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Spiderman. Superman. Lois Lane. Superheroes. Gritty black and gray and white with cigarette smoke in the air. Watery light of the docks flickering in between shitty blinds. Noir. Jamenson. Cigars. On the Waterfront.
By Rex on 05.31.2012
I hope one day i’l be able to fulfill my dream of becoming a reporter. Bringing news to the people everyday is my dream. Books before looks.
By Imogen Bose-Ward on 05.31.2012
so this reporter is just such a crazy person…reporting the news as she likes it, but not necessarily what’s the truth. the people of the world deserve to know the truth!! That’s what reporting is.
Who is there to double check this reporter’s resources? Who is there to stunt the wrongdoings of those corrupt on television? Nobody.
And people watch it as fact.
By Ashley on 05.31.2012
he was a strange man and always with a pad and pen. he wore old khakis and the worst color yellow shirt one could imagine. his oversized feet jutted out from under his stout legs and his arms reached just about to his knees. Needless to say the East Morehead Reader rarely got interviews with Don Hamm on the job.
By Sarah Jordan on 05.31.2012
I hate when those people are asking questions you just can’t imagine answering. It is so hard to think about what you should and shouldn’t say when everyone wants to know everything. I don’t know anything about my own life. Why do they need to know more? It’s like everything you want to say is not good enough.
By Alyssa Jane on 05.31.2012
The famous reporter, Dan brown, was in his office wondering how he could write about a terrible murder one more time and still not feel sick to his stomach and to separate his writing from his brain. He knew time was of the essence and he could not slack on this one as his editor was on his ass about writing in depth. Get the deep dark story that is hanging out there like dried meat.he needed a drink, he needed a woman. God, he needed to just get in his car and run away to a different place and time. To forget, to remember. He had no idea.
He walked the 3 flights of stairs to the door and out into the sunny day. Damn, where were his shades when he needed them. He liked the rain, the feel of it,the small of it. It made him feel on the outside like he did on the inside. Just cold. What next? Found his keys, found his car…..
By Joanne on 05.31.2012
A reporter is a person who investigates events for a newspaper. Anyone could be a reporter, and as long as there will be mass-media there will be reporters. Reporters are often nosy and annoy shady people, as well as people like me who like their privacy.
By Banica Anna-Maria URL on 05.31.2012
The reporter sat at her desk, her eyes flailing across the screen. Images of horror presented themselves – throats cut, knives impaled in soft flesh, hands stumped and bleeding… but this wasn’t what she was looking for. She scanned the screen for 4 more seconds until she found it – a broken doll, porcelain dripping blood.
By Karlien on 05.31.2012
Reporters have two roles in my mind. They are the gritty, get the facts kind of people with the card in their hat who stay up late to get the truth. Think All The President’s Men. Or they are incredibly invasive and trying to be in everyone’s private business. Where does the line cross? No idea. I’m not interesting enough to be followed.
By Kate on 05.31.2012
news reporter camera flashing pushing shoving trying to get the break for tomorrows from page. What do you think about, who did you talk to , when will you know, where did you say this was? The woman was getting tramped on her mission to get her microphone infront of the senator. His calm demenor was masking his fear and paranoia. We can all see you cracking old man, she though.
By Anneliese on 05.31.2012
Standing in front of the camera describing the terrible things that happened in the middletown, was Bran Leu, young reporter who just’ve started his new carrier.
By Omnix URL on 05.31.2012
Reporters remind me of my friends, Tsian and Dayana. They’re part of the school’s newspaper, and they’re always around taking pictures and getting the low-down on what’s going on. I picture reporters as gutsy, funny, and full of life. I might like to be one if I thought that my writing was good enough.
By Michelle on 05.31.2012
Somewhere the girl was putting on her tight pressed skirt, the red seems gripping her legs. She pulled on her favorite stockings and those chocolate colored heels she thought would catch his eye at the studio today. Standing up she buttoned her blouse and sighed, glancing at her watch. 10 mins til show time. It was a good thing that she lived in the small town of Ovideo, Flordia and only a few mins away from work, or she’s be really concerned about the way she looked in the mornings. Walking out to her kitchen, she grabbed her purse, stopping only to slowly apply the rouge lipstick to her large lips, lined with subtle wrinkles. 5 more mins left. With a last wink to herself she heads out the front door, careful to lock it behind her. Left, right, left she makes her way to the BMW her man brought. Too bad he couldn’t afford it, or her.
By Colleen E. Kennedy on 05.31.2012
Journalism and danger, this is what the true reporter seeks, not the bullshit that is announcing the latest celebrity gossip on the television. No, the true reporter dreams about being some kind of cross between law enforcement and private investigator and bringer of truth and life. But this may be a fantasy.
By Madelyn Johnson on 05.31.2012
Lois spotted a man with a bow-tie standing at the back of the scene. She wondered if he could tell her what’s going on.
“Hello! I’m Lois Lane, reporter for the Daily Planet,” she said cheerily.
The man smiled at her. “Hello, Lois! My name’s the Doctor.”
Lois stared. “The Doctor? That’s a strange name. You’re not from Metropolis, are you?”
The Doctor shook his head. “No, I’m from…London.”
By Damaris on 05.31.2012
I really just didn’t want to wake up that morning. It was the loud rumbling of whatever IT was that woke me up. I still remember hearing the screams, smoke filling the air, choking my lungs. I couldn’t even hear myself after a while behind the squealing of sirens, the blood curling shrieks of people, the cries for help, the sullen silence that lingered in my home. I can’t say more about it, it makes me cry.
By Alex Dee on 05.31.2012
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.