If you post on a blog, but no one is around to read it does it have any impact?

Most likely...no. But I shall anyway.

So I promised it wouldn't be two months before my next post....well it's been four. And I am not even sure where to begin because my life is astronomically different from before. So, to quote Indigo....let me sum up.....

-First, you should know, I now use ellipses in my writing for everything....see second note.
-I have moved to Little Rock Arkansas to be a reporter and anchor for KARN News Radio.
-I love my job, but generally dislike Arkansas. I promise to elaborate.
-I dearly miss my friends and family back home. I even miss K College, though I am incredulous to say the words.
-As a close friend and former professor told me.....I always have a man-friend.....and so it is. More on that later too.

So, if anyone cares only a little, that's my new life.

For that one person (I know you check my blog, Charles!) I will continue typing, because honestly, I feel like talking about myself right now.

In the span of a few short months, my life has turned on it's head. I graduated from school. I moved to Arkansas for my very first job. It is a dream come true....so much more than I could have even asked for. What do I do? I talk to people. I take my little digital recorder around every where, following any breaking story in Arkansas. And you'd be surprised since this is the home of the Clintons, the capitol of the state, the heart of the largest boom in immigration in the country, the focus of desegregation in the 1950's, a land of the Delta and the Ozarks. It's certainly the South here. I am a Yankee and I stick out, sorely.

Here's the dislike part. I don't fit here. I haven't found people I could really connect to. (Not true, actually, I found one. My black twin. But she has left me for the National Guard because everyone loves the frigging military here, like its some kind of higher calling, but then again they love guns here too and Republicans. Harumph. I am done with that little rant....but by the way Dana, I miss you!)

But I get to meet famous people. I have covered both Clintons, Hill and Bill. I consistently chase around the Governor....wherever he shows up, I am usually there. I have interviewed Mike Huckabee....former Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders....Vice-President of MTV Ocean McAdams. Most recently....General Wesley Clark. Bragging? Hardly. I am still in awe myself. My growth as a reporter can hardly be described. I love it. I love broadcasting. I love being in the public eye. (No surprise to anyone who has ever known me.) I know this is just a start for me. But it is my new life...my real life....the life I didn't know I was seeking, but somehow feels right.

I miss home, though. I miss Lindsay and Megan and Lindsey and Mia and Kimi and Patrick and everyone. I miss going to class. I miss the little joys of being relatively careless. I live paycheck to paycheck now. But it is my money and I live alone.

Except for my man-friend. You can easily determine his name if you wanted to, but I have a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't approve of me openly talking about him in a public forum. I will say little except that he has awoken me again. I had made movements in the right direction....shedding old relationships and the hang-ups they brought me like molting feathers.....but none like with him. My pilot is a real man, a man of means, with goals, and unlike other "men" I've dated he leaves his fantasies to create realizations. He doesn't just dream of glory...I have no doubt he'll obtain it. Sometimes I wonder, though, if our differing senses of glory divide us. But I have the most tender of feelings in my heart for him. I believe I amuse him, but I know too, I greatly complicate our lives. I appreciate his patience. And the image of him chasing gray cats around the kitchen.

That is enough for now. I am going back to reading about Witches....one of my new favorite obsessions. And the ellipses, well, they ease reading aloud. I write with them for work...they are natural to my pacing. My pacing is slower now. It's both torturous and liberating.

Prom piece published today

Here's the link to my prom piece if anyone is interested in reading it. It ran today with a really nice spread. I was quite happy with the photos and everything. I'd love any feedback, if you are willing! Thanks!

http://www.mlive.com/kalamazoo/stories/index.ssf?/base/features-1/117932898814790.xml&coll=7

Ah the joys of journalism

So my weekend was crazy. I had a group of young ladies all lined up as sources for that prom piece. They had agreed to allow me to travel with them to prom, to interview them extensively, all that jazz that's supposed to happen. But then they backed out. At the last minute. I got phone calls from their parents. A nightmare, basically.

So, after a little panic, I found another group of sources. My story took off in a completly different direction. In journalism, as in life, I suppose, you have to stay flexible. But its not easy working on other people's schedules. Still, I spent nearly 12 hours with this nwe group of girls, from their hair appointments, to dinner, to prom, to the after party. Then I wrote the story because the deadline was the next day. My best, most polished piece of writing? Definitely not. A fun time and a great exercise in the joys of journalism. You betcha.

Scared for the future? Read this...

Here's the feature I found for this week.

http://www.motherjones.com/news/feature/2007/05/gone.html

Its from Mother Jones, a news magazine that I read and really enjoy because they give the time and space to issue that matter to me. I can't say its without fault; moments in the piece do drag some. But if we are going for messy and complicated, this is certainly the topic for that. The piece exposes many scientist's views that we are on the verge of another mass extinction, one that could ultimately rub out humans as well.

I really liked the opening of this piece and the way that the dead hiker is brought up again later as a reminder of the human implications of mass extinctions. I kind of wish, however, that the author had removed herself from the writing process, or involved herself more. I truly believe that space could have been made in the piece for heightened emotion and complication. We do not get a great sense of how the author reacts to the stunning statistics she is learning. I would have appreciated more of the human element. I liked seeing the scientists, like Levin. I liked feeling for the animals. Sometimes, the writing "talked" to much; it was too technical.

I was impressed, though with Whitty's craft in some areas. Particularly, I liked her propensity for listing. Nerdy, I know, but I often deploy lists in my own writing and I thought she used them to good effect. Also, pay attention to the way she moves in and out, pans and zooms that camera lens--I really liked that.

Lastly, I wanted to bring up an issue of format. I first read this piece in the print form of the magazine. It had really engaging visuals attached as well as pull out pieces of information that kept me more interested. The online version lost a little of that for me, which I think is a shame.

Overall, I posted this piece because of its complexity of subject matter. I admire a writer who can handle that type of immersion, the multitudes of sources, the grandiosity of topic. Its kind of what I want to do someday.

Reportage, reportage, reportage

If the slogan for real estate is "Location, Location, Location," I think that the similiar one for journalism would be "Reportage, reportage, reportage." I have been finding in my short journalism career just how important this step of the process actually is the outcome of the piece. For one thing, I love doing it. I could hang out with people all day and I think I have a natural curiousity for things that leads me to keep asking questions, to dig a little deeper, to see what I can find out. But I do enjoy just kicking around too, be a fly on the wall, observing. I know that I could get better at it. For example, I did some reportage for my prom piece last Friday. I went over to one of my source's grandmother's house where he and his buddies were putting up a tent. The entire group going to prom would eat under the tent the next day and I thought it was rather comical to see the boys pitch this giant cumbersome thing after it had already gone dark. It was neat to talk to them as they worked and I believe it helped them relax. But even still, when I looked back at my notebook, I realized I hadn't written down many of my own sensory observations. I didn't have enough dialogue of the boys amongst themselves. I hadn't caught the one dude's nickname. I want to get better at things like that.

I know that I have improved in some elements. I am better now at determining when I have enough information. Though I generally want more than enough, to have to sift through pages and pages rather than feel lost without something, I also understand that I am on deadline and I am only paid so much. I am now able to determine who else I need to talk to, what other information is missing to round out my story. Know I have that skill is rather gratifying.

Overall, though I just love reporting! Sometimes I wish I could just do that element and then hand my notes to someone else and have them write. I guess that's because that part is such hard work! Reporting feels more like playing.

Profile(ish)

A caveat:

This piece is no where near finished; I still have to do a ton more reportage, including GO to prom! But I have posted some of the preliminary writing below. I think the piece starts to take shape around the idea that high schoolers have too much on their plates for dating and that these young women are willing to wait until college to start seriously looking for that sort of thing. I am looking forward to spending more time with these girls and the group of guys that I have talked to also to get narrative elements involved, because right now, I have only conducted phone interviews.




Skyler Smith searched forever to find the perfect prom dress. She poked through local boutiques and hunted through major department stores. She had certain qualifications—it had to be well-fitting and flattering, complimentary, but not over-the-top. Finally though, with prom only days away, she settled, selecting a form-fitting number with dark blue silk and layered black lace.
“It’s kind of like a cocktail dress, it its still totally appropriate for prom,” the 18 year old Loy Norrix high school senior said.
Smith definitely doesn’t have much time. She starred in the last two leading roles for the Norrix high theater department and also sings in the choir, all while maintaining high marks and a part-time job.
This year, she’ll attend prom unescorted, opting instead to go with a group of her best girlfriends. She may have had to settle when it comes to dresses, but with boys, there’s no negotiations.
She’s never had a boyfriend and it doesn’t bother her.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been asked out on dates before,” Smith said. “I’ve just never been pleased with any of them. I’m waiting until college. I do not want to take anything that seriously in high school.”
And besides, Smith knows she’ll have a great time, just hanging out with her friends at this year’s Japanese themed prom. She’s excited to be going with them, the group of young women she’s been close to since kindergarten, but got even closer to in fourth grade. Though they attended different middle schools, reconvening in high school helped this successful group grow together again.
“We’re just going to dance and dance and I know it’ll be a blast,” Skyler’s friend, Hallie Tripp said over the phone. “It’s kind of like our last chance before we all head out.” Tripp recently submitted her deposit at Michigan State University. Smith will be attending Western next fall, hoping to major in music.
Tripp, like her friends, stays overly occupied. She’s on the swim team and is an active member of the national honor society. She’s never had a boyfriend either.
“Its hard to donate a lot of time to somebody if you have a lot of other things going on.”
Still, Tripp admits to feeling prom-time anxieties. “I know a lot of people who are like, you should go with a date. But I say, you should just go and have a good time.”
But even though she’ll still go out to dinner and the dance with her friends, Tripp might have a date. He’s a freshman at Western and they used to swim together (she didn’t want to disclose his name, fearing he’d be embarrassed). She used to like him a lot last year, but then things got a little weird and now they are just friends. So she asked him to go with her and he said he needed some time to think about it.
Melody Stieve, a biology teacher and senior class advisor at Kalamazoo Central High School says Tripp’s dilemma isn’t all that uncommon.
“I’d say most of the seniors go with a ‘date,’ but someone who isn’t necessarily their boyfriend of girlfriend,” Stieve said. “It’s certainly a small minority that go without dates all together and just go with groups of friends.”
Stieve commented on shifts in the dating climate of high schoolers. “I think there are more groups of boy-girl friends then there used to be, even in my time,” Stieve said. “Most of these girls already have a relationship with guys and they don’t feel they need a closer one.”

-Move onto the guys perspective
-Paint pictures of the girls getting ready

Dr. Seuss Profile

This profile hits it. We see a public figure in private--tooling around his home, ferociously reading paperbacks, struggling with his genius. I appreciate the reportage because Gorney clearly spent lots of time with Geisel or at least asked the right questions. I found myself asking 'how did she find that out?' and yet also being surprised that I would ask that, because the piece flowed so seamlessly.

I think this piece, too, exhibited the power of narrative journalism in its use of fiction elements to create, scene, structure, place, etc. I LOVE the lede; it says so much about Geisel's process and about the inner workings of his mind, but we also get direct dialogue. We get action and we get humor. I think its incredibly engaging. That action continues as Gorney paints scenes for us. Structurally, the piece flows, but also mimicks the slowed down pace of Geisel's own life. As a reader, I never felt rushed or anxious. I simply saw Geisel in a number of montaged scenes, created very cinematically. I admired, too, the finesse of physical description in the piece and the use of eye sight to highlight the genius.

For this reason, I liked the return in the end. But I am not sure this was the most effective ending. I felt like the piece didn't have the emotional climax I wanted to. It seemed to be more of a 'throw-away' ending and I thought a stronger cadence would have been better.

Overall though, this profile truly represents the artistry of narrative journalism. It just makes me want to get to know people even more.

Skinny Is In, Even With the Amish- Final Personal Essay

Skinny Is In, Even With the Amish

By Lauren Trager

I rummaged through my car, slipping my hand between the seats, digging for change. I needed a soft pretzel and I needed it now. I could taste the slightly sweet and suddenly salty morsel in my mouth and I trembled with anticipation. Must Have Pretzel.

Overall, I like my body. I’m strong and toned; from the age of two, I could move furniture around and as captain of the college women’s softball team, I can out-bench anyone.
But when I lived in an Amish community for my senior thesis last summer, I packed on poundage. Auntie Anne was once Amish, after all.
I wanted to see what it was like to live as an Amish woman. I studied Amish life and spoke with leading researchers, but I had to experience it. Despite difficulties, I found one family who agreed to host me. Ultimately, I lived with three families over five weeks.
Packing for my trip proved consternating; pleased and surprised that I wanted to dress like them, my host family said that they would provide the traditional dresses and head coverings when I arrived-- but only after I sent pictures of myself to confirm that my hair was long and that I would fit in. Before I left, I packed a few conservative tops and skirts, threw out my razor blades and deodorant and prepared to live “the simple life.”
Immediately after pulling up to the brick farmhouse at the Lapp Valley Dairy Farm, my host mom, Lena, greeted me at the screen door with a long head-to-toe look. In her living room during our first conversation, she launched into what I would normally deem a misogynist rant.
“I don’t know why girls are surprised about getting themselves into trouble these days with the way they dress,” Lena said. “Its no wonder boys are lusting.”
Her slight frame, gray hair and charming smile contradicted her statements. Desiring to show the highest respect and regard, I suddenly felt ashamed; my white tee-shirt felt too tight, my calf-length skirt too short. I couldn’t wait to put on Amish clothes.
My new family owned an ice cream business catering to tourists. I learned every step in the ice cream process from milking to making. And eating. On the first night I arrived, the Lapps put me to work in the store and told me to help myself to ice cream. And after the first bite of the creamiest concoction I have ever tasted, I took the invitation every day.

No woman is immune to issues of body. Amish girls consciously carry themselves, wanting to look good and fit in. But accustomed to harder labor and outdoor recreation, most are quite fit; few Amish are overweight.
So finding clothes to fit me wasn’t easy. Lena’s dresses were too small, so we walked over a neighbor’s house and borrowed maternity clothes—they were big enough. Lena rummaged through a closet of old dresses for me to try.
“These are Ester’s,” she said. “She’s a bigger girl, like you.”
Ester apparently didn’t need them anymore; she did mission work in Romania. But even in her absence, I felt a kindred spirit in Ester. We both knew a hard truth-- skinny is in everywhere, even with the Amish.
Sarah Lynn, one of my host sisters at the last family I stayed with, could have been my twin in age and looks. We bonded from the very beginning and she became my guide and friend. I traveled with her to school (she’s been a schoolteacher for five years) and to social gatherings. We gossiped about boys, chatted about current events and clothes. She informed me that earth tones were in for the fall.
She worried about her weight. Restricting herself to a low-carb diet, she refused to eat bread. She took tiny portions as I heaped my plate with her brothers, starved from active work. She’d sigh heavily when adjusting the gaping buttons on my ill-fitting dress. She even stared in disbelief when, at my request, we went to Yoder’s, a local buffet restaurant.
“Don’t laugh at me,” I said to her, up again for my third helping. “You’ll be surprised by how much I can pack away.” She was. I suddenly felt fat and frumpy in my dress and apron.
But meal times with my Amish families delighted me; we’d chat, pray, sing and laugh. Though I missed sushi and poked at the turkey hearts set before me, we also ate pizza and frozen chicken nuggets. In the heat of Pennsylvania summer, food felt familiar and tasted better than ever.
On one of my last days, I decided to make dinner for the nearly fifty people that had been involved in my journey over the past five weeks. Terrified to mess up, I scrutinized my menu, deciding upon sauerkraut and kielbasa, a traditional Amish dish. For flair, I threw in one of my mother’s staple dishes—Mediterranean pasta salad with spinach, feta, artichoke hearts and olives.
“What’s this, spagehetti?” asked Davey, the grandfather figure I’d grown to love. “Yum, it is very good,” he replied, a long noodle slipping up into his mouth as he patted me on the back. I felt so proud.
Now I must run to lose my “Amish” weight. But I still crave those damn pretzels.

New York Times Reporter Coming to KPL

Hello everyone!!

I wanted to say, first of all, how wonderful I think workshop went last week. I know that we made significant progress in my group and I believe the workshops were helpful. But above all, I was incredibly impressed by the brave subject matter of the stories and the willingness by the group to tackle hard issues with art and strong story telling. I was just super thrilled to get to read them and I can't wait for the final drafts. If anyone wants me to take a look before turning it in, again, I am more than happy to. Fresh eyes always help.

I also wanted to inform everyone of a really neat opportunity tomorrow. Michael Benanav, a writer who submits travel pieces to the New York Times will be doing an author visit at the Oshtemo Branch of the Kalamazoo Public Library tomorrow at 7:00. His book "Men of Salt: Crossing the Sahara on the Caravan of White Gold" is an incredible demonstration of narrative writing and immersion journalism. For forty days, he traveled by camel back in Mali with a camel caravan. What's really interesting is that he initially believed that the caravans were a dying trade practice and that trucks were rapidly replacing this harsh way of life. But when he went there, he discovered he was wrong! The writing is really good, but I think the program is going to be even better. He's going to discuss the experience, show photos and talk about his writing process. I wrote an article about him for the Gazette. I believe it's coming out today and you can usually search for my work by typing in my name in the search panel of mlive.com .
Unfortunately, I cannot attend the program, because I have class. But I really encourage anyone who can to go; I think it will be really cool.

My Personal Essay and Blogs I Love.

Below, please find links to two blogs that I read all the time. The first happens to pertain to my life completely--eight senior journalism students blog about the vast unknown after graduation. Oh wait, that's the same thing that makes me want to vomit everyday!

The second is a blog that I honestly read religiously. I know, its celebrity smut, but I chose to embrace rather than reject completely. Besides, criticizing people's clothing choices is one of my favorite pastimes with my friends and these women write really well. They crack me up.

http://thegraduates.blogs.nytimes.com/


http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/

Also, below, please find the first draft of my personal essay. No caveats--I don't believe in denigrating my own work, unless its constructive.


Skinny Is In, Even Amongst the Amish

By Lauren Trager

I can’t seem to lose my “Amish weight.” Surrounded by soft pretzels (Auntie Anne was Amish, after all), shoo fly pie, and other delicacies, I packed on poundage while immersing myself in Lancaster County last summer.
Interested in Amish life since the age of seven, I wanted to live with Amish people as my college senior thesis-- essentially, I completed an exercise in immersion journalism during which I mimicked the lifestyle of an Amish woman my age. Before I left, I studied Amish lifestyles and spoke with several leading researchers on what to expect. I struggled to find a family that would host me and after multiple refusals, I finally found one. Ultimately, as I gained trust in the community, I lived with three families over a period of five weeks.
Packing for my trip proved consternating; pleased and surprised that I wanted to dress like them, my host family told me they would provide the traditional dresses and head coverings when I arrived, but only after I sent them pictures of myself to confirm that my hair was long enough and that I would fit in as an Amish girl. Before I left, I packed only a few conservative tops and skirts, threw out my razor blades and deodorant and prepared to live “the simple life.”
Immediately after pulling up to the brick farmhouse at the Lapp Valley Dairy Farm, my host mom, Lena, greeted me at the screen door with a smile and a long head-to-toe look. In her living room during our first conversation, she launched into what I would normally deem a misogynist rant.
“I don’t know why girls are surprised about getting themselves into trouble these days with the way they dress,” Lena said. “Its no wonder boys are lusting.”
Her slight frame and little gray hair made me want to believe her. Desiring to show the highest respect and regard, I suddenly felt ashamed; my white tee-shirt felt too tight, my calf-length skirt too short. I couldn’t wait to put on Amish clothes.
My new family owned a booming ice cream business catering to tourists. I eventually learned every step in the ice cream process from milking to making. And eating. On the first night I arrived, the Lapps put me to work in the store and told me to help myself to ice cream. I took their invitation and after the first bite of the most creamy concoction I had ever tasted, I took the invitation every day thereafter.
I like my body. From the age of two, I could move furniture around the house. I’m what some would call “big-boned” and strong. I’m captain of the college softball team and I take pride that no one can out bench me.
Amish girls, too, consciously carry themselves. But accustomed to harder labor, most are quite fit; you’d be hard pressed to find an obese Amish person anywhere.
So finding dresses to fit me wasn’t easy. Lena rummaged through a closet of old dresses for me to try.
“These are Ester’s,” she said. “She’s a bigger girl, like you.” Ester apparently didn’t need them anymore; she now worked in an orphanage in Romania. But even in her absence, I felt a kindred spirit in Ester. We both knew a hard truth-- skinny is in everywhere, even with the Amish.
Sarah Lynn, one of my host sisters at the last family I stayed with, could have been my twin in age and looks. We bonded from the very beginning and she became my guide and friend. I traveled with her to school (she’s been a schoolteacher for five years) and to social gatherings. We gossiped about boys, chatted about current events and clothes. She informed me that earth tones were in for the fall.
She worried about her weight. Restricting herself to a low-carb diet, she tried to completely eliminate bread from her palate. At meal times, she took tiny portions as I sheepishly heaped my plate with the boys, starving from a long day far more active than sitting in front of a computer screen. She also sighed heavily when adjusting the buttons on the front of my dress when they gaped from ill-fitting. Sarah Lynn stared in disbelief when, as a special treat, we went to Yoder’s, a local buffet restaurant.
“Don’t laugh at me,” I said to her and her sister. “You’ll be surprised by how much I can pack away,” They were.
I missed sushi and poked at the turkey hearts and gravy set before me at the family dinner table. Meal times were certainly my favorite, though often the fare included pizza and frozen chicken nuggets. In the heat of Pennsylvania summer, food felt familiar and tasted better than ever.
On one of my last days, I decided to host a dinner for the nearly fifty people that had been involved in my journey over the past five weeks. Terrified to fail, I scrutinized my menu, deciding upon sauerkraut and kielbasa because I knew every one would like it. For flair, I threw in one of my mother’s staple dishes—Mediterranean pasta salad with spinach, feta, artichoke hearts and olives.
“What’s this, spagehetti?” Davey, the man I grown to love as my own grandfather asked me.
“It is very good,” he said to me, a long noodle slipping up into his mouth as he patted me on the back. I felt so proud.

It's all about Access

I've recently felt struck by this thought: being a writer requires incredible responsiblity and integrity. A person endeavoring to write and report must be so self aware and reflective. They must be ever conscious of their own junk, the biases and set of assumptions they bring to any situation. An awful lot of thought and hard work goes into the relationship with one's sources. On the one hand, as Kramer pointed out, a strong, intimate relationship elucidates a higher level of understanding from the source to the reporter. However, these types of relationships can also be complicated by the fact that a reporter is also another human being. I struggled a lot with this idea during the reportage for my SIP. Living within an Amish community, I attempted to draw lines between Lauren-as-reporter and Lauren-as-person living with other persons. I found it incredibly difficult and discovered the infeasibility of trying to turn off any one side of yourself.

All of this has come to light for me for two reasons: 1.) I have been working on my comps essay which is about my struggles as an English major to acquire access to people and information, while fighting the desire to assume I have unlimited levels of access. 2.) I interviewed Michael Benanav, a reporter for the New York Times that completed an immersion journalism experience in Mali, Africa on a camel caravan. He fully admitted that the experience would have been impossible had he been a woman. As a white male he was able to gain access in ways that other people would not.

I find all of this so interesting and exciting. Reporting requires a lot of work that extends far beyond proper grammar and meeting deadlines.

I heart literary journalism

I must say, its very strange to be taking this class again. Its like my career as a journalist at K College has come full circle. I remember reading the article "The Art of Literary Journalism" freshman year in the spring. I wanted to be a lawyer then; I was taking the class just for fun. And suddenly, re-reading it, I discover how much more it speaks to me. Firstly, because I understand the craft so much more now. I've realized my passion for that type of human connection, the joy of the ordinary. In a way, I have joined this community of writers Sims discusses. I am that 21-year-old writer McPhee mentions. I'm in the river. It feels good.

Some things concern me, however. I don't believe I have found my voice yet. I want to work on that in this class. I want to learn more about myself, not only as a writer, but as a person too.

Which brings me to the personal essay. Sadly, I honestly cannot remember what I wrote about four years ago for this assignment. I think it was about my best friend's sister's suicide, but I'm not sure. For my SIP, I completed a lengthy personal essay about my experiences living with Amish people--my struggles as a young woman raised in a vastly different world. I was pleased with the way it turned out and it was the ultimate exercise in what writing can do for your life. One of my favorite Marin quotes is: "Write through it." I did that with that particular essay. But I wrote long and the piece ended up around 7,000 words. For this assignment, then, I want to trim that down to 900 words, a marketable amount for publication. This task feels daunting to me and I am hesitant to return that beast of a piece for revision. But I can do it.

Looking forward to hearing other people's ideas for their personal essays and reading the rest of this week's assignments.

I heart this class. Already.

Hi. I'm Lauren.

Firstly, let me say how incredibly excited I am to be doing an independent study with Marin and with this class. Its been four years since I took this class the first time and I was so different then. It's been a long journey towards and through writing but I finally feel like I am coming into my own as a journalist. So, let me tell you about me....

I am a senior English major who has completed the trajectory of courses to earn an "emphasis in journalism," this being the capstone class. I also completed an immersion journalism SIP for which I lived in an Amish community for five weeks and then wrote a series of feature articles. I write for the Kalamazoo Gazette and serve as the Features editor for The Index. I also work at the writing center. So, I can be a resource to you, if you need me. I can be available outside of class time to go over your work or to discuss the readings or whatever. Just let me know.