2014考研英語：閱讀經(jīng)典試題及詳解(四十九)_跨考網(wǎng)

　　2014考研英語：閱讀經(jīng)典試題及詳解(四十九)

　　“How do I get into journalism?” is a question that almost anyone who works in this trade will have been asked by friends, godchildren, passing students and, in some cases, their parents. The answer, of course, is: “with difficulty”.

　　A breezily written new book by the writer, broadcaster and former editor of the Independent on Sunday, Kim Fletcher, recognises this. Its purpose, broadly, is to answer the question posed above, and to offer some tips on how to stay in journalism once you get there. Tenacity matters above all; and there’s a reason to be tenacious. Journalists now are arguably more professional, and certainly more sober, than in the hot metal days of old Fleet Street, but being a hack is still more fun than a barrel of monkeys. You get to have adventures and then write about them. As Fletcher says: “You would do it even if they didn’t pay you.”

　　Landing that job is a cat that can be skinned in dozens of ways. In the old days, you’d learn the trade as an indentured apprentice on a regional newspaper—working your way through the newsroom covering jam-making competitions and parish council meetings and, occasionally, bracing yourself for the grim task of the “death-knock”, where you interview the grieving parents of that week’s Tragic Tot, and trouser as many of their family photographs as you can. And thence, in some cases, to Fleet Street—though as Mr. Fletcher points out, nationals are not the be-all and end-all of journalism, and many extremely good hacks prefer to remain on local papers, or ply their trade happily in magazines.

　　You can start writing features or reports for some of the many trade and specialist magazines. Or you can sneak straight on to a national as a junior gossip columnist. Others get started by submitting ideas and articles on a freelance basis.

　　As Fletcher points out, the editor or section editor to whom you write is—most of the time—itching to throw your letter away; asking you in for an interview, or reading your cuttings, is a time-consuming and probably boring task he would rather avoid. Misspelling his name, or mistaking his job title, is a gift of an excuse to slam-dunk your letter in the cylindrical filing cabinet. Reporters are supposed to be good at finding things out. If you can’t even find out the name of the person you are asking for a job, you aren’t going to be a good reporter.