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- Lumbering Storms Over Pinellas
- Afternoon Storms Should Be Slow Movers
- Why Is It So Cold??!!!
- Tropical Storm Bertha
- Hearing Lakeland’s Fireworks Not The Same As Seeing Them, By George
- Time for a patriotic song.
- Crist Engaged To Rome
- Supremes: Crist Erred On Gambling Pact
- Polk Schools Dealing With High Diesel Costs
- Take trolley, streetcar to fireworks
- Isn’t it Fun to Fly?
- Hail, Gusty Winds, Possible Tornado Results From Afternoon Storms
- Portable High Definition Televisions
- Andy Martin—Remember Him?—Gets His Moment In The Sun
- There’s One Behind Every Tree …
8:43 p.m. – When I first started in journalism, I wrote politics. I never thought I would write anything else.
These days, it seems, most of what I write about involves grisly murders or some other sort of violence. I always say, you don’t want your name under my byline.
If so, it’s not a good day. Most likely, either someone did something to you or you did something to someone else.
Often, I’m asked if the crime stories, day after day, get to me. They don’t really. I’m very good at not internalizing.
An hour or so after Rolling’s execution, I pondered the question again. So many people had asked me as I was heading to Starke to report about an execution, if I was at all disturbed.
My thought process was interrupted by two TV journalists from competing stations, yelling back and forth.
“You covering the Gator game this weekend?” one asked.
“Yeah, see you there,” the other yelled back.
This is a job.
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