Monthly Archives: June 2018

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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