What happened at a journalist sleepaway camp
What happened at a journalist sleepaway campPlus: Companies who ghost, a mad libs guessing game, and the last days of BuzzFeed.
Welcome to media_gossip, Embedded’s special weekly edition of … media gossip, sent every Friday. You’re getting this because you subscribe to Embedded, but you can opt out here. I’m appearing alongside some great Substackers for the live shit you should care about quiz show at Joe’s Pub next week. The event is free—I hope to see you there!! —Kate
Nick’s Riff This Week“I would eventually find myself working at The Atlantic—editing, with respect and admiration, David French and Tom Nichols and Molly Jong-Fast, among others—and seeing some validity in arguments about the ‘excesses’ of wokeness. I’m on the Millennial/Gen X cusp; had I, like so many others around my age, drifted right?” What Happened At A Journalist Sleepaway CampBy Angelina MazzaI’ve just returned from the National Critics Institute, where I experienced some sort of 18th-century medical miracle. Like an Englishwoman of delicate constitution, I was sent away to convalesce by the sea. Twelve days later, I am pink-cheeked, restored. I believe in journalism again. There were 14 of us: mostly mid-career theater critics, but also writers covering dance, food, music, television, and literature. We stayed at the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center in Waterford, Connecticut, where Chris Jones, chief theater critic at The Chicago Tribune, and Naveen Kumar, former theater critic at The Washington Post, led us through an intensive writing program. The program itself is fully funded. Every evening, we went out to see a play, musical, film, or dance performance. By morning, we had to turn in a review, visit the campus pub, and, ideally, sleep. Sleep! I was not getting any. My sentences were hostile, delinquent creatures I’d summoned in a fugue state. There was no time for the leisurely tinkering and second-guessing I am indulging in now. In workshops, no one apologized for a rushed draft. We held each review up to the light: What had I noticed? What was I really trying to say? Why did it matter?
Zadie Smith once said that a writing life requires “a great capacity to be alone.” Most days, I hunch over my dining table in a dirty sleep tee, surrounded by books, crumbs, and cans of seltzer. I read and type and Cmd-Z my way toward what I am trying to say. I love that solitude. But there is another kind, too: the fear that you may give yourself entirely to this work and still never make a life from it... Keep reading with a 7-day free trialSubscribe to Embedded to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives. A subscription gets you:
|





Comments
Post a Comment