Novel recommendedShort
A local newspaperSocial newsJournalist, from twilight to frost. He travelled throughout the streets and towns of the city, where he witnessed the separation of life and death and the warmth of the human being, recording the fireworks in the city and the world. There are surprises in sudden accidents, runaways in difficult human life problems, rises and falls in the fate of small people, and media people are struggling and struggling between truth and conscience。
One news event, a slice of the era; one interviewer, a microcosm. Lead is printed in newspapers and stories remain in the years. "the city of the city" shows you the world as it was, and feels the unique fireworks of those years, more in between words, and understands that he wrote his pen for the best, and kept his watch。
Chapter ii. The life of a writer: the first step on the road to a journalist
Back in a ten-metre rental house on the outskirts of the city, guo an was able to read all day with a stack of newspapers brought back from the newspaper. The autumn winds were running through the windows and the sand and sand, and he came in cold and sewn through the wall, without realizing it. There are no empty slogans on the page. There is nothing but real people's warmth and human perturbation: the heart-to-heart description of the crash site contains the weight of life, the wisdom of the neighbourhood's patient settlement of disputes, the warmth to save out-of-school children is instantaneous to good, and the bold rhetoric of obscurantism is revealed. And the thick and powerful words, the sparks of life in the world, made him stronger in his heart -- that's what he wanted to write, that's what really helps people。
But when he truly enters the profession of social journalism, he discovers that reality is far more difficult than he imagined. In other cases, social news is coming from a single source, relying mainly on the information of counterparts and the hotline of the reader. The only hotline in the department, which was placed on the desk of a journalist, was almost her “exclusive line”. As soon as the telephone rings were ringing, yan-kun was always the first to pick up, and she encountered valuable leads, she recorded them in a special directory and immediately followed up on the interview. As a newcomer, guo an has neither accumulated the resources of his counterparts, nor has he had any roots in the town of jiang ning, trying to find a decent source of news like a needle in a haystack. He was often in a blank interview book all day, with his pens hanging on paper, but he could not write a word, with his heart burning like the vines of the autumn, and he couldn't breathe。
In fact, the office conditions of the newspaper are comforting. Each of them has an independent wood desk with a large desktop, able to spread newspapers and articles; the corner of the wall has a common warm water bottle and a simple hand-washing pool, where the floor is cleaned clean every day by a cleaner and there is no dust in the cement stitches. While there is no computer, all manuscripts are first written by hand and then entered verbatim with an old typewriter, which is cumbersome and orderly. Colleagues also live in harmony and occasionally share the small skills of interviews, be careful, except that the clues are the foundation of journalists, like hunting guns in hunters' hands, and no one can easily share them. Guo an knows this in his heart, he doesn't want to be tough, he bites his teeth and finds his way。
In the middle of the night, there was already no day in the building, except for him. The street light outside the window was sprouted through the dark light, through the thin window, and a long, lonely shadow was cast over the ground. Autumn winds swung through the windows, making the noise of "wool" like a whisper of sighs. Instead of being lost, kwok an's determination to break through his chest. He's been thinking about it for a long time and finally has his own plan。
The following morning, he went to the print shop near the newspaper. A hundred leaflets bearing their own little psychic numbers and names were printed, with the clear indication of “the janing daily news hotline”. Then we went to find the distribution point for a city newspaper, and it cost 50 bucks, so help the issuer with the tape. He spends the money willingly。
In the days that followed, kwok an became a full-fledged clock and lived a very busy day. At 7:00 a. M., at dawn, he was already sitting in his office. First of all, careful presentation of the hot-line logbooks, one page and a page of attention, and the unseemly clues -- for example, who's got the sewers blocked and who's in the back of the street, the lights are broken in the neighborhood for many days -- write them down in his interview book, and call one by one at 10 a. M.; he's carrying his interview bag to the streets of ganging city and the streets of the city, and his wife's wife's house, who listens to them about new things in the community; at noon, he buys an empty head, a bowl of noodles on the side of the road, and leaves the road immediately after; in the afternoon, he either continues to visit the town or simply goes to the town of the suburbs, chats with his family and villagers to understand their needs; and at night, when his colleagues return home from work and enjoy the fun of heaven, he stays at the empty offices, sorting information gathered during the day, and waits for calls。
Those days, the hard work is carved in bones. His feet were grinding water bubbles and walking with a limp, and every step of the way was painful. When he returned to the rental house at night, he used a dizziness lamp to pick out the bubble with a sterile needle, squeeze out the liquid inside, put on a cheap anti-inflammatory ointment, and kept on going out the next day; he kept talking to people for a long time, his throat was so dumb and his voice was full of heavy nostrils, and he kept carrying a glucose with him, and he felt sick and had one, drank some warm water and kept running for questioning. He did not know how many roads he had travelled, how many shoes he had worn, how many words he had to say, how tired he was to go back to the rental house every day and sleep without even the strength to wash. But even so, his heart is full of hope, and he has never thought of giving up。
Autumn winds have swept through every corner of the city of gangning, with leaves falling from one layer to the next in the newspaper compound, cleaners cleaning up every morning, but just after the wind, leaves falling down in gold and never clearing up the fall. Guo an's interview book is full of verbs, telephone numbers, popular demands and an outline of the interview; he's in his pocket all the time, moving to the maximum volume, afraid of missing any phone call。
Finally, one afternoon after more than half a month, after his daily insistence, the office suddenly sounded a familiar little psychic bell. "ding bells -- ringing bells," the sound is so refreshing and so loud in a quiet office. Guo an's heart referred to his voice, and almost jumped from the chair, hurried to the desk and grabbed the phone and pressed the listening button。
“hello, is this kwok from the janing daily newspaper?” on the other side of the phone, there's a medium-aged man who's been a little hesitant, with a few tests, “i would like to ask, what kind of material do you need to prepare for a permit for a self-employed business? I ran away from several departments, each of which said something different. I couldn't figure it out, so i wanted to ask you."
“hello, i am guo an.” guo an's voice is a bit overstretched, with a slight tremor of his fingers, but is trying to keep himself calm, “do not rush to obtain an individual business licence, which generally requires the original identity card and a copy, a title certificate or lease from the place of business, and a complete application,” and while reminiscent of the policy document he had consulted before, explaining it patiently and carefully, fearing that any detail had been omitted, and specifically reminding him of the process and the office hours, addresses of the various departments, and even instructing him to call him at any time, if he has no clarity。
Hang up the phone, guo an is standing there, and it's been a while since god came. He looked down and looked at his little psychics, and he couldn't help but speak up, filled with incomprehensible relief. While this is not an alarming and significant complaint or a hot news that can attract widespread attention, it is a real need for the people, who can really help。
Since then, guo an's little psychics have come up. Every day, there are different voices with expectations coming from the telephone: people who come to the city to consult them about the procedure; people who are in difficulty asking questions about the civil aid policy; people who report the use of public buildings by their neighbours to dump groceries, causing disputes; and older people who say on the phone that their children are unwilling to support themselves, that they live alone in their late years and that they have nowhere to go..
Every call is the most real expectation of the population, with doubts, frustrations and difficulties. Guo an has always listened patiently and answered carefully. The policy advice that can be responded to directly will be clear-cut and communicated to each other in an easy-to-understand language; disputes and recourses that need further verification will be carefully documented, the contact details, the address and the story of the other party will be followed up as soon as possible. He has also organized these people's consultations and mass appeals into short, refined texts and sent them to the newspaper's “hotback wall” column editor。
Soon after, the name of guo an appeared in the main hit-and-run field. The first is a question about individual business licences, with only 200 words, like a small piece of tofu, which makes guo xing happy. He came to the newspaper's library, found the newspaper, carefully cut his article down, put it on the page of the interview, and turned it over, with a sense of accomplishment. This was followed by a series of articles on the interpretation of the policy on access to social security and progress in the settlement of neighbourhood disputes. These little pieces, which are small, actually help the citizens to resolve their confusion, send useful messages and become “little helpers” in the lives of the people。
When my colleagues saw him, they looked at him, and from time to time someone volunteered to talk to himLife servicesClass, practical. The people will love it."
Director gong mentioned his name specifically at the departmental sessions, with a certain tone: “good job, guo an! It is equally important that social news be more than mere oversight, serving the population and responding to questions and queries. These `tofu clots', though small, are connected to people's lives, so that people can feel the temperature of newspapers and the sincerity of journalists, which is what we do in social journalism.”
The autumn has grown stronger and the weather is getting colder, and the leaves of the newspaper compound are still flying, laying on the ground like a thick blanket. Kwok an's interview book is full not only of people's pleas, but also of clippings in the "hotline echo wall" column, one by one, to witness his growth. He did not write a dramatic report, but with his patience and sincerity, he took up one of the expectations of the civilian population, a little bit of the original desire to be a journalist in a small matter。
This fall in '98 meant a lot to guo an. This middle-aged man, who has given up a three-foot podium and is obsessed with youth, has finally taken a solid first step on the path of social journalism. He knew that the road was long and arduous, that the future might be blocked, that it might be challenged, and that it might suffer, but that he would remain steadfast as long as his penthouse remained to the people and his heart remained unchanged. And record with pens the joy and joy of the common man, and keep the fire and the peace of the common man, and not fail the oath which was made in the wheat fields when they were young。
