On writing (kind of) quickly, radical honesty and whatever nonsense this weirdo journalist is constantly yapping on about

No Filter co-founder Robbie Mason. Photo courtesy: Jess Mullins. 

People often view my journalism as reflecting my own exact worldview, which is odd because these are never my stories. These are other people’s stories. Their words. Their pain. Their joy. If people think that longform (literary?) journalism is entirely reflective of the view of the author, they are fundamentally misunderstanding the purpose and ethics of this writing. In a time of media BuzzFeedification, people forget that real journalism involves, well, interviewing people.

Sure, I choose the topics I write about. I can gently prod people in certain directions. I can cite a book or an essay here and there. But the structure of a feature story is intended to contain ambiguity. This is how you keep people reading. This is how you highlight tension. It is up to the reader to make up their mind. I’m not here to force-feed my politics down people’s throats. I admit: I want readers to buy into my politics, yes, but not because I’m shoving it in their faces and, if I’m to be truly honest, my politics usually depends on whether I’ve had a bacon and egg roll for breakfast or not.

There are already enough alienating far left publications out there that are mouthpieces for ideological dogma. Newsflash: no one scrolling on Instagram wants to read about Foucault.

Even though I use the first person a lot of in my longform journalism – too much probably – I still try to be a relatively neutral observer. I try only inject my voice where it helps the narrative. I use the first person for transparency’s sake because I don’t believe full objectivity is ever obtainable. I believe I’m actually making myself a more reliable narrator by admitting to my limits. I don’t use the first person to overpower a narrative. That would be highly unethical.

Part of me wants to inject more theory into my writing but theory is more likely to function as a sleep-inducing sedative than a mind-clearing stimulant. My writing’s long enough already, thanks. I am too busy anyway simply laying the groundwork of facts, quotes and events. I choose to write on topics that have received little, if any, media attention.

I’ve had to unlearn academic writing. I refuse to take that path. I want to burn down those ivory towers and take a sledgehammer to the sandstone walls of Australian universities. I want to hear gabber kicks in those cloistered hallways.

I don’t have the luxury of sitting with my writing for months on end anymore, pondering and deconstructing every paragraph. Fuck, some days I don’t even get time to shower. I certainly barely have time to write this self-indulgent diary entry. I’m writing about real events, happening right now. Australian cops are still killing people in severe mental distress. State governments are still signing the death warrants for public housing blocks. People are still overdosing on a drug stronger than fentanyl. We’re still stealing Indigenous kids. Kids are still dying in Gaza in droves. Speed matters.

Hard news journalism taught me to care less about how I’m perceived and writing for incarcerated and low-lit audiences at my day job (NUAA publications coordinator lad) taught me to write better.

I will continue to consciously put out writing that I know is half-baked, sometimes half-finished, in the hope that it prompts more nuanced discussion and debate. We welcome constructive criticism. Both my arrogant and logical minds tell me that most online cancellers wouldn’t have the courage to do that, to exit the vampire castle.

I would have loved to have made this writing incredible. I would have loved to have cited my idols. I would have loved to have dived deeper into research and journalistic ethics. But I wrote this at 4 AM on my Iphone while I couldn’t sleep, while I thought about the 1000 words I want to write today. Every single day.

If I’m not radical enough for you, I think you need to think about your praxis, about how we win hearts and minds, about how people find their news. If I’m not radical enough for you, I think you need to reconsider your expectations of moral and ideological perfectionism. If I’m not radical enough for you, I’m telling you I’m too radical for a still bigger number. I’m raw-dogging life, leaving behind a virtual trail of borderline nonsensical words. With a simple click of a button, you can flick through my interests like you would with a family photo album. You can see where I was at 5+ years ago. Engage deeply with my writing and you’ll see me grow, slowly and subtly. You will see me make mistakes. It is the most fundamental, most human, of experiences.

So here’s the rub: this writing is guaranteed to be chokkers with bad calls. I’ll probably look back on it in one year with disgust, and in two years with pride. I’m a chronically underemployed privileged fuck up with too much access to a computer, a dexy script and a crippling writing addiction. But, hey, I pumped out 7361 published words last week and I reckon a handful of them made sense.