A Reporter versus A Journalist

It’s been a minute since I frequented my own website and posted some of my innermost feelings for the world (although only likely 20 people) to see.

What’s funny is, in the last six months, I have written more than I ever have in my entire life.

Yet I feel like my voice is mute.

In the last half-year, I have been cosplaying as a news reporter.

Scratch that—I forget this is truly my life.

In the last six months, I have been a staff writer for the Santa Barbara Independent.

I have been reporting on some heavy-hitting stuff… and some not-so-heavy-hitting stuff (many a time, it’s not up to me).

We have the literal hard hitters: many car crashes. Then we have the feel-goods: an 80-year-old man got lost in the woods and was saved by Boy Scouts.

We have a Sable pipeline to redrill more oil, which it seems like everyone and their mother has reached for their torches and muskets and pointed at Big Oil—and lit that son of a * on fire.

We shall see the route forward with that.

And of course, we have the actions and words of a Mr. Donald Trump, which do slowly trickle downward into our town. Ahem—ICE raids, anyone?

Strange, reporting in a time where many people have lost their faith in democracy.

I feel, throughout all the chaos of the last two decades I’ve been alive (a dime and two cents, if we’re exact), that we’ve been through political tension, drama, scandals even (looking at you, Mr. Clinton), war.

But through all that, I do truly believe the American people never lost sight of that original Constitution.

Now it seems, some have lost sight of it in the sense that they’ve warped it to better suit their own vision of this country.

Others have lost faith in it, seeing those who are capable of manipulating those original words to gather power.

Funny how originally, I took to my keyboard to write about my own thoughts and feelings—and now I’ve gone down a political tangent.

Oh well! I would say 98% of the population find themselves in a similar predicament daily.

As I write, it is nice to hear my voice again.

Being a reporter, I am not supposed to have one.

I am supposed to write in plain language for all to read—unbiased—and get all that who, what, when, where, why down, of course.

People frequently ask me if I use AI. The answer is no.

HOWEVER—

Here’s where I get caught up: AI is (for anyone who does not know plainly) a Large Language Model, essentially taking the most likely next word from the prompt, gathering from the infinite sources of the web, to spit out what is now essentially the best—yet most generic—answer.

No deep thinking involved.

When I am reporting and writing my articles:

I try to get everything done so quickly, I very rarely drop into the pool that is deep thought to try to unearth some gems.

Reporting is not done in my voice, and therefore, I am going with the most generic/likely way to say something.

So compared to me—my voice—to some degree, I am AI.

The intelligence I am using to write hard news articles is formulaic, nearly artificial.

But it gets across the information needed for the public to remain informed.

In that sense, I am doing my patriotic duty—as the fourth pillar of our democracy remains (and let’s knock on wood here): the press.

Who knows if I stay in this professional field.

If you can’t tell by the slight narcissistic edge in this piece—I do truly love my own voice.

My own opinions. But I hear those are like assholes. Everyone’s got one.

But can everyone write theirs down in a lyrical and entertaining way and simultaneously have a soapbox/platform from which to shout it out into the void and hope you catch a few listening ears?

Eh, I don’t have all the answers here.

Just the loopy opinions of a 22-year-old journalist who is finding her way in a kooky, semi-dying, beautiful world.