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The writer's version of hindsight is rewrite.

So this is what I wish I'd told the Pulliam interns about journalism success. This is an improved, written version of a speech I recently gave to the 16 interns working at The Arizona Republic this summer, who represent some of the best minds coming out of the nation's journalism schools. (There are 10 other Pulliam fellows interning at The Indianapolis Star this summer, as well.)

I was invited to speak with them because of my title: syndicated columnist. A good job in journalism, yes. And it does help pay the mortgage.

But it is not how I define success.

Success in journalism comes much as it does in life. It is earned in the day-to-day practice of this craft.

One great story, one prize-winning piece, does not make a career.

I suspect the recent graduates were primed to hear grandiose stories of massive public corruption uncovered. Perhaps they awaited accounts of being in the presence of presidents, sports heroes and famous newsmakers of the day. Or maybe they wanted a harried tale of reporting from some foreign land, amidst a war or mass devastation caused by the forces of nature.

I could tell them about meeting presidents -- of several countries.

I haven't been to a war. But I did talk about the morbid aftermath of Hurricane Mitch in Honduras. And, like many journalists, I've been able to help right some wrongs.

I once helped get an elderly indigenous woman from Mexico out of a Kansas mental hospital, where she'd been misdiagnosed and locked up for 12 years. A Mexico City-based playwright used my stories to create a theatrical version of the tale, now performed internationally.

That's a story (or, rather, a series of stories) for which I am proud. Stories like that make for chatty cocktail encounters. They've even won me some awards. But they are not substantial enough to keep me content in this profession.

Satisfaction with journalism comes slowly: paragraph by paragraph, word by rechecked word.

I'd guess many, if not all, of the interns possess the baseline skills necessary for success. I did at their age, although it took me another two decades to realize it, to hone the attributes through countless stories and interviews.

A few days before my talk with the Pulliam interns, The Kansas City Star had a celebration. Staffers who had been with the paper five, 10, 20, 25 -- even 30 -- years were recognized during an afternoon newsroom reception.

My name was read at the 20-year mark.

How did so many years pass so quickly? I graduated from college on a Saturday. The following Monday I began work at the Star.

The rapid passage of the years is partly due to the fact that my career has suited me well. I'm not unlike the girl I was even before my time at the Star, writing for my high school's newspaper.

I can still see myself working on one of my first large stories: a feature about a school for emotionally troubled children in our district. I wrote it while sitting atop my white bedspread, surrounded by notepads, a typewriter and a tape recorder. I'd replay and replay the tape, meticulously transcribing the comments of the therapists, the teachers and the children. I agonized about attempting to capture in words the hardships the children had suffered: traumas with labels like sexual abuse, suicide attempts, self-mutilation and drug addiction.

Fifteen years later, I'd suffer the same sort of writer's angst as I worked on a series about immigrants. Capturing the experiences of the refugees, whom I would meet as they stepped off the airplane, was the hardest task of all. Middle-class, well-educated, I had always had a roof over my head. How could I possibly explain all that they had suffered? But, as I had done in high school, I checked and re-checked facts, re-interviewed a few of my subjects, and second-guessed every observation and word choice.

Today, I still like to fact-check every line of a column after it is laid out on the page. Last week, I nervously browsed the "sent" files of my computer, late at night, double-checking words and spellings in a column I had e-mailed hours earlier to syndicate editors.

As unglamorous as it sounds, this is it.

Success is rechecking the spelling of a name -- for the third time -- in a story that will run as a brief, and never see the front page.

Success is having your work noted for how you intend it. I want to be fair. I want to be accurate. I want to consistently offer an interesting perspective.

I recently found a manila folder stuffed with old letters and cards, tucked into a filing cabinet at home. The notes offered simple thanks from readers and people I'd written about.

One note was an e-mail from a woman who said she had followed my work since meeting me fresh out of college. As a young reporter, I had been assigned to cover a school board she served on in a small suburban district.

She said she had watched my career progress. She kindly noted that I covered topics "with depth, objectivity, and integrity." She added this thought too: "qualities, I might add, which were evident early in your career when you covered our board."

Pulliam interns, and all young journalists: Nourish and hone the skills you already possess, the ones that guided you when you chose journalism as a career. The effort will lead to a daily accumulation of gains, compoundable into many satisfying years.
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