I moved from science research to science journalism, in part, because I wanted to finish things. In the lab, I always needed another repetition or another experiment—indeed, you can spend a lifetime in science and not entirely solve the questions you started with.
Journalism, on the other hand, offered the finality of a printed story and a clear sense of accomplishment.
But when is a story done? When you hand over the hard-wrought final draft? When it’s published for your mom and all of the rest of the world to read? Or when you’ve got the paycheck in your hot little hands?
Over the last couple of years, I’ve developed an admittedly elaborate definition of when a story is truly over, and I can stop thinking about it. In what I call my “closing out” process, I check a number of mental boxes to determine it’s really through:
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