June « 2010 « Black Marks on Wood Pulp / by Corey Vilhauer

Post-launch content schedules

June 30th, 2010

Oh, man, the brain trust at Blend gave me the keys to the blog wagon and here I go posting about content strategy stuff again.

Chances are, most of the content strategy stuff that used to be here will now be over there, but don’t worry – I’m vain enough to link to it from the ol’ personal blog. Over. And. Over. Again.

Anyway, I’m over there with this nugget. From “On Post-Launch Content Schedules: or, Who’s Taking Care of the House?”:

In the Web industry, we build Web sites. But we might as well be building houses. Except, instead of populating homes with people, we’re filling them with information, application and entertainment. Words and pictures need a home on the Internet, and Web sites are the three-bedroom, two-bath ranch home they’re looking for.

Web companies exhibit pride of ownership, too. As long as we hold the deed to our site, we’re keeping up with routine upkeep. It’s easy for us – after all, the construction was all handled in-house, for the most part, so we understand the corners and rafters and concrete better than anyone else.

Then, we hand the site off.

We’ve prepared it for sale. The site is at its peak – top notch, totally updated, ready to move in. The paperwork is signed, the Realtor has been paid – we’ve reached the finish line, you’d think.

Nope. The launch of a Web site isn’t the finish line. New content will move in. Updating will happen. Upkeep will be needed.

Are you ready to handle it?

CLICK THROUGH FOR MORE! (Do it. Now.)

Comments: 3

Issues Considered: Career, Content Strategy, Grandpa Boyer

Searching for a new SearchTest

June 29th, 2010

With search testing comes the need for original, unrelated words.

The goal, of course, is to make sure a Web site’s search function works. You throw unrelated words in, of course, so you can search for them. And while the standard “SearchTest” will bring up a series of specifically coded pages, that word is boring.

A total yawnfest, you guys. And predictable, which, apparently, my former ad agency self won’t allow.

So I apparently go for the angular. A recent set of test search words: “Waldo.” “Kraken.” “Yeti.” “Kilroy’s Revenge.” Sharp corners. Weird combinations.

Look at that. It’s like a Styx album threw up on your computer, right? I contend it could be part of a new phonetic alphabet.

Either way, I’m not far away from assigning search terms to the more memorable Final Fantasy elementals, or John Tenta wrestling aliases, and when I get to that point I fear I’ll have gone too far. Please keep me in your thoughts.

Comments: 1

Issues Considered: Career, Words

The Story of Phake

June 28th, 2010

A quick story on persistence.

I was in a band. It was called Phake. The name was a play on the idea that, though we had attempted to infiltrate the local punk rock scene, we weren’t punk rock at all. We were fake punkers, fighting for a niche in the local hardcore punk scene, and in the early days of ironic t-shirts I threw together a self-made number that proclaimed our not-punk-though-really-we-wished-we-were status.

It was our fifth name in a year of practicing. It stuck.

With it came a distressing label: “Not Very Good.” But, let’s be honest. That label might have been deserved.

We weren’t very good.

At that time, we didn’t care. Or we didn’t know it. A little of both, really.

But we tried, and here’s the thing: we eventually worked our way into the public conscience, like worm wriggling into rotten wood. We got better – still not good, but BETTER – and, as things often work, we stumbled into some kind of routine. Our practices sounded something like this [WARNING - shitty garage band alert.]

Then, one guy got kicked out and another guy decided he was done and soon the band was over, just as we had supposedly found our niche and identity.

I don’t bring this up because I’m nostalgic, or because I needed an excuse to play this video that our friend Jim inexplicably kept long past its freshness date, but because I realize how badly we all needed to flail and stumble and fail before we could really belong.

Except for me (the non-musician in the group) all four members ended up becoming fantastic musicians and songwriters and people in general. Some still play today. Bring the five of us back together, and there might be something special.

And while I didn’t gain anything musically, I did gain confidence, which I suppose is the ultimate instrument of a lead vocalist.

I failed. We all failed. We had a whole lot of fun and made a bunch of friends that we still hang out with today and, hey, we can all say “Yeah, we were in a band once,” and that kind of cool points doesn’t come around that often.

Given the chance – and given the friends and experiences and confidence I gained – I’d fail all over again.

Comments: 4

Issues Considered: Friends, Music, Vilhauer

Boognish at the ready

June 26th, 2010

There are two camps: those who absolutely adore Ween and everything they’ve ever touched, and those who don’t understand.

I’m in the first camp, unabashedly. And, thanks to being so close to my first Ween that I CAN TASTE THE WASTE, my full-indoctrination into the cult of the Boognish is about to be complete.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

A quick talk to the new-school locals who are resettling Jackson, Wyoming, from someone who never was a local but probably should be

June 25th, 2010

You can go ahead and talk about how you’ve moved to Jackson, how you’ve done well in life and can now afford a stately 500k home in the ghetto part of town, how you brave the traffic and float your kayak down the Snake and how, sometimes, you run into Teton Village for dinner at some restaurant that just opened.

Something Thai, I’m sure. Something expensive and trendy.

Go ahead. I know I’ve never formally lived in the Jackson Hole area. I’ve never called it home, and that nowadays I only visit every four years and barely have any family connection in the town. Even my grandma had to ditch the place. Probably the fault of people like you. I’ll pin that you y’all, if you don’t mind.

Here’s the thing. I might not be from Jackson, but I’m fiercely protective of it. That Thai restaurant wasn’t here when I wandered its streets every summer for years. Teton Village was just a tiny little ski resort. Jackson was still overrun by cowboys, not Subarus; ranchers, not transplants.

Maybe you’ve got your own personal Jackson – some place you’ve never lived but still stick to, allowed to become a part of your soul, of which you shun visitors and push away the people who just don’t get it. That’s it, right?

They just don’t get it, do they?

Jackson isn’t my home. It never has been. Still, I consider myself a local – thanks to generations of family and history and a bunch of my own experiences – and I’ll be damned if I’m going to feel guilty about it.

Sorry, man. I know you just moved here.

But unless you’re new place has some way to replicate three decades of tradition and sheer force of connection, you’ll never be a local.

At least not in my eyes. Not in my experience.

Not to THIS local-who-never-was.

Comments: 2

Issues Considered: Family, Grandpa Boyer, Home, Travel, Vilhauer

Growing up

June 24th, 2010

I looked over and there she was, pushing her cart through the grocery store, acting as if she’d been doing it all her life, and while it was only a junior sized cart and while she never actually chose any of the items in it and while she was much too young to be pushing anything that happened to have a six pack of beer in it, she still looked so big, so utterly in control of the situation, so understanding of everything that was going on and the consequences of tipping over the cart or smashing the grapes or dropping the bottle of milk that it kind of made me sad.

Sad because my little girl is growing up.

And then, when we got home, I realized that Isaac is walking and he has a personality and he almost knows which way the spoon works. Meanwhile, Sierra is having real, two-sided conversations and making up intricate stories and developing a sense of humor that is amazingly aware of its own funniness.

Sad, yes. But also proud. Mostly proud. Absolutely proud, like I should be. Like I’m honored to be.

The sadness has nothing to do with what they’re doing. It’s 100% on me and my inability to accept change with the same grace that my kids do. Every single day.

Opportunity or desire?

June 22nd, 2010

So, really, what I’ve learned in the past several years is that, when it comes down to it, your degree isn’t worth shit in today’s modern industries.

Oops. Did I say that out loud?

I did. Because it’s true. The college experience itself is valuable and important and incredibly rewarding. But for the most part – specifically in the case of degrees that don’t require graduate school – the title on the piece of paper you receive means less than the ink used to print it.

(For the most part. I HAVE to say “for the most part” because there are some of you who actually used your degree to get a great job that you’re still at, and there are some of you who are doctors and lawyers and you needed those four undergraduate years to study anatomy and law and whatever else a college convinces you to pay $20,000 for.)

Here’s why: we don’t know if we’ll ever like what we decide we’re going to do when we go to college until long after we’ve gotten our degree. Most majors spend three and a half years teaching you facts and figures without ever letting you experience the field – and even those experiences are watered-down internships that offer no real insight into what the career will really offer.

My Example

I have a teaching degree, which proves that I know the details involved in teaching. I was licensed for five years to be a teacher in South Dakota. I passed all of the tests, I completed all of the projects and I worked pretty hard to learn everything I was supposed to learn.

But I never learned the nuances. I gained knowledge, but I never gained experience.

I never wanted to.

And there’s the problem.

I had the opportunity. But I didn’t have the desire. My degree said I could do it. My heart never wanted to.

What’s worse, I never realized I didn’t have the desire – at least, not until I had nearly completed all of my studies. Far too late to turn back. Far too late to understand what I’d really be getting myself into.

The disconnect is this: you don’t need major-driven classwork to find your perfect career – you just need to be willing to prove yourself. If you want to get into Web work, you don’t need the school-mandated study, the probably-already-outdated texts or the inflamed professor egos. You just need the desire to learn it on your own time.

Where We Are Now

As Deane points out, an entire legion of college-educated degree-holders are jumping ship to learn more lucrative and rewarding trades. They’re proving that the goal of choosing a career path at 17 or 18 – when you’re barely in a position to make career decisions – and going through four years of college to prepare for it may be both outdated and impractical. And Seth Godin piles on, confessing that the correlation between a degree and professional success is questionable.

College is important from a social standpoint – a finishing school that bridges the gap between parent-assisted living and full adulthood. Yes, you’re getting an opportunity for a safe career path. But you’re also pigeonholed into that safe career path; convinced that it’s your only option, you stop looking outside of the field, the myth of the degree forcing your hand.

Get the degree. Enjoy the time. Frame the diploma. Or don’t – learn on your own, prove yourself and get noticed.

Then, keep looking forward. Perfect your craft. Stop worrying about what you went to school for, and start worrying about whether you’re continuing to learn.

It takes more work, but it’s much more rewarding.