Is blogging journalism?

I co-oped at a newspaper during high school. During an interview with a 103 year old man, my editor asked the man what the key to a happy, healthy, and long life was. The man leaned in closer towards me, like he was about to tell me a great secret, or give me one of those moments in life you never forget (he succeeded!). I was seventeen. He gripped his cane a little tighter. I got a good look at his brown, kind eyes, his droopy skin, and the thick prescription of his glasses. He looked at me and slowly said, “good food and good love”. He then winked, and leaned back into his worn-out chair. I noticed the “sepia” coloured picture of his wife on his nightstand.

Because he said this to me, does this mean I’m an expert on life?

When I drive, I sing along to the radio. To every song that I recognize, I sing. I sing at the top of my lungs, with a voice that could break glass, make every cat within a two mile radius hide under the sofa, and send every person forced to listen into a mild psychiatric stay at a mental ward.

Because I sing in my car, does that make me a singer?

Right before my 20^th Birthday, my boyfriend of three months, ended our relationship. We both knew that it was coming to an end. My mother, being the kind, supportive, and sweet-hearted lady that she is, presented me with a book called “He’s Just Not That Into You”, as a way to sooth my sorrows. I was introduced to phrases like “the only responsibility that you have in someone else’s lapse in judgment…is to yourself”, “you already have an asshole, you don’t need another one”, “life is already hard enough without choosing someone difficult to share it with”, and “don’t be that girl”. My mother’s inclination was correct (I can’t wait until I can torture my own kid!). I was in need of a little reinforcement. I went through a growing pain that many face. All my own values, behaviour, and words said, were justified by the words said in a lime green book.

Because I read “He’s Just Not That Into You”, am I a psychologist?

Do you see where I’m going with this?

OK, here’s another one to consider…

I follow along with the stories of the day-to-day. I write about my findings on an internet generated posting service, where my “friends” can read my words, leave comments and write back to me if they so chose. I can write about anything that I want, from how much I hated the shoes of the woman in line in front of me at Pioneer Gas Station, to, how George W. Bush is handling the war. I’m a blogger.

Am I journalist?

I test myself by answering this question. A blogger is a journalist. Almost immediately, I’m offended.

My thoughts are these; “what! They think they can just waltz in here and say they’re journalists because they write on some website about what happened to them that day, they’re opinion, what they had for lunch?”, and “how dare they! They don’t know what it takes to be a journalist, the responsibility of being one, how important it is to see a story from all sides, and who knows if they know how to credit a quote to a person!”

To quote Ed The Sock “don’t piss in my ear, and tell me it’s raining”. Don’t just write things, and call it journalism.

But how many people really rely on a blogging website to report the facts, accurately, honestly, and with a proper degree of professional writing? When someone wants to know what happened, they pick sources they know they can trust. They scoop up a newspaper from a stand, or they tune into a local radio station. There are reasons for this…

To me, a journalist knows the importance of integrity, enthusiasm, patience, respect and have a true love for communicating. They know how to deal with every kind of person; from the overly pompous to the painfully shy, in order to get something they want. They’re master communicators who know how to reach every level of a broad audience with the words that they use to say what they mean. They dig below the top “sugar coated” level of a story, and dig into the gruesomeness that they know will steal the reader’s heart, grab their attention, bring tears to their eyes, or make them smile. A journalist reports what happened and saves their opinion for the “supper table”. They actually sit down, and speak with their sources. They don’t post what they think happened on a website, they know what happened. They don't go by "hear say". Journalists write the truth, and publish it in a honourble, professional, and reliable way. Then, it’s read over by another set of eyes, and then another. That’s journalism.

You can’t just start a website, stick a funny name on it, write on it every so often, and call it journalism. To me, this just doesn’t make sense.

Perhaps I’m just biased because I’m studying to be a journalist. Perhaps the many things that I have learned, have clouded my mind, to the point where I’m just plain stubborn in my ways, and opinions. But I don’t pretend to be an expert at life because I live by the words said by an elderly man, I don’t pretend I’m Diana Ross because I sing her songs, and I’m certainly not an expert at relationships because I read a book about them.

Blogging is fun, creative, sharp, intelligent, and a neat way to communicate with people. But it is not journalism.