(Image: James Kozianski)

In 100 days, I will launch the first issue of a new online magazine called (you guessed it) ‘If’.

The magazine will explore three major subjects: global development, environment and society/culture in an ongoing attempt to figure out how the world works and how to make it work better.

‘The IF Project’ is simple: to make good on this promise, and to document how I will go about doing it.

Click here to read more and to see where I'll be spending most of my time from now on.

Follow me on Twitter @JaneSYLee!

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My posts here have been fairly ad hoc of late, because I'm currently at a crossroads, and have been busy figuring out what my next step will be in the Big Bad World of Journalism.  For a long time, I've used this blog as a notice board for my newly published articles that I want to brag about, and for insights into the experiences I've had working for different media organisations along the way.


But in case you were wondering what 'kind' of journalist I really am, I've finally put together a coherent online portfolio to showcase my published works.  Check it out here.


(Image: This Next Blog)

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On the first day of the UN's Copenhagen Climate Change Conference I thought it might be wise to spruik an environmental magazine I am currently working on.

Sustainability Magazine covers both scientific and political news on climate change and environmental conservation and sustainability issues, with a particular focus on Australia.

I am the deputy editor for the second issue of the mag, which will include analysis of Copenhagen and its aftermath, and be available on news stands and online early next year.

In the meantime, I'm helping manage the magazine's online component, which aims to boost discussion and analysis alongside daily news updates. Follow 'Sustainablogger' on Twitter, read daily blogs on our website and become our fan on Facebook.

You can also find a recent blog post I wrote for Sustainability summarising the recent political drama in Australia (which led to the failure of the Government's emissions trading scheme and the installation of a new Opposition leader) here.

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(Photo by Phil Lee)

Another great photo taken on my camera by my brother. We were exhausted after a day spent walking the length and breadth of both Buda and Pest. We were waiting for the sun to set over the Danube River.

I collapsed on a bench by the river and, tired of playing tourist, proceeded to play with my mobile phone, ignoring the view. He was the only one with enough energy to continue meandering around the series of statues that lined the riverbank, snapping away as the light quickly and quietly faded around us.

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Artwork by: http://creativenerds.co.uk/


While I'm moseying on down this path of shameless self promotion, I should probably direct you to the nifty new widget on the right hand side column of the page (the 'Column of Shame') where you can now see up-to-the-minute tweet-sized updates of my life throughout the day. If you find them particularly interesting, you can even follow me on Twitter (where you will also find a lovely photo of me when I was 3) here.

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You probably know by now that I love a good dysfunctional relationship metaphor. Today I read one in a blog that likens journalists' passion for their profession to an "inappropriate relationship".

I disagree with its inference that, like most relationships of that nature, it's inevitable that all journalists will move on and find jobs in fields that take a lesser toll on our emotions and financial situations.

It's probably because I'm a hopeless romantic, or because I'm still in the 'honeymoon phase' that I'm pretty sure this one will work out, even if the others don't; that provided our love can survive the worst economic crisis in living memory, journalism is a keeper.

After all (cheesy as this may sound) a relationship is only worth having if you'd be prepared to go to hell and back to make it work out.

Props to Seattle-based journalist Linda Thomas for tweeting this to my attention. :)

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I am posting this video for all the journalists who have at one point or another been chewed out by their editor or producer about a job poorly done.

What should've been a quick and only slightly amusing story on a bear sighting in a suburban backyard goes slightly awry:

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Just to wind up (or add fuel to) the little debate we had earlier about the fine line between quantity and quality in this so-called new media world of ours, here is a blog post I stumbled on the other day by San Diego journalist Justin McLachlan that I think sums it up perfectly.

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About a month ago I began working on an article about Myanmar (Burma) for trade magazine Australasia ASEAN Business. The mag explores the way member states will be impacted by the recently signed AANZFTA, a multilateral free trade agreement that will drastically reduce trade barriers between member states over a region worth about $US2.7 trillion in GDP.

I agonised over this article for a long time. At first I struggled to find any sources to speak candidly about Burma's military regime for fear of reprisal. But I did manage to speak to a number of people well-versed in the economic and humanitarian plight of the region, and was happy with the end result. But it didn't end there. Having been commissioned by the ASEAN Australia Business Council, the final product was toned down for obvious reasons. But I still think it sheds light on some interesting issues that remain relevant almost fifty years since the military regime first came into power.

The Agreement is set to come into force this month.

"Burma's status as a signatory to AANZFTA would appear at odds with the diplomatic stance of the broader international community. But what impact will the agreement actually have on the Union of Myanmar?"

Read the rest of the article on page 126 of the ezine here.

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I met him outside a train station on a Friday night. Almost a year had passed since our last run-in, outside uni production suites, in between ABC and SBS cadetship applications. A brief hug and an exchange of knowing smiles proved that the bonds of Journalism school remained intact.

"Where to, coffee or a[n alcoholic] drink?" he asked.
"Up to you," I said, instinctively accommodating.
He cocked his head to the side, treading the waters of my unusually courteous behaviour with some trepidation: "Coffee then?" he suggested.
He was right to hesitate. It's Friday.The sudden realisation somersaulted it's way through my oesophagus, landing in my stomach with a dull thud.
"We're journalists now. We need to drink," I said, firmly steering his elbow around the shiny puddles that littered the busy road before us, and into the comfort of the nearest pub.

Over a few G+Ts we exchanged war stories of our first 'journalism' gigs, both now fully fledged members of the Business-to-Business industry, both trying to justify our roles at our respective companies by referring to ourselves and each other as if we belonged to some strange breed of that elusive creature we call 'journalism'.

Y'see, we both graduated under the flawed if not false impression that unless we were employed at a prominent media organisation (which, given the small size of the Australian media industry reduces the pool of potential employers to the Sydney Morning Herald, the Australian, the ABC and SBS), or were at the very least reporting news every day, we could not consider ourselves real journalists, regardless of how much we'd like to.

As the night wore on, the conversation gave way to bitching and moaning about how hard it all was. We had known it would be 'hard' but not 'this hard' to find our dream jobs. (This, just shy of three months out of university.) At one point, my friend drew his line in the sand, "I'm applying for ABC and SBS again this year. And if it doesn't work out, I'll start thinking about jobs in DFAT (the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade)."

It could just have been the two G+Ts, or perhaps the Cadillac Cosmopolitan- which, by the way, you should ALL try. It has a raw egg in it and EVERYTHING...very fancy - but I was truly stunned at this revelation. He may as well have told me that yes, he, Darth Vader, was indeed my father after all.

For, to me, to go from Journalist to Politician Spin Doctor would be crossing over to the Dark Side. It's not that journalists and politicians are necessarily opposed to one another (although that is debatable, feel free to challenge this in the comments below) but I would've thought at least part of the appeal of the former profession was the ability to "keep the bastards honest" (ironically) in blunt terms, or rather to be the Fourth Estate.

And more than that, to study a particular discipline for years, and presumably, to follow the careers of journalists you aspire to become more like for many more years, seems like too big a commitment to throw away after one year in the school of not-so-hard knocks.

He assured me that DFAT was his last resort but reasoned that there was only so much one could take in this quasi-journalistic environment. One example he gave was this: one of his stories had, though later nominated for an award, been removed from its website a day after he had posted it because it conflicted with a number of key advertising sponsors. Despite the fact that anything that takes up Internet space for a day can potentially reach millions more than news printed in a trade magazine ever could, It begs the zen-like question:

If a groundbreaking news story has no audience, is it still news?

Over to you, dear readers.

Tune in for the actual pep talk next post.

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*Update*

This question turns the overused (and kind of absurd) argument - 'kids these days' have it easy when it comes to the media industry because we can 'publish ourselves' on the Internet in one fell click - on its head. Zillions of hits do not maketh Perez Hilton a 'celebrity journalist'. But the blogger vs. citizen journalist debate would not even exist without the huge readership that website attracts on a daily basis. Does a journalist's value therefore turn on the size of its audience?



[Photo: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/]

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Little known fact: when I was about eight years old, and resembled Violet Beauregard after she ate the stick of gum that tasted like a three course meal at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory...



...my Dad took me to the Royal Easter Show, which is the highlight of the year for all Aussie kids under the age of 10, right after Christmas and birthdays.

But I wasn't like most well adjusted kids my age. The infamous warehouse lined with themed stalls carrying souvenirs from every Disney film ever made, and Easter showbags filled with everything from two-metre jelly pythons to whoopee cushions did not make my heart race nearly as much as the Channel 7 news set, which had been especially set up to satisfy the fame whoring urges of pretentious brats like myself.

For a small fee, Channel 7 would film you pretending to be a 'real' journalist, while reading the news bulletin script they provided via teleprompter, and sell you the video tape as a memento of your day at the Easter Show. Me? On TV? That was all I needed to know. Gripping Dad's hand in my pudgy little paw, I bent over at the hip in my effort to drag him over to the long queue that had begun to form.

Now, before I go on, understand this about my Dad: he has a really twisted sense of humour, even by universal 'Dad-joke' standards. As we drew closer to the head of the line, he whispered: "Now make sure you try your best up there. You know Channel 7's hiring newsreaders right? If you're really good, maybe they'll pick you!"

Uh oh. Sweat beads dotted my upper brow, and not just from the bright lights behind the camera. It felt like the words before me were moving faster than my eyes, causing me to stumble over almost every single one. When the nightmare was over, I ran over to Dad, tears streaming, red faced with embarrassment, and kicking myself all the way home for ruining my 'one shot at stardom'. Dad laughed: "I was joking! What, you thought I was serious?"

I still have that video somewhere, hidden away among my other darkest hours of shame. I haven't been able to bring myself to watch it since. If asked about it, Dad will always say: "What? I don't remember that! When did I do that?" I think that was the day my beef with Channel 7 began.

In Year 10, I applied for work experience at Channel 7, willing to be the bigger person and put aside our ancient rift. Unbeknown to me, they had received a similar application from another girl in my grade, and, operating under a one-intern-per-school policy, they thanked me very much for my interest but regretfully rejected me. I vowed to attach that letter to my future reciprocal rejection of that commercial network, when Channel 7 would no doubt come to headhunt me for my journalistic prowess.

My, how things have changed since I was eight. I've since moved away from all television aspirations to pursue a print/radio career, and my opinion of Channel 7's journalistic value has also been, erm, revised over the years.

But the Australian media industry is far too small for me to avoid ever crossing paths with my arch nemesis again. A couple of weeks ago, Channel 7's current affairs program 'Today Tonight' came to the publishing firm where I currently work, to interview my editor about our consumer magazine for sea and tree changers, 'Live the Dream'. No, I didn't appear in the tiny 30 second grab he features in, but my back and two cold shoulders, certainly do. Jane: 1, Channel 7: nil. The grudge lives on.


Check out my victorious moment (Literally, a moment: If you blink you might miss me.) here- after you click on the link 'sea change'.

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I'm just starting to try to wrap my head around tonight's much anticipated Federal Budget 2009-2010 announcement.



So far I've worked out:

1. I still have about half a year to cash in on the $AUD14,000 first home owners' grant if by then I change my mind and decide that, actually, 22 is the best age to lock myself down to a mortgage.

2. My biggest mistake of 2008 was not working enough to be able to pay taxes that year, therefore robbing myself the benefit of the little $900 present Mr Rudd recently gave everyone else to 'help the economy', i.e. 'go shopping' guilt-free. It now appears the Government's spending spree (including two one-off payments) is over, as Australia's third stimulus package will be spent largely on infrastructure.

But before I go bury myself in the pile of media speculation the size of Scrooge McDuck's swimming pool of gold coins that has no doubt already begun to accumulate online about what Mr Swan's speech means for the Australian and global economy, I thought I'd share with you a story about the historic tradition of 'locking up' journalists in Canberra in the lead-up to the announcement of the budget, which appeared in The Australian newspaper yesterday morning.

Feel free to mull over how ridiculous it is for as long as you like.

After all, I may not emerge for a few days.

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...hell, it's probably why I've always been so attracted to the profession of journalism.



Over the last couple of weeks I've been working on an article about Myanmar's (Burma's) position under the recently signed ASEAN Australia New Zealand Free Trade Agreement (AANZFTA), given its astonishing human rights record, most recently noted by journalists that covered the Saffron uprising of late 2007 and in the early days following Cyclone Nargis.

I don't think I quite knew what I was getting myself into when I started researching Burma. I had a hard time securing interviewees straight off the bat. But I succeeded in the end, and I even think my skin's gotten thicker from the experience, which is always a good thing for a wannabe journalist.

I may have even improved my interviewer 'style' or 'technique', if you consider catching a politician (Greens Senator Scott Ludlum, Burma Campaign Australia) off guard for a moment a measurement of journalistic success:

JSYL: To be very cynical though, would you say that Australia possibly doesn’t have enough to gain from taking such a strong stance in terms of resources or in terms of trade, or alternatively that it benefits somewhat from not taking action [against the Burmese military regime]?

Senator Ludlum: [muttered under breath] I wish this was a conversation rather than an interview.

I didn't realise he'd said this 'til I transcribed the interview. Had I known, I probably would have further pressed him to speak more openly.

It got me thinking: what is the difference between an 'interview' and a 'conversation' with a journalist? Surely journalists are encouraged to challenge and discuss various views with their sources to generate a meaningful debate, as long as they avoid promoting their own? Another interview I did with Sean Turnell, the editor of Burma Economic Watch (which was well worth the wait) ultimately turned into what Ludlum might term a conversation:

Turnell: I think also though, that we should probably be a bit more critical of China because clearly China is the country playing the biggest role and it’s a wholly negative role.

JSYL: But you’ve heard all these media reports about how the Australian government is so eager to retain its relationship with, and not to offend China at all, even in the slightest at the moment.

Turnell: Indeed. No, I agree and I think this is an area, Jane, where Australia should be saying: "Look we respectfully disagree with you". In fact, in some ways it might even be an opportunity for the Australian government because obviously lately it’s come under a bit of criticism for being a bit too close to China and so on, and this might be an interesting, low-cost way in which they can express their empathy!

JSYL: Right, because I don’t believe that getting a tougher stance on Burma is really going to compromise our relationship with China that much.

Turnell: Totally agree, totally agree.

JSYL: I mean look at Tibet. We’ve met with the Dalai Lama so many times and nothing’s happened.

Turnell: Absolutely right.

JSYL: I don’t know. I think I’ve spoken to too many activists.

Turnell: Well I’m really quite fascinated with your attitude as well because that’s quite interesting to me, and educative for me. And I think you’re right because it sort of goes to the point that I mentioned earlier that…for once we can say there actually is right and wrong. It’s one of those things where so much of the world is grey, but not, not this regime...

And at the end of the interview, he gave me the nicest compliment I've possibly ever received:

Turnell: Okay, well thank you! Your questions were incredibly perceptive because I spend a lot of time talking to the press and most people have nowhere near the understanding that you have and have asked as penetrating questions and as broad as well. Most people just highlight one particular sanction or whatever, so no, it was a pleasure.

So where does the line between interview and conversation lie? And did I cross it, in this instance?

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You may or may not be wondering what I'm doing blogging at 2.25am Sydney time. (If you're not, you have no empathy, soul, or business perusing my blog. Sorry. I'm tired. That sounded funnier in my head.)

It all started with an article - The Burmese economy, warts and all, and how the recent ASEAN Australia New Zealand Free Trade Agreement (AANZFTA) will work in that context.

After a quick Internet browse I stumbled on three perfect contacts:

1. Australian economist who's published countless works and been quoted for his views on Myanmar in, (who'd have thunk it?) The Economist

2. A Burmese person who shall remain nameless

3. Humanitarian aid workers who've worked in Myanmar for years

But it was too good to be true. One by one my potential interviewees started to drop out for various reasons. Then, miraculously, said economist agreed to a phone interview despite currently being in Washington.

Well, my big ego made me brag about it on Facebook and Twitter, and being a stickler for accuracy, it also felt compelled to report the unfortunate series of events that followed:

10.19PM JSYL taking a nap before a 1am interview with Australian economist currently in Washington, on the plight of Burmese migrant workers in Thailand..sweeeeet

10.27PM JSYL oh. holy. crap. what is wrong with my recorder.

10.29PM JSYL All's well. thank God I had spare cassettes. Night all!

...after fitfully hovering between sleep and consciousness for a few hours...

1.14AM JSYL voice mail?!?! nooooooOoooooooOoooooo

Journalism fail indeed.





*Not really. Anna Nalick is though, and it's a good one.

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Antonio Sofi, blogger and new media commenter, had some interesting things to say earlier this month when speaking at the International Journalism Festival in Perugia.

"You may not be familiar with both medicine and the wars from the last century in Africa. But you might have readers among doctors, historians, lawyers and sociologists.

Set a subject in an interesting and provocative way and you can get many feedbacks to find the truth.

Write incomplete articles and let the audience fill them in! The conversation is basically more interesting than the topic!"

Long live the blogosphere!

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In about a month I will finally graduate from 5 years at university.

Yet tonight, for the first time, I started questioning what it might really be worth.

My Journalism degree alone cost my parents a whopping $AUD 7518.60 (not including student union fees before Voluntary Student Unionism came in force, and textbooks, which I paid for myself, or the huge cost of letting me go on exchange in 2008. I shudder to think what the other degree cost them). At the time of writing, that's the equivalent of £3 688.97, USD 5,402.86 and €4,106.45.

...Pause for gaping mouths to close...

It's an age-old debate: can 'Journalism' ever be truly 'taught'?

Every Journalism student has come across at least one successful journalist from the old school o' hard knocks, coffee mug in hand and notepad at the ready. He (it's usually a 'he') poo-poohs the notion of 'Journalism school' (always spoken with a wry smile and a sarcastic tone), explaining that he got to where he was by clinging to his street smarts, raw talent and sheer luck.

And for every one of those there is another suited up, slicked back journo with 20 years of contacts who's rapid-fire thought pattern betrays his smooth, laid back demeanour that comes only from the reassurance that the combination of all that education and experience and a full-time job can bring.

Given the current climate (That must be the world's most over-used phrase of the century) I'm not the only one thinking about this. The debate is finding new relevance now as media jobs decline, and the future of Journalism becomes more uncertain. If the truly brilliant are struggling, where does that leave the rest of us? Indeed, despite burgeoning enrolment rates at Journalism schools the world over, only in 2016 will reporter positions increase. Great. Only 7 years to go.

I cannot deny the personal value of the university experience. I met some of my best friends and learned some of my hardest emotional lessons to date while there. Most (sadly not all) of us have by now, through university, acquired a bulk of the social and life skills needed to get us through to adulthood and the Real World.

And let's face it, these days going to university is so commonplace it's almost rare to find someone without at least one degree upon entering the workforce.

But after all that, though better off personally and to some extent professionally for the experience, I have to wonder if maybe, I might've fallen into Journalism even without it, as so many of the best seem to have done, and left my parents $7518.60 richer, to make up in some small way for the recent death of half of their superannuation fund.

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Many grads can relate to having done all the 'right things' to get our foot in the door to Oz otherwise known as the media industry. With the early days of (at times) dull work experience, (more promising) internships, free bylines, and getting our first important media contacts through brilliant initiative and sheer luck long behind us, we were probably of those well placed to survive the competitive fight for limited entry level positions in media.

But since the global economy decided to explode, journalism's become an even harder gig to pull. We too have been left clinging desperately to the frame of that same door, kicking and screaming so it doesn't shut on us completely.

BBC journo Andrew Neil, in 2006, raised a similar argument to News Limited chairman John Hartigan's in 2007: that the digital age presents journalists with greater challenges but also massive opportunities that must be embraced in order to move forward. Though written from the comfort of a time when being made redundant was a condition only suffered by people close to retirement, rather than being a rite of passage for 20-somethings that might have otherwise been on their way to lifelong careers, I think some of his words still ring true today.

While I use the words 'journalist' and 'journalism' really loosely throughout this blog (the endless interpretations of what it means to be truly a part of that profession are so far-reaching they've made up entire semesters worth of discussion that are for another blog, another day), I come from a school of Journalism that has always drummed into its students the notion that 'journalism' and 'PR' always clash.

Yet as I learn more than ever before about the media in the workforce itself, it seems as if we all have to 'sell' ourselves, rather than 'prove' ourselves to be worth a position, now, perhaps more than ever before. Neil confirmed my fear:

"The editors of the future who want to entice the best and the brightest will have to cater for journalists who are brands in their own right and who develop their brands across various platforms, not always for you exclusively.

"The journalists of tomorrow will write for newspapers, contribute to magazines and podcasts, work for TV production companies and write their own blogs, because you wouldn't give them a column then they will sell the blog back to you at an inflated price"

Then again, maybe, as Neil suggests, this change will be to our benefit as it gives us greater independence from newspaper barons or media moguls, and therefore, better quality journalism:

"The days when journalists were wholly owned subsidiaries of a single editor are coming to an end, and those who try to run journalists that way will end up employing dummies and the best and the brightest will have gone elsewhere."

I guess technology's just made it that much harder, and easier at the same time to get in the door. Here's to hoping we can do it without (completely) losing our integrity in the process.

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For the past month I've been working on Australian Innovation, the official publication of the Australian Innovation Festival. The first copies arrived yesterday, and I have to say I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out.

I sub-edited a number of the articles and advertorials that appeared in the book, and even contributed a few stories of my own, namely:

Curiosity Killed the Copycat - p.63

Picking Winners - p.107

Sharks in Shock - p.116

Secret Inventors' Business - p.117


More on this a little later.

You can check out an online version of the magazine here.

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Update:

I always thought working in a magazine would mean living the glamorous life - wearing expensive clothes, swishing away super shiny locks and carrying away bags of freebies from expensively catered events...though much of this was probably drilled into me by one too many hours spent re-watching 'The Devil Wears Prada'. (Don't judge me, you've all done it too, I know, and coveted those Chanel boots at one stage or another. Bite me.)

But after getting Jane Bruton her breakfast every day (a fruit cup and a bottle of water from that particular store in Covent Garden) and watching the Features Editor of an Australian magazine that shall remain nameless paint her fingernails with dark purple nailpolish at her desk, the once sparkling snapshot of magazine life in my head became a little dull and tattered around the edges.

The B2B publishing house where I work presented an equally huge culture shock to my system. I can count the number of women in the office on one hand on most days (part-time interns excluded, for now). And yes, the gender-shift really does change the culture of a newsroom. Compared to the wire service routine to which I was by now accustomed, the pace seemed to slow right down. Until, that is, production week before deadline arrived out of nowhere, and everyone simultaneously shifted gears to accommodate the adrenaline rush.

Call me a self-absorbed brat (though maybe not to my face too early in the morning) but I will never tire of seeing my words and name in print. The day the first copies of the book came in, I could hardly contain myself, and in the words of my colleague, 'jumped around'.

Sure, we may have all made daily sarcastic jokes about how, being a B2B book, rather than a consumer publication, with a large number of politically spun commissioned articles, our readership would not be mind-blowing and our best efforts would not be acknowledged by many. I can tell you with all honesty I've had my own doubts about the 'value' of my contribution to that elusive and self-effacing profession of 'journalism' in the production of this magazine.

Nevertheless, in came the prints, in their awkwardly fragile brown cardboard boxes. And there we each sat on our respective wheely-chairs, music blaring on the radio in the background - for once, the only audible sound in the room. Flicking through each page painstakingly for errors, squinting at the cover, holding up the spine to the light to examine the glue that connected pages we had gone over for days on end. Jokes aside, we take a lot of pride in what we do. And the same can be said for the best journalists in the business.

That's good enough for me.

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1. Beirut is the capital of Lebanon. (Don't ask.)

2. The picture of my boyfriend being violently inhaled by some sort of giant killer whale is actually a picture of my boyfriend, hugging me.

3. Bertrand Russell once said, "There is much pleasure to be gained from useless knowledge". But some people should never be googled.










[Photo Source: XinHua News]

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I am sat in a cafe on Brick Lane, leather jacket clad, typing on my powerbook, a blue 1920's ring on the fourth finger of my right hand tap-tap-tapping the silver keys. Underground rap over a sultry jazz beat thumps in the background, and the words "I exist despite you" linger on the back wall in neon red lights. The uber-cool baristas behind the counter smile, one with a pen somehow entangled in his curly hair, another with impossibly huge glasses and an impossibly bald head. To my left- my mobile, wireless username card and soy chai latte. To my right- two others on laptops, modern salads and macbooks, and piles of photocopied textbook articles.

Here I am.

Everything has changed.

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