Broken News: A Novel

By Emily Stroud

They deal with deadlines and live shots, little guys and big shots, and callers who say the anchors are too sexy or not sexy enough. The Channel 3 news team thrives on stress. Or do they? Now they must dodge downsizing, furloughs, and corporate decisions and still get the news on the air. This fast and fun work of fiction is wrapped in reality as traditional news competes for survival among webcasts, blogs, and tweets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781624885464

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CHAPTER ONE / BREAKING NEWS

I’m on the scene of that breaking news here in downtown Atlanta where fire ripped through the Channel 3 News television station, the husky reporter said as he tugged at his scarf and tilted the microphone closer to his mouth. You can see the fire trucks behind me. Whoa, the water hoses are gushing. Still no word from the fire chief but stay with us for the latest...

CHAPTER TWO / THREE WEEKS EARLIER

The door slammed open and Jenny turned to see Daria strut through the newsroom in sassy pink pumps and a cotton-candy colored suit, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She knows how to make an entrance, Jenny thought. But her red carpet walk is wasted on this scruffy newsroom floor and an audience of one.

Daria, put some pep in your step, Jenny said in wasted breath. The first cut-in hits in 17 minutes.

On my way to the makeup room, Daria called out as she disappeared around the corner, her perfume cutting a scent trail through the stale air of the newsroom.

Just what I need, Jenny thought, an anchor reading the latest news on an apartment fire, jack-knifed truck, and drug-deal-gone-bad murder with her hair dripping water all over the set.

Jenny glanced at the round clock hanging high on the wall above the printers then double-checked the time on her giant wristwatch. She really needed to pee. But could she spare the precious minutes with the cut-in looming? She calculated it would take 3 minutes to run to the bathroom. Yes, she could chance it but first things first.

Her fingers danced over the computer keyboard, making a last minute update on the murder: Police say one man is now in custody. Then she hit the print key and listened for the whirrr, whirrr noise of the printer spitting out pages.

Nothing.

Hey, can someone page William to check out the printer. I think it’s jammed, Jenny yelled to the mostly empty newsroom.

No response. Then she remembered, William isn’t here anymore. Must be Monday because she wasn’t thinking straight. He left last month with the last round of buyouts for the over-55 crowd.

Corporate saved a chunk of change in retirement benefits by enticing experienced, older workers to take the money and run. And yet, no younger, cheaper workers had replaced them. And Channel 3 no longer had its longtime janitor and all around good guy, William.

Forget the pee break. She could cross her long legs through the cut-in, which was only 5 minutes long anyway.

She glanced at her man-sized wristwatch (nine minutes to the cut-in) pushed back from her cubicle desk, and scampered to the printer. She threw in a little salsa move as she approached the jammed machine because Jenny never missed a chance to incorporate a dance step; multi-tasking made her feel more efficient and dancing made her feel good. She hit the paper tray with the side of her fist. Just add this to my duties, she thought, producer / writer / ego massager / printer repairer. Might as well call me Slash. Oh, yeah, they already do.

CHAPTER THREE / DARIA THE ANCHOR

Down the hall in the blue-carpeted makeup room, Daria perched on the edge of the director’s chair in front of the vanity mirror. A couple of lights were out. Layers of thin shellac covered the vanity, hair spray that missed its target. Someone really needs to scrub this pigsty, she thought.

Her last TV station featured a smaller makeup room than this one, but at least it was clean.

Well, this is a bigger television station paying her a bigger salary, finally earning her worth.

Daria had paid her dues in Peoria, Omaha, and Albuquerque before landing this morning anchor job in Atlanta. Hotlanta. The A-T-L.

Albuquerque. If she had to attend one more ‘bored’ of education meeting there she might have quit the business, just like everyone else seemed to be doing. Then along came her agent with the possibility of Atlanta and the chance to get to a Top 10 market (and a chance for him to take the 8% cut of her higher pay check in the bigger market). Channel 3 offered her a contract just before the ridiculous hiring freeze kicked in company wide.

She remembered the memo to the newsroom staff that announced her arrival at the station: "Daria will help Channel 3 soar to new heights, even as we face new economic lows. Please welcome the new face of Wake Up Atlanta, Daria Drennen."

It was good to be loved.

Her Rolex read 4:16, way too early to be awake. She needed her beauty sleep, after all. But she had mastered the art of getting ready quickly, needing just 7 minutes to blow out her hair, whip on some mascara, eyeliner, and lip-gloss, and apply a thin mist of airbrush makeup. It was perfect for the high definition studio cameras, not too thick. Not that she needed that much anyway with her invisible pores. Thank God she didn’t have serious skin problems like some others in the biz. High-def was killing news careers just like sound eliminated silent movie stars. A squeaky voice then was a ticket to unemployment. Wrinkles now were the way to be shoved out the door.

Daria needed no coffee. She thrived on the adrenaline rush of cutting it close.

Oops, some of the makeup sprayed on to the vanity. Well, someone else will clean it up.

CHAPTER FOUR / MORNING CUT-IN

Morning crew, lets get ready to rock and roll, Lee drawled into his headset while he cranked up some Def Leppard in the control room. He was the director of the cut-ins and the morning news and noon news. That required setting the levers on the switcher board, calling the camera shots, and punching the buttons on the board to make Jenny’s producer vision a reality. He was also running audio this week, since the audio guy was out on unpaid furlough.

Furlough: there’s a word Lee had never heard unless it was someone getting out of the Navy. Now it was standard in the news biz.

Jenny hustled into her chair next to him and handed him a short stack of scripts for the 5 minute cut-in. She hit the space bar on the computer in front of her to wake it up from sleep mode. The computer monitor came to life and showed her the rundown of the stories in the cut-in she had put together in the newsroom. Then she picked up a headset and adjusted the size before placing it on her head.

That night side producer must have a giant noggin, Slash, Lee said. Or else you need an anchor-sized ego to fill out that headset.

She took a deep breath in then let it out, bopping her head to the music blaring through the control room, also called the booth. Pour...some...sugar on me!

She rolled her shoulders and bounced in her seat a little. Yes, dancing in the dark of the pre-dawn hours was just the way to loosen up for the rest of the day. Got to love that guitar. And the lights on the board and many monitors could make the dim booth feel a bit like a dance club, if she squinted and let her imagination take over. The pounding beat hit her behind her eyes as she felt a headache developing. Lately it seemed like coming to work meant getting a headache.

Need a close up on camera two, Lee said into his headset. And tell Daria to scoot her booty a little left. That light on the right is burned out and William hasn’t seen fit to fix it yet.

William doesn’t work here anymore, Jenny said. Remember, he took that buyout offer.

Lee looked at her perplexed. Thanks for the scoop, Slash. They don’t tell us shit on the technical side of the building.

News You Can Use, that’s our motto here at Channel 3, Jenny said, smiling.

Lee pulled a lever and Def Leppard sang no more. We’ll play a little Celine for you after the cut-in, Slash. We take sentimental requests, as long as they’re on my iPod.

Jenny rolled her eyes and said, You don’t have a sentimental bone in your body.

Lee gave her his best Groucho eyebrows and mimed smoking a cigar. "I have one."

The foot-tall red numbers on the control room digital clock counted down the seconds. Lee tipped back his cowboy hat and leaned forward over the board.

Standby camera one, Lee said. Fade up from black and take music.

Jenny and Lee both sang their made up lyrics to the open music. This is the music for Channel 3 news. This is the music for Channel 3 news. This is the muuuuuusic... for Channel 3 News.

Then Daria’s perfect face appeared on camera. Good morning, I’m Daria Drennen. Police say one man is in custody after an overnight shooting killed a teenager. They are investigating the incident as a murder.

Daria’s honey smooth voice massaged Jenny’s throbbing head, but it wasn’t enough. I need some aspirin, she thought.

We’ll have more on our top story in a moment, but first let’s check in with meteorologist David Galloway for your forecast. How is our Monday looking?

Jenny checked the big clock, hit some keys on the computer, and pressed the IFB button to speak directly into the weatherman’s ear. It was her role as producer to keep the show on time. You’ve got two minutes Doppler Dave. Two.

Doppler Dave the meteorologist relished his updated gadgets and the ever-improving radar system. When the station upgraded to Doppler 3000 a decade ago, David spent an entire weekend with no sleep learning how to use it, and earning his nickname.

The phone in the booth rang. It was Daria calling from the anchor desk while David was doing the weather. Jenny, the close up camera is not where it is supposed to be. It’s way across the studio and I can barely see it.

Jenny turned to Lee. Hey, what’s up with camera two? Daria says it’s not in the right place.

Lee shook his head and twisted in his chair. Damn free-lancers don’t know where to set up the equipment. He opened the mic on his headset to talk to the free-lancer. Hey, camera two can you mosey on up toward the desk?

A voice on the headset replied, There is no camera two today, buddy. I’m running all three and I don’t have time to move it before the weather segment ends.

Jenny checked the clock. Thirty seconds Doppler Dave. Thirty.

The phone in the booth rang again. This time it was the assignment desk in the newsroom. Slash, just talked to the cop shop and they have a second arrest in that murder.

Jenny glanced at the clock. Thanks. I’ll add it to the script and send it to the printer.

She opened the overnight murder script in the computer and started typing as she pressed the IFB button connected to the anchor’s earpiece. Daria, they just made a second arrest in the murder. I’m changing it in the teleprompter. The intern is going to try to run a hard copy out to you but I don’t know if he can make it.

She pressed the other IFB button. Doppler Dave, stretch.

Doppler Dave was transitioning to the seven-day planner to hit his end time, but with Jenny’s new cue he suddenly switched to a somewhat confusing ramble about cumulus clouds.

Jenny checked the clock and studied the monitor showing the studio. The wide shot on camera one showed Daria holding a hand mirror and blotting her lip-gloss. Then a blur of denim dashed into the shot and handed her a script. Daria put down the mirror, grabbed the script, and waved her hand to shoo away the college student.

Jenny pressed the weather IFB button. Wrap. Doppler Dave, hard wrap.

So that’s why cumulus clouds are so fascinating. Don’t get me started on cirrus clouds, Daria.

Um... thanks. Now back to our top story: an overnight murder.

Jenny watched on the monitor as Daria looked down at her script then back at the camera then back at the script. Police have now arrested a second man in the case. Take a look at this video of the scene.

Take video, Lee said. He punched a button in the booth and a shot of a police car filled the television screen. Daria grimaced as she read the rest of the script, looking at the paper in her hand instead of the close-up camera across the studio. She was always ready for her close-up so Jenny wondered what was wrong.

Investigators tell Channel 3 the dead teen had a pistol in his hand.

Take sound bite, Lee said. He punched a button and a police officer’s face appeared. The man on video started talking about the victim in the case. Then from off-camera Daria’s voice blurted out through clenched teeth, I can’t see the fucking teleprompter.

Lee and Jenny both froze then turned to face each other.

She did not just drop the f-bomb on live television.

Bombs away, Lee said. Standby camera one.

Daria’s face filled the screen as she purred, The two suspects should face a judge for a preliminary hearing later today.

The phone in the booth rang. The screen on the phone showed it was the news director’s home number.

Jenny really needed an aspirin, or maybe a piña colada.

CHAPTER FIVE / DOC THE ASSIGNMENT EDITOR AND GROVER THE ENGINEER

A few hours later, Grover and Doc sucked on cigarettes as they tried to get comfortable on the cold, rusting patio chairs outside the door to the engineering department. The no-smoking rule hit them hardest (the lone smoking holdouts at their workplace) and they were regulars on the patio. If smoking was good enough for Edward R. Murrow, it was good enough for them.

Doc puffed quickly, needing to get back into the building for the morning meeting. He ran the assignment desk: juggling stories and news crews and answering phone calls and monitoring police and fire scanner traffic. He even buzzed in delivery people and visitors at the front door since Corporate de-hired the receptionist. The patio offered a quiet respite, if only for the three minutes it took him to smoke a Camel.

Grover, however, took a long, slow drag. He was in no hurry.

Grover, I’m quite concerned, Doc said in his trademark staccato. He blinked three times. Somebody must take up the slack for William since he left. Somebody must replace the burned out lights. Somebody must empty the trash. Somebody must fix the printer. He tapped his foot. I fear we have run out of somebodies.

Doc took one last puff then stubbed out the cigarette on the table. The ashtray was full.

I’ve got stuff breaking all over the newsroom, and I don’t mean breaking news, Doc said.

Grover shrugged. Man, they want us guys in engineering to just fold William’s duties into the rest of our day. Hell, I’m folding in so much I might as well work at a laundry. Got master control duties and filling in on the satellite truck already and now they want me to change light bulbs? Grover shook his head and took another slow drag on his Lucky Strike Menthol. Cracks criss-crossed the dark brown skin on his hands, their ashy dryness mirroring the ash threatening to fall off the end of his cigarette.

By the way, we’ve got a loaner sat truck until our p.o.s. gets fixed and comes back from the shop, Grover said.

The satellite truck had been in and out of the repair shop for months. First, the dish on top would not rotate. You can’t tune in a sat shot if the dish can’t turn to connect with the satellite in geosynchronous orbit. Second, the brakes needed fixing. Third, the sat truck operator backed into a police car and knocked out a taillight. Who knew what would break next? It was a piece of shit that Corporate seemed determined to keep.

A gadget on Doc’s belt vibrated on his high-waisted pants and he checked his watch. Got to go cover the news, Doc said, shuffling toward the patio door. Keep your chin up, Grover.

CHAPTER SIX / ALANNAH THE REPORTER

Inside the building in the newsroom, Alannah Sato leaned against the assignment desk, chewed on a pen, and scrolled through the emails and texts on her company-issued crackberry. As a reporter, she strived to be on top of current events and breaking news. Her furlough week just ended so she needed to get back up to speed quickly, before the morning meeting of the day-shift staff.

Corporate rules said no work-related communication allowed while on unpaid furlough. That was somewhat difficult for her since she was a news junkie. She actually missed the constant updates her vibrating gadget delivered.

She pulled her shoulders back, rolled her head to loosen her neck, and went into time management reporter mode. Alannah was a pro at getting things done on a deadline. In fact, she thrived on it.

That satisfaction of seeming to manipulate time to meet her needs was what first drew her to Slash, her producer friend. It was tough keeping in touch with her since Corporate had thinned the ranks and shifted resources to needed day parts. Yeah, right.

Management shifted Slash to overnights to produce the morning show. The money’s in the mornings, the Corporate memo had said. On one well-manicured hand Alannah was slightly insulted they did not deem her talents critical to the money mornings. But on the other hand, working weekdays allowed her to have some sort of a life and pursue better stories. Emmy-worthy stories.

Alannah focused. Must prioritize the email onslaught and waste no time on worthless drivel. Anything from the Georgia Department of Transportation she deleted. Probably just traffic updates on long-ago cleared up wrecks. Alert from the vice-mayor about a budget meeting last Wednesday. Delete. Note from the news director. Hmm, read that later. Basketball scores. Delete. Update from Slash with the subject line: you won’t believe my morning. Save that. Could require a thoughtful response. Looks like an update from Katie:

Hey news team! I hope you don’t miss me too much. Mommyhood is really agreeing with me and little Kaitlyn and I are bonding to the max. I’m going to continue blogging from home during my maternity leave so make sure you check it out online. And, of course, if you’re signed up for news alerts you’ll get an automatic zap from me. Ooh, my perfect little princess needs a snack. Ciao!

Delete.

She scrolled through the subject lines, faster and faster. Save, delete, skip, delete, read, delete.

Someone poked her in the ribs. She jumped. Tony! You scared me, she said, slapping at his shoulder in mock disgust, laughing.

Tony Perez peered down at her under thick black lashes.

Girl, this place just hasn’t been the same with you out on furlough. I’ve missed that husky voice of yours and I haven’t shot a walk-and-talk standup all week. And you know I haven’t had a decent meal, Tony said, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

Alannah knew they would somehow fit in lunch, no matter what the news of the day threw their way. The assignment editor was supposed to mix up the field crews to keep the product fresh, according to their last boss. But that boss left eight months ago and Doc found it easier to pair Alannah and Tony most days. Less complaining.

They walked together toward the conference room at the edge of the newsroom. The last news director had insisted on painting it deep red (to fire up the news team for the day). The shrinking budget meant there was no money to re-paint. It looked like the aftermath of a massacre, blood on the walls. With the layoffs and forced retirements it somehow seemed appropriate.

What’s up with the Max Headroom? Tony said, with a significant nod toward the older-model laptop propped at the end of the conference room table, their news director’s face slightly out of focus on the screen.

Bubba Dixie Ford dropped their sponsorship and pulled his company car lease, so now boss man is telecommuting, Doc said, as he handed printouts to the dozen people in the room. The story sheets listed scheduled events and story possibilities for the day.

Other stations had gone green with projector systems or smart boards showing the stories listed in the newsroom computer. It saved trees and it saved money spent on paper. But Corporate was cheap and not technically progressive so sticking with paper was sticking with the status quo.

Doc fiddled with the laptop computer. Can you hear me now? he asked. The man on the screen nodded.

During his eight months on the job, the news director had been mostly hands-off in his daily management of the newsroom, leaving the grunt work to the executive producer. Now he was just a talking head with no hands at all.

Alannah last talked to the boss in person the day before her week of furlough began. She wanted to pitch an idea for an investigative story on weight loss clinic scams, which would have kept her off the streets and out of the daily grind for a few days. But he told her all reporters must turn a story every day, no exceptions. I can’t pull you out of the mix to work on a weight loss scam story that may or may not turn. And it could even turn off some of our sponsors.

Then the news director added that the new blond highlights in her black hair gave her better definition on air. For a man with a comb-over, sometimes he seemed obsessed with hair. When it came to highlights, she considered those in her hair no substitute for those on her Emmy submission reel; investigative story highlights, that is.

A quick reminder before we get started, the computer face said. We need your stories posted to our website as quickly as possible. We want our viewers invested in the Channel 3 News brand so they need to feel that news they can use is there on their timetable, not ours. Send a short tweet or text right away. The deadline for the full web text, with links, is 30-minutes after your story airs, or you get demerits.

Tony leaned in to Alannah and whispered, Welcome to kindergarten. Three demerits and you have to go to the principal’s office.

The next deadline for feature ideas is this Friday. Make them fresh, lively, and promotable. And make sure you can shoot, write, and edit them same day, the computer said. Doc, what’s on our plate for today?

Doc’s staccato laid out the agenda for the morning. We already have a crew downtown at the mayor’s news conference, Grover’s taking the loaner sat truck to the zoo for a noon live shot for weather, we have another crew doing a follow-up in the overnight murder, I will call on the apartment fire, a school in Bartow County is closing for the day because the roof in the cafeteria collapsed, there’s a stand-off at a meth lab in Douglasville, I-85 north of Midtown is still closed with a jack-knifed tractor trailer, and we need to be in court at 10:00 for a preliminary hearing in the cop shooting case, Doc said, pausing to take a breath. We have one photog furloughed and one producer called in sick. Anything else?

The reporters pitched ideas one at a time. Alannah said she had a tip about metered parking rates possibly going up in Decatur. Tony and I can swing by the prelim and do a live vo/sot for noon then put the parking meter story together as a package for the 5.

Doc blinked three times. OK, take a live truck because I’m out of operators and I’ll send an alert out on the web asking the CJs for shots of the jack-knifed truck. Maybe we can get a phoner with a driver stuck in traffic for the noon. Alannah and Tony, take the intern.

Great, they were saddled with the college kid. Well, maybe he could help carry gear. And the Citizen Journalists may save them from having to muddle through traffic themselves to get the shot of the truck