My day out

Went to Media City the other day for a journalism open day. Now I have lots of lovely shorthand notes that I took whilst hoping that someone would notice that I taught myself shorthand.

Reading over them, I now realise that I need to 'lk into "ctzn jnlsm"'. This incorporates blogging, though I'm not sure this blog falls into that category. Another note simply says 'cntcs'. I have no idea what I meant by this, and expect that it probably means I am yet to perfect my shorthand technique. The note 'also prctc y shtnd its absml' backs this up quite nicely.

Although it was an overcast day, the complex was still incredibly striking.

From the day, I gathered that the course would cover the NCTJ-approved diploma course, much as a far cheaper FE college could. However, the facilities there were incredible, and the environment doubly so. When looking for work experience, to have BBC radio, BBC TV and ITV all on your doorstep- applications may not prove fruitful, but it's an exciting thought nonetheless.

Furthermore, guest speakers who work in Media City are invited in on a regular basis. This gives the students some insider advice as well as the chance to make some important contacts.

The staff were insightful and interested, more keen on sparking conversation than actually answering the questions I had about the course. This would have been amazing if I knew I had a place all tied down for me, but as I don't, and I really need more information, I needed to do a lot of digging. Here's what I got:

The Sachtastic guide to postgraduate education.

1) Money - This is the primary concern these days. Undergrads can stop their whining; it's postgrads that pay the real price. In my case, this could range from £5000 to £8500, but it could well be more. The main problem with this money is that it has to come straight out of the student's pocket- the government won't tackle it for you. There are multiple options. Firstly, there may be scholarships offered by the institution, though these typically go to local students, those with an undergraduate degree from the institution or those with first class degrees. There are many other ways of paying for a course- for more details, go to DirectGov. One last thing- for journalism courses, the Journalism Diversity Fund is an option. Students from socially, ethnically or otherwise diverse backgrounds can apply for the amount of funding of their choosing here.

2) Applying - Applications typically start around a year before the month of entry. For most institutions, including at the present time all those with journalism PG courses, students must apply directly. Some departments will want to know the grade achieved when you apply- this means applying after graduation, and taking a year out. In a lot of courses, this is helpful as it exhibits that the individual has had time to attain life experience. Remember to contact important people within the department before you make an application. I made sure to ask whether deferring my entry would be a problem, as I have no guarantee of finding funding in time- and you must be able to pay for a course when you begin one.

3) Requirements - This differs greatly, just as it did when it came to UCAS stuff. Generally, a journalism PG will require a "good 2:1". This does not mean 68%. This means a 2:1 in a degree course other than Finger Painting Studies or The History of Tinned Food Manufacture and its Wider Sociocultural Impact. If you are currently studying either of these courses, now would be a good time to rethink your career options.

One other thing about Media City- there are quite a few famous people pottering about. I saw 4/5 Dragons from Dragons' Den (where were you, Deborah Meaden?) whilst I was sat having a cup of tea and a bakewell in Costa. Below are a couple of photos that may or may not have been of Theo Paphitis. Get your magnifying glasses out- there's a reason I never considered photojournalism.

Moving to Friday

I expect you have been confused as to which day of the week I post on. So am I.

Until further notice, "Is Anybody There?" will post every Friday. This is mostly because I am free all day on Fridays, whereas I am only free every other Monday.

Your jealousy is greatly appreciated.

Afraid it's only a short one this week- I will be going to the Spring Ball in the Mountford Hall tonight. Here's just a little something that happened today.

The pitfalls of being human

Humans are curious creatures. We have these strange things called 'opinions'. They divide us when they differ, and they unite us when they concur.

Unfortunately, they're not very useful for journalists.

The crux of journalistic writing is that either the piece is supposed to be completely unbiased and objective, or the 'house style' of the publication takes over, and the opinion shared is that of the editor. Either way, the personality of the man behind the keyboard is irrelevant.

I've wanted to get this piece out for a while, but I've not been sure exactly how to put it. Essentially, writing is easiest when one feels passionate about the subject. There are topics that I could easily write a thousand words on without even adjusting the grip on my pen. However, all these words would be loaded with my own opinions and feelings, and therefore not fit for publication.

Being opinionless is a skill in itself. In a job interview situation, how useful would it be to come across as the most interesting person the interviewer has seen all week whilst never inflicting an opinion on them?

Opinions are tricky things. Particularly when it comes to politics or religion, it can be divisive. Music can be risky ground as well. Admitting to a love of Gary Glitter's back catalogue could see you blacklisted, let alone out of a job.

Apparently, taking a qualification in journalism will help me cultivate my opinionless side. According to a careers lecture I attended last week, in eighteen weeks I could learn how to write without any kind of skew or inflection.

I seriously doubt that.

I know; having just imparted an opinion, I'm on shaky ground. The thing is, I've been writing for fifteen years now about the things I like and the things I don't like. How can I stop in eighteen weeks?

Bias is a part of us. Nobody can shake it off entirely. I admit, there are probably tactics you can use to disguise your controversial dislike of chocolate or that sneaking suspicion you have that the Pope might be a supervillain. It won't change you though.

When the word "peered" is selected over "glanced", it suggests a tiny undercurrent of suspicious behaviour. The word is not excessively loaded, but the hint is there of a personality behind the words.

This is why, in an interview, you can sometimes find yourself locking horns with somebody despite nothing really inflammatory having been said. I remember when I applied for college, the admissions tutor and I didn't get on. It was nothing in particular. Our conversations just became jarred and uncomfortable.

No matter how nice you are, you'll always be you. You can try and hide it, but it won't work. You're human. It's difficult, but you're going to have to live with it.

Why Yes, I Am A Natural Green

For two nights now, all of my dreams have been a variation on the same theme.

Stephen Fry featured in one. In another I had a particularly vicious cold whereby green mucus frothed from my nose continuously. One was the standard cliche dream where I had forgotten to get dressed. I am proud of the fact that, in my dream, I pretended it was my intention to appear naked, and that if anyone took issue, that was their problem entirely.

Well, what would you do, really?

In truth, I am anxious, nervous and just a bit jittery about my upcoming appearance on University Challenge. No matter how much preparation I try and do, it will simply not be enough. I have no idea what team we will be facing, and more importantly, what questions.

In one dream, my particular point of anxiety was that I would continuously answer questions far too early, and lose points. In another, it was that I was too far from the captain for him to hear me.

I still remember appearing on the (understandably) short-lived quiz series Hardspell as a child. The night before, I woke up in a cold sweat after failing to answer any of the questions in a dream.

The mind plays tricks on you. It does its level best to make sure that the thing you are most worried about is the thing you are most likely to mess up catastrophically.

After my moment of smugness and subsequent expulsion from Hardspell, I came to a reasonable twelve-year-old conclusion. I stick by it to this day. It is this: it is easiest to do well when you don't think that what you are doing has any impact.

During the many rounds of examination needed for Hardspell, people commented continuously on how cool I was. Not cool as in rap or skateboarding- I had effectively condemned myself to a school career as "Spelling Girl" and "boffin". The child who came up with those witty and intelligent nicknames, incidentally, dropped out of college and is now working as a barman. I've got nothing against barmen, just now is as good a time as any for a game of one-upmanship.

No, I was entirely calm and relaxed under pressure. Interviewers asked how I managed to stay so. I had no idea why I should be otherwise, and so, to give them an answer, I replied that I stood on one leg if I was feeling nervous, and that the act of keeping my balance would calm me down. I have no idea if this technique works, but feel free to try it.

I was calm because I knew I was good, and because I didn't care excessively. It was only at the final moment, when, stricken by the stupidity of my fellow competitors, I became smug and expected entirely to win.

The fact that I did not win has not been a massive disappointment long-term.

Neither will this. No matter what happens on Saturday, the chances are that in eight years' time, I'll barely remember, let alone care. I have done magnificently to even get the chance I have this Saturday. I may not even do my best, but I will do what I can on the day.

I think I am as prepared as I can ever be. I've had a nice new haircut, and have picked out some clothes.

Oh, and for anyone who sees me around- why yes, I am a natural green.

In Pursuit of Genius

Whilst training just a touch too hard for University Challenge, I took a little time out to read an article in New Scientist. This concerned the sought-after mental state of "flow". In this mental state, everything is possible, your reactions are sharper, and time appears to fly by. Previously thought to be achievable by only the very best, athletes, marksmen and the like, it now seems that this magical state is within the grasp of us mortals.

By this point, I was mentally exhausted. I no longer knew my own name, but I could inform you that William Rufus had heterochromia, the deepest lake in Europe is in Norway and that the Hellespont is named such because mythical twin Helle fell off a flying golden ram into it and drowned. My state of mind was not "flow". It was more "stagnant".

So, the window to this mental state seemed like a nice one to open. Unfortunately, this relies on something called transcranial direct current stimulation (tDCS) and the machine that can provide that is going to set me back £5000. If anyone has a spare £5000 lying about, it would be greatly appreciated.

Meanwhile, a phrase in the article which caught my eye was "cosmetic neuroscience". This is a DIY approach to tailoring your own brain to the demands of the modern world. Technology is evolving faster than we are, so why not use technology to make ourselves a bit better?

A quick look at a few web forums make clear why not. Some enthusiasts report temporary blindness, staining of the skin, burning and flashing lights in front of the eyes. Most alarmingly, one user reported feeling a burning sensation within their brain.

Perhaps not then. Perhaps my current state of docile idiocy is safest.

In any case, tCDS is yet to aid in the absorption or recollection of facts. It mostly helps when learning new tasks, or in the cases of people being treated for degenerative diseases, relearning old ones. There are fears, however that this may be possible in future. Just as today, ambitious students with parents to please are resorting to dopamine reuptake inhibitors to get them the university grades they need, precautions may be needed to prevent future students from "electrodoping".

I can give this advice to any university officials worried about their students using a nine-volt battery to get them through their exams. They're the ones with green-stained skin and burns on their temples.

How to Love Mondays

I currently love Mondays. This is not because I have been visited by James Reed. This is because I don't work, and have nothing to do particularly.

However, I am trying to get a job. More specifically, I am working on my dream job of becoming a writer/renowned genius/unicorn-riding ninja. Unfortunately, the number of "useful tools" on the internet is so vast that they all are made useless. Let me give you an example by telling you the state of my web browser this morning.

I opened my emails. My emails suggested I look at a job that had just become available at the BBC. This reminded me that I still hadn't posted off my application to Focus. I opened the Focus website. As part of the application for Focus, I had to include my term dates. The Liverpool University website opens.

Next, an email from my mother reminds me that I haven't posted anything on Fiverr yet. Annoyingly, Fiverr wants an example photo of my work. I'm a writer. I have to now take a photograph of a piece of paper. Whilst not taking a photograph of a piece of paper, I remember that I haven't checked People Per Hour for a while. I suggest to potential employers that they google Sachtastic or Sacha Torregrosa-Jones.

I then realise that I may have made a fatal mistake. I google Sachtastic. Luckily, my website sprouts first, followed by, annoyingly, Roblox. I try to delete my Roblox account. The people at Roblox kindly inform me that there is not currently any feature for deleting my account. I wonder how this is legal and resolve to do something about it later.

The next link is for something called Scribd, which I signed up to last March and promptly forgot about. This would probably be a useful tool if I ever had time to write anything which wasn't instantly devoured by one or other of my projects.

So, my browser window is now a mess. Happy Monday.

Far from having nothing to do, I've suddenly uncovered all the things I should have been doing when I was in university. I also have to email all the publications I telephoned last Monday to tell them, in writing, why they need me to work for free for them for two weeks.

I'm also supposed to be revising my stripy little socks off for University Challenge, going to ASDA, doing my electronics tutorial and apologising to the editors I already have for not sending them anything recently.

I want to know how I ever coped before I had Mondays. I love Mondays. They enable me not only to get things done, but also to realise how much I'd forgotten needed doing.

Finally! A reason for my blog to be.

Frequent visitors to this blog may have wondered what it was all about. I do not blame you. I must admit, I was also struggling to work it out.

Despite multiple attempts to write articles with some sort of underlying theme, my boredom would inevitably get the better of me, and I'd find myself writing about tea one week and the theatre the next.

This is a problem.

As an aspiring journalist, a blog is an essential tool. It gives me practise when it comes to writing for an audience, and also provides me with work that I can showcase. However, all articles aimed at whippersnapperish journalistic types of my calibre clearly mention the fact that a blog needs a theme. This is how an audience is created and captured.

I have no theme. I have no guiding light, I have no purpose. I do not know my audience, all I know is that I want them. I need them.

I need you.

I don' t mean to sound desperate, and I'm really not. I am assured that "Is Anybody There?" is a fairly well-read blog. Even the title cries for attention, though- I ought to be ashamed.

I am not ashamed. I now know what this blog is. This blog, like the thousands which detail the many laments of thirteen-year-old girls, is about the life of the author. However, unlike the many desperate pleas for attention flung into the ether by adolescents, this is worth reading.

I will tell you why this blog is worth reading. I will tell you why this blog is worth putting in your favourites list. I will tell you why it is worth following @sachtastic on twitter. It is worth doing all those things because I am a person worth listening to, and I have things to say.

You had a dream once. It was probably to be a fairy princess or a superhero bus conductor. You're secretly still working towards that dream, I know you are. You've changed it a little, rubbed out the physically impossible aspects, but you've still got that dream.

My dream was to be a fantasy hero, riding a white horse so fast that none could beat it. I would be adept at archery and swordfighting, as well as being an enigmatic deuteragonist with a dangerously sharp wit.

Note deuteragonist. I don't want to be the hero that everyone loves. I want to be the slightly mad one that everyone wishes they could be. Including, evidently, me.

I want to sit in the background, playing puppet master, creator, hero and fiend all at the same time. In short, I want to write. I know I can do it. The thing is, there's no point to my fantasy character if nobody reads her.

So read me. For once, this blog is not about tea, or Alan Bennett, or the perils of the internet. This blog is actually about me, about who I am, and about the course I am steering for. I am here now, exposing my metaphorical squishy sensitive parts that you might peruse me, and if the scratchy hessian mittens of criticism* bring tears to my eyes, what does it matter?

In my writing, the hero of my imagination, who put me to sleep as a child, is born.

I turned twenty earlier this month. I am into my third decade on this planet and I can't help but think that I'm going to have to start making sure I have an impact.

From now on, this blog is about the journey I am taking. I will one day be a writer, a real writer, not a blogger, not a smidgen above angsty teenager, a proper writer. If all goes well, I hope it will serve as a guide for the budding journalists and writers of the next generation. If all goes badly, I hope it will serve as a cautionary tale to the budding journalists and writers of the next generation.

Deuteragonist seeks protagonist. Must be willing to offer me a job, and to let me ride a white horse. Ta.

*Note: I am not serious about this metaphor.