Admission: ‘I got into journalism for the money’

Striking blog post over at the personal blog of Wired writer Dylan Tweney, where he disputes one of the sacred cows of modern journalism: that journalists love their profession and do it for that love, not for the money. No one gets into journalism for the money, goes the canard, they get into it because they want to make a differnce, because they love the craft, and because they ache to tell stories about their communities.

Not so! says Tweney:

I had just graduated from college with an interesting but totally impractical major in what amounted to postmodern philosophy. I needed a paycheck, and the ice cream shop that hired me for twelve hours a week wasn’t cutting it. I liked writing and had enjoyed working on some college publications, so journalism seemed like a good way to earn some money and have fun while I was doing it. And who knows? Maybe I would grow up to be a famous writer.

But to be honest, my literary aspirations were secondary to the need to make my monthly rent and my lack of obvious qualifications. So when, after a long, hot, nearly-jobless Boston summer, Chris Shipley offered me a job as an editorial assistant at PC Computing, I jumped.

I can relate. While I’ve always loved reading and writing, and I’ve always been a heck of a news junkie, I never really considered it as a career. Not seriously. It didn’t come up during any of those high school aptitude tests that they give you. I didn’t watch and rewatch All The President’s Men. I thought Clark Kent was a dweeb.

Nope, I joined my university newspaper because I shared a class with one of their sportswriters and I kind of wanted to date her (we eventually became pals). I stayed, even after she moved on, because I liked the office — it had a great couch, I could drink there all night long, and there was relative security for all my things, which I often left laying about, and didn’t want to cart back to my house all the time.

It was also intoxicating the first time I had something in print. It was thrilling to see my name in black-and-white, under a headline, on real newsprint. The university newspaper seemed like Kind Of A Big Deal on campus, and suddenly I was a part of it. My gripes and grudges could, without too much trouble, be distributed by the thousands (okay, like 2,000) and acquire a sheer of legitimacy.

I went on to become Editor, which I immediately changed to the loftier-sounding Editor-in-Chief. Then I got involved in going to training conferences (training for drinking, mostly) and then I moved on to working with the national university journalism organization, Canadian University Press.

Despite my best efforts, I eventually, I found myself with a degree in English and a heap of journalism experience. Since my university paper had been printed by the presses at the local daily, I had some contacts there, and when they were looking for a CD reviewer, someone brought up my name. One thing led to another, and now I’m a real, genuine newspaper employee.

At every stage of the game, my motivation for the next stage in my “journalism career” was purely personal. I was following a girl, drunk on power, or looking for cash that was better and seemed easier than the string of part-time jobs I’d had during and post university.

I certainly didn’t get into journalism because I wanted to change the world or because I thought it was a noble calling. It can, and it can be, but I fell backwards into it. I’m glad I did — I love the job that I do right now and I love the people that I work with — but my ambitions and motivations weren’t ever the pure-as-driven-snow ones that people talk about.

(PS. I haven’t yet made a dime from blogging, but similarly, I got into it for the sense of power and the potential for lucrative book deals and endorsements.)

(hat-tip to Joel Johnson’s Twitter feed)