A Narrative: Brandi & Journalism
I first started telling people I wanted to become a journalist someday when I was six years old.
Now, I am roughly ten weeks away from that ‘someday’ — and looking back to my past, and reflecting on each of my efforts that has placed me this far, has never been more sentimental to me than now.
I want the world to see why.
At my grandparents’ house, at 6 years old,
I was sitting in my grandpa’s lap, and he had a newspaper in front of him.
He pointed to a little mark on the paper and asked if I knew what it was. I didn’t. He said, “That’s a comma” and told me what it was for. I smiled and nodded, and I said OK.
Next, he showed me what a period was and explained its use to me, too. I smiled and nodded, and I said OK.
Alongside his small lesson, nearly every time I was there, my grandmother would correct me for not using ‘proper English.’
I learned at a young age when I should use “so-and-so and I” and “so-and-so and me.”
She said, “If you take away the other person, it should make sense. It’s not ‘me rode my bike,’ it’s ‘I rode my bike.’” That’s still the example I use whenever I try to explain it to others.
I also learned at a young age when something is ‘good’ and something is ‘well.’
“We don’t do things good,” she said. “We do them well.”
While I vaguely remember it, I do remember their house is where that first spark it.
After that, I would write stories, with proper English and commas and periods, to read aloud to my family.
One night, around 2 in the morning, my mom found me in the living room with a flashlight, writing a story out of my older brother’s history book. He was a sophomore in high school. I told her I was doing extra credit.
I was in first grade.
In sixth grade, at 11 years old,
we had a book project. We were to write our own creative stories, draw our own pictures and have ten copies printed to give out to our family members.
I still have a few copies.
I wrote about my dream car for my sweet sixteen. It was a pink ’57 Cadillac with crushed-velvet seats; my recent vacation to Branson and all the live productions I enjoyed; and how my mom was secretly the President of the United States.
I was so proud to have a hard copy of my work. I remember thinking how cool it would be if I could have a real book of my own someday.
During my sophomore year of high school, at 15 years old,
I learned this really is what I want to do with my life.
We had a comparative essay due in a couple weeks. It was my first-ever essay graded on an AP rubric. I was nervous.
I wrote the essay. I texted my English teacher, Mrs. Maulsby, asking over and over again what I should edit; which literary devices should be incorporated and which should be taken out; how my grammar was; anything I could fix to make my essay perfect.
Nearly every night for those two weeks, I would text my essay to her. I would write it verbatim from the print on my paper to a text message. She was helpful. She helped me learn my passion.
I concluded with a metaphor of Remus and Romulus.
I received a 9 on it — my very first English assignment at the high school. That was equivalent to a 98. Seeing that grade was the moment I realized this truly was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
I started my very first journalism internship that year as a sophomore in high school.
I wrote six stories for the magazine that summer, and the very first I wrote had a major error in it. I’ve never made that same mistake again. It was a good lesson.
On my very first day of college, at 18 years old,
after my very first college course, I searched for the newsroom and walked up to the faculty adviser of Texas News Service — Tarleton State University’s campus newspaper.
I told him I wanted to write for them. He gave me an assignment right then and told me to have it in by 5 that afternoon. I did.
His name was Dan Malone, and little did I know, he is a Pulitzer Prize winner — and his wife, Kathryn Jones, occasionally freelances for the New York Times. This was my dream job at the time. And I was so proud to know them. This was the real deal for me.
The very next day, I walked into the newsroom and introduced myself to the managing editor. She told everyone, “That’s Brandi Addison.” It was weird. It was as if I was famous. But it felt good, and I felt welcomed.
From then on, I was the only freshman in the newsroom that semester. I wrote two front-page stories; one of them was published on the university’s website.
That year, I received third place in the news feature category at the Texas Intercollegiate Press Association competition.
I was proud of myself this time.
During my internship, at 21 years old,
I showed up at 8:45 in the morning, on June 5, the morning after my 21st birthday and officially became one of the four summer interns at Fort Worth Magazine.
Throughout the summer, I became close to colleagues; wrote several stories; filled out a lot of spreadsheets; took my own pictures for a few stories; pitched a lot of ideas; went to every weekly staff meeting; and convinced my boss to have two Margarita Fridays while I was there.
I learned a lot; I had fun; and I loved my internship.
On my third day there, the art director and executive editor asked me to go to a photoshoot with them. It turned out I was the subject they were photographing. I was on the July issue’s magazine cover.
The next month consisted mainly of working on Google Sheets for the inaugural Fort Worth 400 publication. I searched for, roughly, 100 professional headshots. I stayed four hours late on print day to copyedit the index. The final product came out nice.
The last three weeks of my internship was dedicated to a project I volunteered to help the photographer do. For those three weeks, we went out shooting nearly every single day.
One day, we were the only two people in Downtown Fort Worth, standing in a thunderstorm. Other days, we stood out in 110+ degree weather. Most days, we worked hours later than usual and came in hours earlier than usual. My 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. day turned into a 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. day — and sometimes, even longer. One Friday morning, we woke up at 5:30 a.m., so we could begin working at 6:30 and be back to the office in time for the 9 o’ clock staff meeting. The next morning — a Saturday — we showed up to work at 7:30 a.m.
I interviewed over 20 people during this process. I called back every single one of them to send out waivers and do another interview.
I wrote the cover story for the September issue.
I was also taking twelve hours during that month of my summer.
After already completing my internship, in mid-September, one of my former editors reached out to me, asking for help. I was asked if I could turn in a story the next day. I did. It was published, and it was written really well.
I was truly proud of that story.
To say the least, this was probably one of the greatest learning experiences I have had throughout my journalism career so far.
Today, at 21 years old,
I am a senior journalism student at Texas Tech University with a cognate in health, science and environmental studies. I walk the stage at 1:45 p.m. on December 15.
While I completed my required senior internship at Fort Worth Magazine in summer 2018, I have now been an intern or staff writer for seven different publications.
I’ve learned a lot from all of them. I’ve learned what I love in a workplace and what I hate. I’ve learned how to deal with those things. And I’ve learned that this really is passion.
But, as I continue to learn and grow each day, I have discovered various other passions, too. This includes topics in science, regarding: environmental sustainability, global warming and climate change — and, inevitably, in social issues, including: racism, poverty, world hunger, immigration and refugees, and animal and human welfare.
While I will always have the goal to, first, write interesting, credible and factual stories, my ultimate goal in this field is to encourage and help empower others who may also be passionate about — or struggling within — these issues.
Through my multimedia work and written words, I plan to do just that.
And you will never read the last of Brandi Addison.