Illustration by MK Brittain
By Emily Wunderlich
I became a journalist by mistake.
As a freshman in high school, I tried to register for the yearbook class because I loved taking photos. I envisioned myself attending Ringling College of Art and Design and becoming the next Annie Liebovitz — or, at the very least, a portrait photographer with her own studio.
All of that came tumbling down when I ended up in the newspaper class instead of the yearbook. Aren’t they supposed to be sworn enemies or something? I never liked writing essays in school, so why would I write articles for fun? I can’t even talk to strangers!
Fast forward seven years, and now I’ve graduated with a bachelor’s degree in journalism (summa cum laude, by the way, but who cares?).
In her three years at The Crow’s Nest, Emily Wunderlich has worked as a contributor, online editor, managing editor and editor-in-chief.
Courtesy of Jonah Hinebaugh
I don’t think I ever had an “undiscovered talent” for writing. It took years of insufferable first drafts to get where I am, which isn’t all that impressive.
I owe a lot of my growth to this humble little student weekly tucked away in SLC 2400. When I think about my time at this paper, a single memory doesn’t come to mind. The late nights-turned-early mornings all blur together, because when your life is punctuated by deadlines, you don’t really have time to look back; you just have to keep moving.
For three years, this campus newsroom was my second home. Sure, my problems still existed outside the office. But for a few long hours every week, they didn’t matter. What mattered was my purpose. My job. My co-workers who became my closest friends. The readers who asked questions and pushed us to dive deeper into our reporting.
I’m forever indebted to the editors I’ve worked with over these last three years. They’ve provided me laughter, snacks, support and a healthy dose of constructive criticism. They deserve an award for putting up with my rants, high-strung personality and incessant nagging about headlines and captions. (“Remember, they need a subject and verb!”) I know all of them are onto great things.
Courtesy of Mike Lang
I also owe many thanks to our adviser, Rob, who hasn’t for a second eased up on his expectations of us. His is the voice I hear in my head whenever I have a question about a headline or an AP style rule. I’ve also probably tried too hard to make him laugh. (Haven’t we all?)
I’m going to miss the endearing journalism faculty that I’ve gotten to know over the years, too. I wouldn’t have survived without the small class sizes and one-on-one attention that we were fortunate enough to receive in this program. I’m sad I won’t get to barge upstairs in PRW and bother whoever is doing their office hours during my Monday newspaper delivery route.
As a chronic perfectionist, I’ll never feel like my work here is “finished.” But I’m damn proud of what we managed to accomplish.
We dedicated a special issue to our 50th anniversary as a campus publication in October.
We redesigned our website for the first time in years, thanks to the tireless efforts of our online editor, Katlynn Mullins.
We’ve re-established a working relationship with Student Government after severed communication, budget cuts and threats to defund us left us at an impasse last spring.
We advanced the very first consolidated SG elections and explained the new structure so students were prepared to make their vote count. We even moderated the St. Petersburg campus’ gubernatorial debate.
Courtesy of Christopher Campbell
Our coverage of consolidation and the adjunct faculty’s union earned us and Nancy McCann a prestigious award from the Pinellas County Chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union.
We continued to publish frequent updates to our website, even as our classes and jobs moved online in the midst of an unprecedented pandemic.
My point? Our print circulation may have been cut short this year, but there’s no denying the impact we made.
It hasn’t all been smooth sailing, though. Journalism sometimes feels like a thankless job. You spend hours analyzing how to accurately and fairly report a story. You ask tough questions during interviews, and the anxiety never seems to fade, no matter how many times you’ve done it. You write, rewrite, start over and revise, only to be greeted by a swarm of angry (and, sometimes, personal) comments on Facebook.
Oh, well. My skin is thicker because of it.
Journalists are needed now more than ever to keep their communities informed. I don’t plan to quit just because my time at USF St. Petersburg has come to an end.
I don’t know what’s next for me in the struggling industry of print media. What I do know is that I’m not giving up on it. I’m a firm believer that you never have to make it to a national news outlet for your work to matter.
Local journalism matters. Your community matters.
I may be a journalist by mistake, but it’s one of the best mistakes I’ve ever made.
Am I still intimidated by talking to strangers? Yes. Is it worth it? Absolutely.
