexity it deserved.

I also felt I should reveal my experience in the story.

I wrote about not just the actions of the past but the experience of living in Athens in 2021. I noted how the first major sight off the highway was the Plantation Buffet. I shot footage of a downtown restaurant called General’s that until the previous year had been named for a Confederate general.

And for a piece that spoke about the power of institutions, I spoke in my standup about having been a student at this one.

***

I have produced dozens of stories for E.W. Scripps so far, many of which have included standups. I haven’t involved myself anywhere near the way I did that first time.

I didn’t receive any backlash for it. In fact, most people who responded to the story – including fellow University of Georgia graduates – applauded my transparency. But while I stand by my decision, I acknowledge how every story brings its own challenges – and how we bring our subjectivities to them.

But whether I reveal them or not, I always do my best to consider them. I believe in constantly challenging my preconceived notions and biases. I think my work continues to get stronger because I continue to push.

I encourage the same out of my colleagues. Those of us who carry the storytelling mantle owe it to our audiences to think critically about every story we produce.

The Solo Video Journalist is available for purchase. You can find it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and the publisher’s web site.

Matt Pearl is the author of the Telling the Story blog and podcast. Feel free to comment below or e-mail Matt at matt@tellingthestoryblog.com. You can also follow Matt on Facebook, Twitter, and his web site, mattpearl.tv.

I’m back in J-school. And I’m back to being unsure of myself.

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I arrived on the University of Georgia campus with a steadily growing to-do list.

Pick up paper towels. Run to Target. Try to go to bed early. Check my work e-mail in case of an emergency.

I had just driven 90 minutes from midtown Atlanta to downtown Athens. I work full-time as a TV reporter but this past August began a 2 ½-year MFA program in narrative nonfiction at UGA’s Grady School of Journalism. Each semester kicks off with a mandatory weeklong residency on-campus; this past Sunday, we all converged on campus from across the country. The program directors threw us a welcome dinner, and on the walk back, I asked a classmate about his plans for the night. He said he would head to the hotel bar and hang out as late as anyone wanted.

Not me. I planned to make my Target run and retreat to my room for a hopeful eight hours of sleep.

My classmate shook off that idea. He heralded the week as a chance for us hungry writers to revel together in our ambitions, to encourage and inspire each other. He closed with a line that would flatter any hopeful Hemingway: “This is like Paris in the Twenties!”

I needed to hear that … because my first semester felt like Times Square at rush hour.

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MMJs, NPPA, & UGA: my most popular posts of 2017

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A thin layer of pink spreads above the Phoenix horizon. The sun has begun to set, the mountains have turned from sandy orange to muted brown, and the natural light has begun to fade from the window of my hotel room. Lines of cars stretch down Central Avenue, but I cannot hear a sound from the 18th floor.

I sit in antiseptic calm. I wish to return to the chaos of home.

Four inches of snow have pounded Atlanta, cancelling my flight home after a week in Arizona. I will try again the airport tomorrow, but for now I slink back for an unplanned night at a new hotel. I open my laptop and write this entry.

I rarely fall into free time. I typically carve it out, particularly for this blog. February 2018 will mark five years of Telling the Story, and this past year has been my busiest. I began a new role at work, an MFA program at the University of Georgia, and the anticipation of what will keep me even busier in Year 6: our first child.

But I enjoy writing these entries – and interviewing peers and colleagues for the Telling the Story podcast – because of the community they create. I appreciate the e-mail sign-ups, the comments on Facebook, and the notes and Tweets of appreciation. I value the chance to contribute to the continually evolving conversation about journalism, storytelling, and the media industry.

The most popular posts of 2017 reflected that conversation. Here is what saw the most clicks in the past twelve months, with an excerpt:

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Matthew Desmond’s Evicted: How do we measure impact as journalists?

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As part of my MFA program at the University of Georgia, I write. A lot. And I enjoy it. I relish constructing a three-dimensional scene with verbal imagery. I read two books a month and deliver 350-word responses, which allows me to weave narrative into my work and ponder its process and impact. I have decided to share those pieces here when applicable, such as this entry about Matthew Desmond’s Evicted:

“We’ve all heard the complaints about television news.”

The man with the gray beard smirked and sighed, his boutonnière the same red velvet color as the podium.

“It’s superficial. It’s sensationalist. It’s trivial.” The compliment? “But it isn’t all ‘Action This’ or ‘Eyewitness That’. They’re not all Ron Burgundy.”

The crowd laughed. The Hillman Foundation this year awarded national journalism prizes for seven formats. Only the broadcast honoree needed to force a smile through a roast of his profession.

I watched the video online and prickled at the cheap shots. I value my job in television news. My goals far exceed Ron Burgundy.

But I know it has shaped my work. I fear the channel-click. I craft my stories to never lose their grip on the viewer. Jon Stewart once said, “I am very uncomfortable going more than a few minutes without a laugh.” I dread going more than a few seconds without a “moment” – a beautifully composed shot, turn of phrase, burst of natural sound, or anything that will snap a viewer back to attention.

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PODCAST EPISODE #57: My speech to college journalists on finding their voice

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When journalism professors ask me to speak to their classes and groups, they typically request I focus on two areas: the craft and the business.

They want me to show my work, discuss how I produce stories, advise how to navigate the media landscape, and impart the wisdom of a broadcast professional.

These are important topics – but, in my mind, not the most important.

In one of my first blog entries, I wrote about what I learned (and didn’t learn) in journalism school. Here’s what I said I didn’t learn:

  • How to tell a story – in the advanced sense, anyway
  • About the cold hard reality of the industry
  • How to battle bureaucracy

Here’s what I said I did learn:

  • A foundation outside of journalism that I apply to my work as a journalist
  • To think critically about my field
  • That what we do is important, and what we do is valued

In short, I learned how to develop my voice.

I thought of this when I received the chance to give the keynote speech at the induction banquet of the University of Georgia’s DiGamma Kappa broadcast society. I decided I would encourage them in the way that had worked for me: implore them to think big and have something to say.

I recorded that speech and present it now as Episode #57 of the Telling the Story podcast.

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I’m a journalist, and I’m going back to school. Here’s why.

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In my career as a journalist, I have gone through numerous job interviews, as both interviewer and interviewee. I have never heard the following question:

How come you only have a Bachelor’s degree?

Most aspiring journalists try to enter the workforce as soon as they graduate, and they are not required to continue their schooling. Most news managers value experience and performance, and they expect their employees to develop in the “real” world, not the academic world.

Yet here I am, more than a decade removed from my last class at college, going back to school.

This week I officially became a student again, beginning a low-residency MFA program at the University of Georgia’s Grady Journalism School. For the next two years, I will attend several weeks of on-campus classes and meet remotely with various mentors and instructors as I earn my postgraduate degree in narrative nonfiction.

I will also continue to work full-time, marching forward as a reporter at WXIA-TV in Atlanta.

Does it sound like a lot of time? Does it sound like a ton of responsibilities to juggle at once? Does it sound like the type of effort that may go unnoticed by potential employers?

It sure does. But I welcome the challenge.

In my first years in the business, I often toyed with the idea of one day returning to school, but I never truly considered it. I faced more immediate career demands, wanting to establish myself as a journalist and advance to a market and station where I could — at least in the short term — settle down. (I also was scratching to afford rent and food, let alone five semesters of grad school.) Even after arriving in Atlanta, I never sought out additional education because I assumed it would require me to sacrifice my full-time job.

But in the past few years, my feelings began to change. I learned about programs at top-rated schools that catered to working journalists, and I watched several of my peers take advantage. I developed a passion for teaching, and I knew I would likely need a postgraduate degree if I ever wanted to join academia full-time. I came upon a program at UGA that hit every other check mark: it focused on in-depth and long-form nonfiction writing, featured a faculty full of journalism success stories, and required students to be on-campus for just two weeks a year. (It also offered a price tag that wouldn’t put me into debt.) I discussed the idea with my wife, and we decided I should apply.

So here I am, back at school … minus the lunchbox and No. 2 pencils.

I do not plan to use much of this space to discuss my UGA exploits, and I do not necessarily encourage other journalists to follow my path. This program enters my life at a near-perfect time both personally and professionally; I did not apply for it until I knew I could handle it.

But I do want to convey a broader lesson to my fellow storytellers: think beyond the usual.

Our business often forces its participants to think small. We face daily deadlines and increasing responsibilities, and we exert so much effort at work that we feel tempted to push aside any outside pursuits. But this can be short-sighted, especially in an media environment that demands versatility and flexibility. We should feel encouraged to stretch ourselves and take ownership of projects that take advantage of our skills and knowledge. Such a mindset, for example, is what led me to start this blog, develop a podcast, and write a full-length book about solo video journalism.

And I’m not alone. Last month I spoke on a panel with MMJ all-stars (and former Telling the Story podcast guests) Anne Herbst and Sarah-Blake Morgan. I realized we had more in common than simply shooting and editing our own reports. We have also built fulfilling projects outside of the newsroom. Morgan is one of the founders of the successful MMJane Facebook group, and Herbst runs an annual Women in Photojournalism conference. They didn’t ask for permission, and they didn’t worry about feeling overwhelmed. They used the same flexibility that helps them succeed as MMJs and applied it to new avenues.

I cannot speak for Herbst or Morgan, or for any of the other journalists who have pushed their limits to follow their passions. But I can tell you how I feel to have followed mine. I have been rewarded by every project I have tackled, from the blog to the podcast to the book. I approached each one methodically, thinking big and then taking the small steps to reach my goals. Beyond that, in each case, my work outside the newsroom has benefited my work inside the newsroom.

I expect those rewards to continue as I begin towards my MFA degree. I cannot say what this next big challenge will bring, but I am excited to see how it colors my perspective and improves my production as a storyteller.

I would encourage any journalist who feels the same to follow a similar path, no matter how you choose to do it.

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The Solo Video Journalist is available for purchase. You can find it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and the publisher’s web site.

Matt Pearl is the author of the Telling the Story blog and podcast. Feel free to comment below or e-mail Matt at matt@tellingthestoryblog.com. You can also follow Matt on Facebook and Twitter.

PODCAST EPISODE #49: Vicki Michaelis, journalism professor, University of Georgia

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How can we help journalism students do better?

What are the things journalism students should know before they enter the business?

So many of us in this profession, I fear, rarely think about how we welcome newcomers into that profession. I grapple with it often and have written about it in several entries in this blog.

I have even authored a how-to book for aspiring local TV news reporters: The Solo Video Journalist, available now through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and the publisher’s web site.

Vicki Michaelis has taken her own path to help our industry’s future. She became a nationally respected and renowned sportswriter, leading USA Today’s coverage of the Olympics on six different occasions. She also served as the president of the Association for Women in Sports Media.

Then she received an opportunity that she had not foreseen.

Michaelis, in 2012, learned of the chance to head the University of Georgia’s new sports journalism program. She applied for the job and got it, and for the past five years she has helped sculpt a wave of young sports reporters as they prepare for their grueling entry into the professional world.

Michaelis is my guest on Episode #49 of the Telling the Story podcast.

I really enjoyed this conversation, in which Michaelis gave important insights into the mindset of current journalism students. We also discussed, at length, my recent blog post about what I learned (and didn’t learn) in J-school. What should students expect to gain from a college journalism program? Michaelis and I dive deep into that topic.

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