The Corsair? It's unequivocal

HOW I BECAME A HACK Part three. Returning from the USA in 1972 I looked back on two decades of journalism. The early years had included amateurish, unconnected writing; latterly I’d improved others’ stuff. Now, thanks to Plutarch, I was writing about a subject I was familiar with. At this shockingly late juncture (aged 37), and for reasons I cannot explain, I decided to learn to write.

“Learn to write” is open-ended; everyone dies a student. “Write more disciplined articles” sounds better. Later, the matter of style arose.

Earlier methods were a hindrance. Writing at 1000 words/hour meant finishing a sentence in such a way that a new sentence might be tacked on seamlessly. Nothing more. Optimism drove the process. I needed to plan. A tangential first paragraph, a significant interviewee quote three paragraphs in, the project’s difficulties ticked off one by one, a growing sense of enlightenment, success. Bingo!

Amateurs love the first, fine careless rapture; to them planning sounds dull. But from planning rhythm emerges, first between paragraphs, then between sentences, then within. How slow I was to recognise the short contrasting sentence, thrown like salt into a stew. And that sentences needn’t bustle in like Mrs Peg’s subject-verb-object but could sidle deferentially.

But we are what we are. My weakness is facetiousness (to the alarm of many Americans). A desire not to be taken as serious or – worse – earnest. I tried my hand at verse but lapsed. I enjoyed the cleverness but the very act of setting out to write verse seemed grandiose and smelt of academia, never my natural lair. The techniques I have half-learned are rarely employed on big subjects. The novels are an attempt to set this right but I may have left it too late. Le style, they say, c’est l’homme.

Sad when you think of his wasted life

HOW I BECAME A HACK Part two. After two years as tea boy (Part one) I became a junior reporter at a district office serving morning, evening and (mostly) weekly papers. Picking up:

Shorthand. (Above) Chrysanthemum and herbaceous border in Pitman. A 1000-word article based on a chrysanthemum society techno-talk demands shorthand. Memory alone is inadequate and dangerous. I had 100 wpm certificate, could write 120 wpm but bad handwriting meant bad shorthand. Later, shorthand hindered my writing ability. Shorthand recorded what was said not what was done; this inhibited comment and imagination.

Interviewing. Haphazard, self-taught: uneducated youth struggling in adult-dominated society. Teaching oneself to ask: Your husband was killed today in car crash, what school did he go to?

Understanding institutions. Meetings of special-interest groups, local councils, governing bodies of churches, etc, follow patterns. Certain events within a pattern are newsworthy, others not. Vital to understand patterns of procedure at courts-at-law. Contempt of Court provisions permit unlimited punishment for unwary.

Typing. Self-taught with high level of motivation. Guideline: ability to write 1000-word article in one hour on to typewriter from scratch.

Writing style. Theoretically unimportant since articles were formulaic. However, a better style might catch the eye of someone important. Other reasons: pride and cuttings book.

What is news? Overrated judgment picked up by almost everyone after two weeks in journalism. Definition: a tiny exception in a dross pile of the expected. Sometimes a fact; more often something said. Recognition tip: newsworthy stuff comes with its own implicit headline.

Endurance. Sixty-hour weeks common. Social life so fragmented I drank during brief interstices as my only hobby. Avoiding clichés, I became one.

Part three. Learning to write

Lost world revisited

HOW I BECAME A HACK. Part one. Now you need a degree. Then (1951) not a single qualification. Just as well since I started work, age 15, before GCEs were announced and my score was meagre.

An absolute beginner I carried mugs of tea for reporters and sub-editors, collected hourly editions of the newspaper from the press-room, opened mail, picked up hand-written copy from reporters covering magistrate courts, called on those whose relatives had died and asked for photos of deceased. Working day 8.30 am to 5 pm, five-and-a half days a week, Saturday a full working day. Salary £1 10s. a week

Reporting opportunities occurred in evening, mainly amateur dramatics no one else wanted to attend. Occasionally two in one evening. Watched first act, got bus back to Bradford, wrote story, handed it over. Home by 10 pm. Paid 1 p a line for anything published.

What was expected ? Never defined but eventually inferred. A deep-seated belief that newspaper journalism was the best job – the only job. Acute cynicism developed from watching lives wrecked in court cases. That I would read novels copiously, jeer at those who offended house style (eg, “… where a doctor pronounced him dead.” I pronounce you dead!), spell well without recourse to a dictionary, treasure gossip and tolerate active homosexuality.

Access to all national newspapers; frequently read The Daily Worker (now Morning Star), the Communist Party sheet. Education/punishment: via calculated humiliation. My immediate boss, the chief reporter, rude and cruel: enoyed making women reporters cry. Did I cry? Perhaps, can’t be sure. During first year I was so tired I used to sleep until 2 pm on Sundays.

Part two: The necessary skills.