A lifeless body lay in the middle of a kitchen, walls and windows stained red from the blood of the victim. Police have said the dead man, a Penn State student, was bludgeoned to death in what may have been a drug deal gone wrong. It's rare that so brutal a killing would happen in sleepy State College Borough. I was not the journalist who reported this slaying to you. I was one of the story's editors.

Walking home late that night after working with the reporter and other editors on this gruesome report, adrenaline rushing, I had a thought.

This feeling I have now must be what it's like when a musician plays his final chord before a 50,000-person arena of screaming, crying, nearly rioting fans. Blood was coursing through my veins, and I had one of those moments in which you truly feel alive.

I had a similar late-night experience my freshman year. The hospital -- then it was called Centre Community Hospital -- was on the verge of closing over a labor dispute with the nurses' union. I was the reporter on the horn with the hospital's president at 11 p.m. trying to get the story for the next day's paper. When he called back at 11:30 p.m., I had 10 minutes to write the story. I hit that chord again.

There are probably some other stories I could tell you to explain why I've donated the last four years of my life to the basement of the James Building, but I'm hoping that you can at least see where, at least this journalist, anyway, gets his drive.

There's something about reporting the news to your community that has grabbed a hold of me from my first semester at Penn State. That same drive has increased its grip, and now I find myself about to donate my life to working crappy hours for crappy pay, all just to tell people about what's happening in the world around them. And since I'd never work up the courage (or the instrumental skill) to play before 50,000 screaming, crying, nearly rioting fans, I'll take the feeling I get when I'm dealing in the news any day.

I know many graduating seniors are nervous about starting a career or going to grad school. Is it right for me? Will I make enough money? Can I get my number on a no-call list to avoid Lion Line phone calls at dinnertime?

My advice to you is simple. Find whatever it is that in doing it, you feel as if you've just played to a sold-out show at the Bryce Jordan Center (a BJC sans black curtains that hide the many more empty seats behind them).

I've never understood people who are reluctant to get into the workplace. It's probably because I've found something that truly satisfies me. If telling stories about murders, sexual assaults and rapes satisfies you, Catalini, then you probably need help, right?

I disagree. There are far too many important stories out there that need to be told and need to be told in a fair, accurate and complete way; it doesn't matter if they're too gruesome or too bland. People cannot be expected to make decisions their lives without knowing what's going on.

As long as there's a story to tell, I'll be the guy who's up late at night, scrounging to get it out to people by the morning.