Up until a few years ago, I'd never had any doubts about newspaper work, never thought I'd made the wrong choice. I went into the business not because I was looking to get beat up or training to be a novelist, because I wanted to be Bob Woodward or Sy Hersh, kicking butt on the front page. Reality slowly set in and I realized that I wasn't destined for Washington or New York or even Miami, but still there were good stories; good days when I brought grief and misery and the occasional felony indictment on lowlifes such as Orrin Van Gelder. I believed the job was important, a public service, and as a bonus it was unfailingly entertaining. Every new story was a fresh education in human guile and gullibility. The headlines made a large splash in a small pond, but the ripples didn't last long. That didn't bother me either, because usually I was already caught up in something new. It's the best job in the business, chasing crooks in Florida, because the well never runs dry.
( Carl Hiaasen )
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