![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=91.6){kind=small}
http://www.foodandwine.com/articles/a-f
I'm reading two of Mort Rosenblum's books: his Chocolate: Bittersweet Saga of Dark and Light book and Little Bunch of Madmen about journalism.
I've been thinking lately: why did, essentially, journalism as a career never come to my mind? I like to write. I've almost always liked to write since elementaryschoolhood: from those 1st grade create-your-own stories based on the shape of the block of paper (dolphin, dog, apple...), to my pride and joy poem in 5th grade comparing the fall leaves as seen from a hot air balloon to "bread baked in the oven." I may not always have been able to speak with panache, precision, or conviction, but I could express myself in the writing.
So why not journalism? I was never able to master an objective voice that didn't sound like a vaguely-British-butler robot. I hated to write without the "I." And maybe, I see now, or I saw then, that's the problem. And this may also be the reason I've shied from academia, which seemed (seems?) like a secondhand solution to my career quandaries.
Who knows. What I know is: there's the world, and there's my family. I wish to do something to somehow please both. And lately I've been waking up with the ocean in mind. This may be because I'm going next week on a roughly-a-week train trip: Paris to Lyon to Nice to Nimes through Marseille to Montpellier to Carcassonne through Narbonne to Lourdes through Toulouse to Biarritz through Pau and Bayonne and then back home (Paris). I'm not taking night trains, because seeing the countryside is, for me, a part of this trip - even if it's still winterish out.
I'm just called out. Life in Paris is fine. Anywhere everyone takes on her/his routine. But I feel the world calling me now. I feel something coming ahead...
I'm reading two of Mort Rosenblum's books: his Chocolate: Bittersweet Saga of Dark and Light book and Little Bunch of Madmen about journalism.
I've been thinking lately: why did, essentially, journalism as a career never come to my mind? I like to write. I've almost always liked to write since elementaryschoolhood: from those 1st grade create-your-own stories based on the shape of the block of paper (dolphin, dog, apple...), to my pride and joy poem in 5th grade comparing the fall leaves as seen from a hot air balloon to "bread baked in the oven." I may not always have been able to speak with panache, precision, or conviction, but I could express myself in the writing.
So why not journalism? I was never able to master an objective voice that didn't sound like a vaguely-British-butler robot. I hated to write without the "I." And maybe, I see now, or I saw then, that's the problem. And this may also be the reason I've shied from academia, which seemed (seems?) like a secondhand solution to my career quandaries.
Who knows. What I know is: there's the world, and there's my family. I wish to do something to somehow please both. And lately I've been waking up with the ocean in mind. This may be because I'm going next week on a roughly-a-week train trip: Paris to Lyon to Nice to Nimes through Marseille to Montpellier to Carcassonne through Narbonne to Lourdes through Toulouse to Biarritz through Pau and Bayonne and then back home (Paris). I'm not taking night trains, because seeing the countryside is, for me, a part of this trip - even if it's still winterish out.
I'm just called out. Life in Paris is fine. Anywhere everyone takes on her/his routine. But I feel the world calling me now. I feel something coming ahead...
2 comments | Leave a comment
