Fresh carrion smells sweet
Caught by surprise From trying to write an article about Ruth Metzler's book. And the danger of suddenly coming face to face with your own fate.
Column On trying to write an article about Ruth Metzler's book. And the danger of unexpectedly coming face to face with your own fate.here, Mbwana, here! Look under the table. Oh yes, you're used to someone making big noises about journalism here every six weeks. (Opinion columns are a kind of venereal disease: they are almost all written by gentlemen with testicles the size of melons). But my voice - not to mention the rest of it - is weak at the moment. The reason is simple: I messed up my last article and nothing could have gone wrong: I had eight days, a brilliant mood and the favorite smell of journalists in my nose: the smell of fresh carrion. It was a perfect drama: an ex-Federal Councillor! The first to be voted out of office! The first to write a book! A monstrous ham! And now appearing again! And embarrasses her party terribly at her public farewell!
I did my duty: I printed out 200 pages from the SMD database, read the book, went to party conferences and book launches, spoke to the usual suspects of experts and even a few unusual ones - I had piles of quotes, anecdotes and analyses. Then I sat down and wrote: shortly before the editorial deadline, I had practically three quarters of the article and still hadn't told the slightest bit of what I wanted to. The final editors raged, and I delivered: 10500 dead letters, a tough mumble from the
Length and consistency of an NZZ editorial.
Since then, I've been walking around the city feeling deeply sad and asking myself why, why, why. Here's what I come up with:
1. arrogance. I was sure that the agony of the CVP and the self-destruction of a Federal Councillor into a cervelat celebrity was such dramatic material that nobody could ruin it. At least not me.
2nd retelling. Up to three quarters of the way through the article, I almost exclusively reported on what had appeared in other newspapers: career, book launch, party meeting, etc.
3. nosiness: This was followed by long comments on Ms. Metzler's false advisors, lack of contact with parliamentarians, the first-person style of her book - all plausible. But not what really interested me.
4. heartlessness. The crucial mistake. If I had listened to my heart, it would have been clear that the article should not have been written in a smart-alecky way, but in a frightened way: with honest fear. After all, how does someone manage to work in the Federal Parliament for five years without understanding its mechanisms? And not even after a bad defeat? How does someone manage to confuse themselves with their image ("I'm young and dynamic!") to such an extent that nothing more personal than that becomes apparent, even after extensive research? How can someone manage to write an entire autobiography about themselves with nothing but their own speeches, their own successes and the resulting
to quote the resulting newspaper article?
Ruth Metzler's rise and fall would have been a really interesting drama if it had been illuminated in this way - as a tragedy of the hype generation of the nineties, which slipped from boom to bust; as a study of a type of middle and upper management that falls into an unexpected crisis; as the fate of everyone who lives in files, agendas and media. Whether as a federal councillor, programmer or editor-in-chief: behind the job, nothingness awaits.
It's about that nasty feeling when an article has been left for dead: my existence feels a little thin. So do better than me, Mbwana! Never be arrogant. Write straight to the point. Never repeat what others have written. And listen to your heart.
And once again visit a swimming pool, a movie theater and some friends. Until the sweet smell of fresh carrion calls you back to work.
> Constantin Seibt is editor for politics and economics at the weekly newspaper (WOZ).
I did my duty: I printed out 200 pages from the SMD database, read the book, went to party conferences and book launches, spoke to the usual suspects of experts and even a few unusual ones - I had piles of quotes, anecdotes and analyses. Then I sat down and wrote: shortly before the editorial deadline, I had practically three quarters of the article and still hadn't told the slightest bit of what I wanted to. The final editors raged, and I delivered: 10500 dead letters, a tough mumble from the
Length and consistency of an NZZ editorial.
Since then, I've been walking around the city feeling deeply sad and asking myself why, why, why. Here's what I come up with:
1. arrogance. I was sure that the agony of the CVP and the self-destruction of a Federal Councillor into a cervelat celebrity was such dramatic material that nobody could ruin it. At least not me.
2nd retelling. Up to three quarters of the way through the article, I almost exclusively reported on what had appeared in other newspapers: career, book launch, party meeting, etc.
3. nosiness: This was followed by long comments on Ms. Metzler's false advisors, lack of contact with parliamentarians, the first-person style of her book - all plausible. But not what really interested me.
4. heartlessness. The crucial mistake. If I had listened to my heart, it would have been clear that the article should not have been written in a smart-alecky way, but in a frightened way: with honest fear. After all, how does someone manage to work in the Federal Parliament for five years without understanding its mechanisms? And not even after a bad defeat? How does someone manage to confuse themselves with their image ("I'm young and dynamic!") to such an extent that nothing more personal than that becomes apparent, even after extensive research? How can someone manage to write an entire autobiography about themselves with nothing but their own speeches, their own successes and the resulting
to quote the resulting newspaper article?
Ruth Metzler's rise and fall would have been a really interesting drama if it had been illuminated in this way - as a tragedy of the hype generation of the nineties, which slipped from boom to bust; as a study of a type of middle and upper management that falls into an unexpected crisis; as the fate of everyone who lives in files, agendas and media. Whether as a federal councillor, programmer or editor-in-chief: behind the job, nothingness awaits.
It's about that nasty feeling when an article has been left for dead: my existence feels a little thin. So do better than me, Mbwana! Never be arrogant. Write straight to the point. Never repeat what others have written. And listen to your heart.
And once again visit a swimming pool, a movie theater and some friends. Until the sweet smell of fresh carrion calls you back to work.
> Constantin Seibt is editor for politics and economics at the weekly newspaper (WOZ).
