Beware of novices
wielding power tools

By Jim Killam

When my wife and I were first married, I never missed an episode of "This Old House." Master Carpenter Norm Abram would build a giant bookcase from old barn boards, and I'd think, "How tough could that be?"

Once, in a fit of Norm-inspired lunacy, I drew up plans for an entertainment center that would dominate the living room. Then I headed for Menards, in search of plywood from which to craft this masterpiece.

Back home, using the dining room table as a sawhorse, I plugged in my dad's old circular saw and tore into the plywood - basically cutting away everything that didn't look like an entertainment center.

Many of you have already guessed what happened. If not, picture an 84-inch-long table becoming an 82-inch-long table. Then, picture an entertainment center with all the aesthetic charm of East German public housing.

The moral: A powerful tool in the hands of a home-improvement nitwit - however well-intentioned - can be a dangerous thing.
I've gotten a little better over the years, thanks to better tools, better judgment and a patient wife. Even today, Norm would blow coffee out his nose if he saw any of my projects, but at least I have stopped maiming the furniture.

Lately, I've thought about those early woodworking catastrophes, and wondered if there could be any comparison drawn to the New York Times blowup.

Work with me here. At writers' conferences and workshops, the most crowded sessions tend to be those where big-name writers talk about narrative storytelling. They encourage writers to apply fiction techniques to nonfiction ... to write scenes with dialogue … to reconstruct minute detail in those scenes.

Take risks as writers, we're told. Try forms you've never tried before. Write first without your notes, because the real story is in your head. Read good writers, study their style, but then develop your own. Build a gorgeous piece of furniture.

In the hands of a careful, conscientious and ethical journalist, that's all good stuff. Great journalism is born from advice like that, especially as it takes root in already-promising writers. I wonder sometimes, though, if it's like telling a class of weekend home-improvement warriors to go home and fire up the circular saw. Some in the class might create fine furniture. A few might saw through dining room tables.

The scary thing is, still others might do both. Of all the Monday morning quarterbacking I've heard about Jayson Blair, no critic said the guy couldn't write. Go back five years to Stephen Glass at the New Republic and you'll find a similar tale. Glass may have been a liar who fabricated much of what he reported, but he sure could spin a great story.

And there's the danger. When someone reads a compelling story, he or she is less likely to question its accuracy than if the story were littered with glaring structural problems. Good writing carries with it an air of credibility.

Now, think about all of the great, narrative journalism you've read in the past few years. Some probably occurred at your own paper. Fairly or unfairly, have the last couple of months given you suspicions about any of those stories? More importantly, will your readers view stories with more skepticism?

It's safe to say they will. So what do we do? Flee the narrative for the safety of the inverted pyramid? Or can we maximize accuracy without plucking the wings off great stories?

There's plenty of room for experimentation in journalism, but it all must be absolutely grounded in truth. We owe it to ourselves as a profession that every workshop session about writing scenes and dialogue also discusses how to do that with complete, verifiable accuracy.

After all, even Norm Abram talks about power-tool safety before every project.

Are there more Jayson Blairs or Stephen Glasses out there? Probably. But I believe they are far, far outnumbered by honest reporters with accuracy problems. Those are the people we can, and must, help.

How? By making training a priority in every newsroom, no matter how busy, short-staffed or tight-budgeted. By helping reporters grow as writers - not only giving them the tools, but also the safety precautions. By teaching and stressing fundamentals: clear writing; thorough reporting; and accuracy, accuracy, accuracy. Reporters who master the basics will be far less likely to accidentally cut corners off the truth.

And as an industry, we can't afford to saw through any more dining room tables.

Jim Killam is adviser for the Northern Star, the daily student newspaper at Northern Illinois University. Contact him at jkillam@niu.edu.

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