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That time I stalked someone for a tabloidI was sitting on my bed, staring off into space, my hair dripping dry over my ratty T-shirt. It was 1 p.m. on a Sunday and, as far as I was concerned, a day of rest. After a movie, I'd read, go for a walk, maybe meet a friend, watch another movie, and head back to bed. Nope. I made the mistake of checking my phone and spotting the opportunity of a lifetime sitting in my inbox. A reporter from a nationally-known publication had contacted me directly and asked if I was available for an assignment that day. As a freelance writer, what the hell do you think I said? My job was to drive about an hour and half from where I lived ASAP and snap pics of a “bad guy.” Now “bad guy” is an ambiguous term in any context. This case was no different. Without giving too much away, here's the gist of the story: This “bad guy” was accidentally responsible for the death of several people while on the job, but his union fought for him and got him another position in another state a year of paid leave. When the victims' families found out a couple of months ago that Mr. Bad Guy was living peacefully, they were furious. But other people felt this guy had made an honest mistake. He killed not out of malice but distraction. However, it's not the place of a tabloid to present both sides of a story. A tabloid specializes in blood, boobs, and blasphemy. So my job was to take a few shots of Mr. Bad Guy enjoying his new suburban digs in a neighborhood where nobody remembered his mistake. Day One consisted of me hanging outside the guy's house all day. In my car. Reading The Atlantic on my phone. I took more photos of the grills and bird feeders on the block than I did the man in question because he was, as luck would have it, on vacation. The most thrilling part? Running into his brother, who was a cop intent on telling me nothing. Bro was doing mundane stuff like collecting the mail. He seemed mostly surprised that I was following up on a story whose real action took place four years ago. Yet tabloids love making stories out of non-stories and I love getting clips from new publications. Day Two wasn't any more riveting. Godzilla never came. No cars exploded. I hung out at Mr. Bad Guy's place of work, interviewed a couple of co-workers (without them realizing I was interviewing them because I'm shady), and drank a lot of sweet tea. At some point, I even walked to the post office to mail a couple of packages because nothing was going on. Mr. Bad Guy was still on vacation. Talk about perfect timing on his part. Not so much on my editor's part. Working for a tabloid is not that different than working in film and TV. The expression “Hurry up and wait” still applies. One moment you're sitting around and plucking your pesky toe hairs; the next moment you're gunning it to Olive Garden in pursuit of your prey's teenage niece. It's the chase that's exhilarating, but it's also the chase that is rare. My car chases (Day One) were both short-lived and fruitless. When readers pick up a tabloid, their eyes jump to the salacious headlines and shocking photographs. If a story catches their interest, they may skim it. It is the rare reader who reads a tabloid story with rapt attention. It is the even rarer reader that notices the bylines. But it is those bylines—or, more precisely, the people to whom those bylines belong—that make the stories. These reporters stalk, pounce, and deliver the corpse to the masses. Then the masses poke and prod and share Facebook musings. The reporter remains nearly anonymous. And often that reporter didn't do much more than make a mountain out of a mole hill. #StrangeNostalgia #IWouldDoItAgain #Tabloids #TabloidWriter #TabloidPhotographer #Paparazzi #LifeChoices #RealLife Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.
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