2013-05-25T02:42:59-04:00 Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=ella-walker Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Ella Walker Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.2526739 2013-01-22T11:28:22-05:00 2013-03-24T05:12:02-04:00

Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ella-walker/
He's also a massive fan of playing Peppa Pig on my mum's iPad mini (he adorably felt-tipped dinosaur footprints all over it too) and has a Leap Pad - a froggy kids tablet - which has the incredible power to cheer him up after tripping on a towel and splitting his chin open. It's like magic or something.

Even more bizarre is that my other, slightly smaller, slightly less toothy nephew has a contraption you slot an iPhone into so he can play with it, slobber on it and give it a good chew without damaging. He's 9-months-old!

I don't have anything against Peppa Pig, and I'm pretty much in love with Batman, but this is mental right? I'm not going to launch mind-numbingly into a "kid's today" tirade, but seriously, they are more tablet friendly than I am, and I work in digital.

It's terrifying really, until I remember that one of the only things (discounting Kinder eggs) that can distract my eldest nephew from nap time, TV and play dough, is a story. A really good one made from pages and pictures with an amazing cover and a sturdy spine. One of those beautiful, physical, easily chewed hunks of printed paper that you can drop in the bath, weight down your bag with and stack on a shelf. Yep, a book.

He might be an insanely dexterous screen-geek, but he still loves his story books, which, coming from an industry bent on hurtling into an online-first world, kinda gives me a bit of hope. If the next generation happily skips from print to the ether and back, can't we carry on doing so too? Or must we limply fall into the backlit arms of Kindle, forsaking all other bedside reading?

No dammit. I refuse to be minimal - I will have it all. Just as long as publishers don't fold into coded oblivion before they realise, as Josh Catone explains so wonderfully, that the printed book will never ever truly die.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1958215 2012-10-11T17:09:16-04:00 2012-12-11T05:12:01-05:00

Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ella-walker/
Hour after hour we sit reacting to breaking news, getting outraged over some new government announcement (Gove's done what!?) and spitting views on the latest Daily Mail abomination (that Liz Jones needs sectioning etc.).

We build up issues, each adding our own 140 word's worth, and sometimes it all spirals out of control, it becomes a pit of fractious, quick-fire, one sentence arguments. Or worse, a campaign of disgust and endlessly rolling nit-picking. Sometimes it's valid - see the vitriol directed at the judge in the Justin Lee-Collins case; 140 hours of community service for sustained emotional abuse and fear of violence? Come on! - other times, not-so-much (looking at you, trolls).

But the same titbits of anger and incredulity can get bandied about (ok, retweeted) to such an extent that, particularly if you follow a lot of people who all follow each other, your feed becomes a blurred whir of grouchy repetition.

I worry that it might just all eat itself by accident in a mechanical crunch of iPhone keys against speed typing fingernails.

My other worry is that, in fact, the only people who talk any sense are on Twitter. While the rest of the world thinks the Twitterverse is inanely chatting on, procrastinating (what an awful word) and working itself up into a pointless frenzy, when actually it's thrashing out some serious questions, coming up with valid concerns and getting labelled as an ether-zone of time wasters for its trouble.

It's a conundrum, but whoever's side you're on, at least Twitter promotes freedom of speech; a freedom that is dangerously and terrifyingly close to being blitzed.

I thought freedom of speech - at least here in Britain - was a right. A certified, non-retractable right.

Apparently the courts are currently having other, nightmarishly unreasonable ideas. Locking someone up for a sick and offensive t-shirt? Sending someone down for - albeit vile - Facebook comments? Twitter pranks ending up in front of a judge?

Where did all the common sense go?

While some should most definitely hold their tongues and withdraw their hands from their keyboards, there are better uses for prison cells than banging up people for speaking their mind.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1818762 2012-08-21T12:28:04-04:00 2012-10-21T05:12:12-04:00

Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ella-walker/
At this point though, you're probably thinking: "Oh, well at least she's got a job," - yeah, in journalism which has a future that is precarious at best, catastrophically doomed at worst*.

Now I've convinced you of my desperate state of affairs, I really ought to launch into a tirade against industries that survive on free labour (erm, like, journalism), bemoan the car and sofa owning adult population's attitude to graduates (as if graduates are somehow not adults?) and finally, unleash my harrowing career/money/home-owning fears and angst on the government - which, after all, is ultimately responsible for this utter shambles.

It's that or jump aboard a whirligig of "culture of entitlement" debates... all of which have a sliver of rightness in them somewhere.

What does grate on me specifically is printed case studies on 29-year-old graphic designers earning £30k whose parents still pay their phone bills (see The Time's twenty-something special in last week's Saturday supplement). If you can't afford your phone bill, you shouldn't have a phone. Fact. Use Skype you fools and stop getting the rest of us self-funded strugglers a lazy name.

On the whole though, I just want to scream: I LOVE BEING IN MY FLIGHTY TWENTIES.

We have our whole lives to own houses, send our future children to "good schools" and go on cruises.

It all gets rather dull in the end. We twenty-somethings get sick of being lectured to, you grown ups get sick of listening to us moan (and picking up the bill). Yes, to make it you do need a heady combination of luck, talent and (a helluva lotta) hard work but it can be done.

This might sound naïve, short-sighted and not particularly pension or pocket friendly, but look at the Olympics. A disaster waiting to happen and yet, it turned out to be two weeks of giddy, tearful, goose-bump filled joy. Who gives a toss how much it cost taxpayers when we're nabbing gold medals all over the place and talking to each other on the tube?

So why can't we apply that same logic-less rule to living our twenty-something lives? Hope for the best and enjoy our freedom while we can...


*Although, the ABCs of GQ and Easy Living Magazine are looking surprisingly rosy...]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1686640 2012-07-19T12:20:35-04:00 2012-09-18T05:12:17-04:00

Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ella-walker/ shenanigans (give them to the kids for free dammit), or the McDonald's chip monopoly (to be fair, they do fry the best fries).

The thing is, on the one hand, this summer is a once in a lifetime opportunity to experience the Games on home soil - I can jump on a train in Cambridge and see Usain Bolt tear up the 100m track less than an hour away (if, that is, I had a 100m final ticket and Network Rail felt like cooperating - neither of which are within the realm of reality, but you get the idea).

On the other, much shakier hand, the pressure is unbearable.

Watching the world's most talented put on the display of their lives should be an incredibly easy and entertaining thing to do. These are professionals, there should be no a missed steps, relay-related fumbles, or full-blown disintegrations of an athlete's ability to move, let alone function like a world class fitness machine. This isn't just an extra spangly sports day after all.

It won't be as emotionally draining as watching the England football team hack their way into the early stages of the World Cup either. Surely?

But actually, I find athletics even more harrowing than Andy Murray getting overcome by salt water on Wimbledon's centre court (which was pretty upsetting). I've already been blubbing over BBC2's Faster, higher, stronger series, which has been looking at the history of the Olympics and the athletes that have shaped the greatest sporting moments of all time. I was in floods of tears even though some of the moments were decades old and I already knew the outcome.

So, in a few weeks time, it's probably going to be almost intolerable watching snippets of sporting heroism like that unfold live. This is what most of these athletes have been working towards their entire lives. And it's agonising to know that and it will be agonising to watch them do it; how could it not be agonising to live it?

Don't get me wrong - it's also probably the best feeling possible, but for every astounding moment of victory, there will be that fear of failure edging in, and inevitably closing over those who miss out on a podium spot.

Doesn't the thought of it make you feel just the littlest bit queasy? Especially when you know you'll be adding to the pressure by screaming at the screen or from your stadium seat as the lycra-clad ones fight for their scrap of gold.

I reckon they all deserve a medal, just for braving the whole thing. And for putting up with us all moaning about the tube/ticket/pint price fiascos.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1517936 2012-05-15T11:00:47-04:00 2012-07-15T05:12:09-04:00

Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ella-walker/
The chat was magazines, specifically: which ones would you say you read if you were asked in an interview?

In a house full of journalists, the list should be endless. The ceilings should be collapsing around us under the weight of glossy sheets and lovingly thumbed pages.

Instead, our home is slowly disintegrating due to a heady mix of mould, slugs and a mouse called Sol, who has mysteriously disappeared, taking our wires with him.

It's true the lounge and kitchen are littered with the scruffy ends of half read newspaper supplements and the odd ELLE magazine (my last surviving subscription from sixth form days when three Waitrose shifts a week equalled a disposable income), but that's about it. Not to mention the fact most of the papers filling up the recycling are the ones we write for (cuttings ripped out, of course).

If I was honest, the ones I actually buy, and don't just flick through in Sainsbury's, are limited to the aforementioned ELLE and the odd Glamour or Company (depending on the free gift and whether it's on special). I can't afford any more.

GQ, Little White Lies, Empire, Men's Heath, Vogue etc. only find their way home with me if I've had a particularly bad day and am in desperate need of an escape hatch. Even then my bank account's conscience usually pitches in with: what's the point in buying a mag when you can trawl the website?

That's the problem you see, magazines are luxury items, and if I, someone who thinks true happiness can only really be found if you've got a stash of printed words beside you, can't muster the cash to buy 300 odd shiny pages, how can anyone else?

Hence why Eva Wiseman's column on the flailing direction of women's magazines hit such a nerve. We are all struggling with the economic drama, and the things that should lift us temporarily out of the gloom (pithy articles, fun interviews, ludicrous fashion) are letting us down.

I agree with Esquire's deputy editor, Mark Pomroy, that "long features that are 'about something'" are more appealing - and they make you feel like you've got your money's worth too. And yes, these work online, but there's nothing like holding a magazine in your hands in reality.

So perhaps, as Sol continues to munch through our electrics, I'll cut down on my peanut butter consumption and save up for the magazines I know will keep me interested. Some things are worth going hungry for.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1213160 2012-01-18T17:03:50-05:00 2012-03-19T05:12:01-04:00

Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ella-walker/
I have a friend who has to sniff them first to fully consume the swoon-full print fumes, but a quick scan from back-to-front after shaking out those gaudy "Subscribe now!" leaflets works for me. That and then immediately pitching into the contributors' page: dip-in material at its yummiest.

The thing with magazines is that you get stuck in your ways. I'm a huge ELLE fan so switching from the sharp clean lines of their contributors' page (filled with photographers, novelists, artists and journalists) to the clutter of Vogue's photo-heavy offering, or Company's snappy version filled with staffers and readers, it can be a bit jarring.

How do they come up with such pithy, life enhancing tips off the cuff? The reason I'm not yet headily pouring out words for such magazines? My life tips just wouldn't be up to scratch.

Then again, if hilarious Life! Death! Top Tips! Tumblr account proves anything the ridiculous and warped ideas have almost all been nabbed so one day I'll definitely be able to formulate some incredible, must-have knowledge to share with the world.

Unlike the horrible logic of ITV2 producers, whose brainstorming sessions have recently thrown up an idea that involves "reality TV" and "journalism hopefuls" in the same distressing sentence.

Feeling sick? Yep, me too. Really Bauer, really? And I definitely expected better from you Empire. Journalism is a tough enough talent show as it is, why turn it into trash-TV fodder and narrow the chances of 'making it' even more?]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1018413 2011-10-18T16:50:32-04:00 2011-12-18T05:12:01-05:00

Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ella-walker/
I'm always scouring blogs and scrolling through Twitter bios to track down the definitive route into writing and -- *cough* -- how to get paid for it.

So, when I got the chance to interview Ali Harris, newly published author and ex-Glamourite (she was deputy features editor after a lengthy stint writing for Company Magazine), I had to ask for her top tips on forging a career in journalism.

Here they are:

1) Get work experience -- I learnt on the job and was utterly enthusiastic and passionate. Be prepared to do anything but don't think you're going to be interviewing celebrities straight off the bat, it just doesn't happen like that, and you know what, it'd be really overwhelming if it did. You've got to do the groundwork first.

2) Use your initiative -- don't just sit there waiting for things to happen, you've got to get up and make them happen. Rather than badgering someone into giving me a column [at Company Magazine] I thought: 'I'm going to prove I can do it,' so went home and wrote a column. My features editor really liked it and called me into the office, I got the regular column as a slot.

3) Don't ever think there's just one way of doing something -- there's always a way of getting in contact with someone for a feature, don't just go: 'I can't do it,' you've got to just keep trying, trying and trying.

4) Read everything -- read every newspaper going, read every magazine going, read everything because you can get your own style from that.

5) ... and read everything back -- I'd make sure I'd read a feature throughout the editing process because I wanted to see what had been changed to help me write it better next time, rather than going: 'Oh they changed it, my precious writing,' -- that's not life, you need those outside eyes.

Read the full interview with the Miracles on Regent Street writer.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.950934 2011-09-08T15:15:00-04:00 2011-11-08T05:12:02-05:00

Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ella-walker/
Thanks to this little ditty on Press Gazette last week, the newsroom in my building got well and truly jittery: Iliffe News 'highly likely' to consider daily to weekly switch. A whole lot of flapping over chat that seems pretty speculative, but when papers are falling thick and fast into memory and not chip shops, you can't help but worry.

Sat around our grubby kitchen table discussing our regional news fates, we realised that in terms of a back-up plan, we might be in trouble. What are we meant to do if people don't want to buy what we write? Are our words even worth buying? Because apparently they're nowhere near worth the price of the ink and paper they're printed on.

The thought of a world in which newspapers are only for the elite (they'll become luxury items that only the loaded can get their hands on) and paperbacks die a death that means we'll all be trying to keep our Kindles sand free and out of children's mouths (board books, seriously, my 2-year-old nephew will tell you that 'Googly Farm' just won't be the same on an iPad, they aren't chew-friendly) is devastating. It would be like going back to the middle ages when people were divided by how literate they were; in our case it'll be whether your can afford to carry a screen around with you.

Possibly the best thing to do, other than come to a compromise, is to barricade yourself in with magazines and hope for the best. ]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.929335 2011-08-17T11:53:44-04:00 2011-10-17T05:12:01-04:00

Ella Walker http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ella-walker/
Upsettingly so. Watching Romola Garai wear pencil skirts and chat-back at her superiors looking both incredibly chic and as if it is the 'done' thing, is the stuff of journalism dreams.

Ben Whishaw's skinny, earnest frame, Dominic West's slicked-back charm and Anna Chancellor in high-waisted trousers lounging about on desk-tops with a cigarette in one hand and a stiff drink in the other - you don't get that in regional news, unless you've just been fired. They are just too smooth.

The show, part newsroom drama, part murder mystery, taps into the typewriter-fuelled images of hacks (complete with trilby and think rimmed glasses) that are completely to blame for getting sensible girls (like me) to believe they could wear heels to work without stumbling and write things that might actually change the world - a little bit at least - by becoming a journalist.

Cycling to do an interview the other day though, I realised journalism is nowhere near as glamorous as I'd imagined (Carrie Bradshaw is mostly to blame), fully confirmed when my skirt got blown up around my waist. Nightmare.

But The Hour has arrived just when the image of journalism, its entire reputation, is staggering, limply trying to pull itself back together again.

First Johann Hari broke my heart by being caught out telling stories he hadn't heard first hand, then the News of the World hacking scandal threw newsrooms up and down the country into days of stomach-in-mouth disappointment (and quite a lot of fear). Getting hot and bothered over Hugh Grant being all heroic and wordy was the only thing that kept me going. Even how the story was covered got guilty column inches. Inescapable, glammed up and mucked up, the face of journalism has bizarrely become front page news itself.

Then, last week's riots showed how amazing journalism can be and can look. Twitter, 24 hour news and citizen journalism (particularly that photo of Clapham being revived by a mass of multicoloured brooms) kept everyone connected, helped make sense of the madness and really did make a difference. 
 
Ben Whishaw's character would have looked rather rigid in the midst of all of that. Being instinctive, open to change and surgically attached to a smart phone are more the look to go for right now. And being human too; there's none of that hiding behind a faceless byline and hard-nose anymore.

Journalists share their entire lives now, on Twitter, through blogs, some even share what they wear to work (see ELLE.COM's brilliant 'What ELLE wore' ongoing feature) and how they got their jobs in the first place (see this month's Company Magazine for a whole spread on getting into creative industries), their photos becoming part of their company's brand and identity. 

I guess it all comes down to trust. We're generally all suckers for trusting a friendly face and likeable image, the media just needs to make sure that despite the press-bashing of late, their appearance really is what it seems.

And maybe a few more pencil skirts wouldn't hurt, it'd at least make sure I couldn't accidentally flash any more strangers, which would only be a good thing. ]]>