If It Bleeds Read Online Free PDF

redundancy, and I wasn’t sure anyone would think that using your own money was actual news. Lesson one from journalism school—or perhaps lesson sixteen, but something near the beginning: saying something is does not make it so.
    I moved on.
    The Conservative government revealed Thursday that former Liberal MP Brewer Hudson spent almost $20,000 in public funds on a trip to Sri Lanka this fall to write a report for Prime Minister Theroux that is now being kept secret.
    Some of the grammar wasn’t even good here, making me wonder about reporters or editors or both. That, along with the critiques I’d given the others, gave me the confidence I needed. The reporters who had written those stories weren’t necessarily better than me, especially not just because they had desks one floor down. They were human and flawed. And since I was also human and flawed, I had a shot. I put the newspaper aside and settled in to write.
    The Vancouver art world was shocked last night at the unexpected death of Steve Marsh.
    I winced a bit at that “unexpected.” Also, the line implied that it wasn’t due to foul play. I left what I’d written, but spaced down a few inches and started again.
    Prominent Vancouver artist Steve Marsh was found murdered in his car last night outside a gallery that had just opened an exhibition of his work.
    That was closer. But not quite.
    A few more inches down.
    Steve Marsh, a prominent Vancouver artist as well as a member of the Point Grey Marsh family, was found murdered last night outside a Vancouver art gallery.
    That was just plain stinky. Again.
    Vancouver artist and man about town Steve Marsh was found dead last night outside the downtown gallery that had just opened an exhibit of his work. Foul play is suspected.
    That was it. I wasn’t nuts about the whole man-about-town thing. But it did imply what I didn’t dare say: spoiled dilettante son of a prominent local family.
    I forged on, incorporating what I did know. A little background and how Marsh fit into the city. The fact that the show had just opened, and what Marsh’s place in the Canadian art community had been. The fact that he’d been found dead in his SUV . It was important for readers to have that detail so they could build the right picture. The fact that he’d been found in an alley behind the gallery, while inside admirers were toasting his work. I added some—but not all—of the color I’d experienced. The summer night, the austere air in the gallery once Marsh’s death had become known. I dithered awhile about whether I should include my part in it, the fact that I’d found the body. In the end, I decided it wasn’t important. Including that detail might cloud the issue and bring my objectivity into question. There were times when knowing I’d been there would have been important, but my part in the discovery had been small. Mike Webb would be my net with this. If he decided it needed to be mentioned, he’d tell me so.
    I read it over a thirtieth time and decided I liked what I’d written. It was a good opening piece. I knew this story would continue for days and even months, depending on what the police investigation turned up. There’d be plenty of time to get more background and fill in the details as the story unfolded. My training told me the bare facts were what was needed for this first piece.
    With the story written, I connected my camera to my computer and uploaded the photos I’d taken. I chose the best four and emailed them to Mike. Then I gave my story a last once-over, changing a comma here, a word there, and emailed that to Mike as well. I checked my watch. It was 1:15. I was pleased with myself. I’d turned the story around in a couple of hours. I’d head to the news floor and check in with Mike, then home to get some sleep and be back early to get a big start on a follow-up piece in the morning.
    When I got there, the