Watching the fences fall

October 31st, 2010

When we lived in our old house, we spent years turning it into our own.

Year by year, we added and adapted. The open backyard gained a white picket fence. The far yard gained a beautiful raised bed garden. A herb garden was planted. Quartz was dug up and re-appropriated as landscaping border. Perennials were planted. A fire pit slab was built out of slate.

Over time, we had everything perfected. This, ultimately, helped in selling our house. The yard work was already finished. All someone had to do is keep up with the plants and mow the lawn.

If only that were the case.

We drive by our old house on occasion. Over the past year and a half we have seen it regress.

First, the raised bed garden was torn out. Then, the garden bed was covered with sod. Soon, the quartz edging was taken out. After the summer, we noticed that the perennials had disappeared and the herb garden had been stripped away.

We were effectively watching our legacy in that home taken out, piece by piece, like burning copies of an author’s manuscript. The time and work and sweat and money we put into making the house beautiful was being disregarded, the current owners not privy to what emotional connections we still had to that garden, that border, those plants.

But what can I expect?

When we hand things over, we hand them over with the understanding that, in fact, it is no longer ours. That’s the deal. That’s what selling the house means. We built it up to pass it on, selling our dreams and selling out those gardens. In return, we were able to move to a new home, one that was filled with another previous owner’s dreams and ambitions – dreams and ambitions we too reverse and tear down and disregard.

That yard is no longer our yard. It never will be again. And we were the ones who made it that way.

So, as we drove by today and saw that the white picket fence – the first act of business when we moved in and the most lasting and recognizable piece of our involvement with that house – was being torn down, I had to bite back scorn.

It’s out of our hands. And we’re all healthier when we recognize that point.


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Issues Considered: Home, On..., Vilhauer

Ira Glass on good taste

October 27th, 2010

I just spoke at SDAF’s Student Day, which is always sort of inspiring and totally humbling.

And then, an hour too late, I read this little thing from an Ira Glass video on storytelling (via Brian Gilham):

Nobody tells people who are beginners, and I really wish somebody had told this to me, is that if you’re watching this video you’re somebody who wants to make videos, right? And all of us who do creative work like, you know, we get into it and we get into it because we have good taste. Do you know what I mean?

Like you want to make TV because you love TV. You know what I mean? Because there’s stuff that you just like love, OK? So you’ve got really good taste and you get into this thing that I don’t even know how to describe but it’s like there’s a gap. That for the first couple years that you’re making stuff, what you’re making isn’t so good, OK? It’s not that great. It’s really not that great. It’s trying to be good, it has ambition to be good, but it’s not quite that good.

But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, your taste is still killer and your taste is good enough that you can tell that what you’re making is kind of a disappointment to you, you know what I mean? Like you can tell that it’s still sort of crappy. A lot of people never get past that phase and a lot of people at that point quit.

And the thing I would just like say to you with all my heart is that most everybody I know who does interesting creative work, they went through a phase of years where they had really good taste and they could tell what they were making wasn’t as good as they wanted it to be. They knew it fell short, you know, and some of us can admit that to ourselves and some of us are a little less able to admit that to ourselves.

But we knew that it didn’t have the special thing that we wanted it to have and the thing what to do is… Everybody goes through that. And for you to go through it, if you’re going through it right now, if you’re just getting out of that phase or if you’re just starting off and you’re entering into that phase, you’ve got to know it’s totally normal and the most important possible thing you can do is do a lot of work.

Do a huge volume of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week or every month you know you’re going to finish one story. You know what I mean? Whatever it’s going to be. You create the deadline. It’s best if you have somebody who’s waiting for work from you, somebody who’s expecting work from you, even if it’s not somebody who pays you but that you’re in a situation where you have to try not to work. Because it’s only be actually going through a volume of work that you are actually going to catch up and close that gap. And the work you’re making will be as good as your ambitions.

Hell yeah. I wish I could have imparted that kind of knowledge on the ad kids today.

I guess I’ll be happy I didn’t make any fart jokes.


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Issues Considered: Career, On..., Writing

Plain writing: why stop with tax forms?

October 26th, 2010

The Plain Writing Act of 2010 was signed by the President just a few weeks ago. It’s goal: “To enhance citizen access to Government information and services by establishing that Government documents issued to the public must be written clearly.”

In other words, our tax returns will use the same language that we use in our everyday lives, free from governmental and legal platitudes. What a concept.

Understanding that over-technical and legal-ridden verbiage is harmful to both simplicity and comprehension, and armed with governmental action on behalf of the Plain Writing movement, shouldn’t we take a cue from this new law?

Shouldn’t we, within our power, enact our own version of this act?

The Plain and Practical Mission Statement Act.

The Understandable Utility Contract Act.

The Explaining Physics Act.

The Frequently Asked Questions that Actually Answer Frequently Asked Questions Act.

The Cut Pretentiousness From Your “About Us” Section Act.

The Filling Out Health Insurance Forms Without Screaming Act.

If we write, we’re culpable. We’re the ones who can push this change even further, until we’ve stripped away the clutter and cleave the bond between “Important” and “Overwritten.”

So it is written.


Comments: 3

Issues Considered: Politics, Words, Writing

Candy

October 23rd, 2010

All candy is not created equal. The Halloween Advisory Board would probably dispute this, insisting that candy is candy and it’s all fantastic and you should appreciate each kernel of candy corn just as you’d appreciate a full bag of Milky Way.

But come on. It’s a lie. I know it. You know it.

It’s obvious. On one hand, you’ve got candy. On the other: CANDY. All caps, serious candy.

Sorting candy on Halloween isn’t an act of taste as much as an it’s act of classification and comparison. When we were kids, we’d all dress in different costumes and we’d all stalk different neighborhoods and we’d all return to different homes but, in the end, we all shared one common experience.

In the end, we all dumped out our pillow cases and orange pumpkin buckets and began mentally ranking the haul.

To a kid, choosing candy is an exercise in competition. We visualize the Baby Ruth lining up alongside the Starburst to be mercilessly examined, our decision releasing them from their cardboard cell and into the freedom of our stomachs. Like the BCS, we weigh wins and losses and, ultimately, place one candy brand atop the others.

It’s a candy power poll, and in developing this ranking we each focused on different attributes. A friend of mine, for instance, chose candy based on its sophistication, as if eating a Snickers would somehow help him develop chest hair and a deeper voice. Another friend was less specific, seemingly relying on wind change and moon phases.

My comparisons ran along two lines: fruit flavor and longevity.

The first cut dropped most traditional candy bars out of the running. No chocolate, no nougat, no cay-ra-mell. The next cut separated the suckers from the rest of the fruit-flavored candy because, let’s face it, I was eight and suckers were for BABIES.

Ultimately, it came down to which candy came with the most pieces. I chose Starburst. I chose Skittles. When I was feeling daring, I’d buy Now & Later. Most of all, I chose Mamba, an exotic seeming alternative to the traditional Starburst flavors.

Since that day, the fruit factor has been devalued, as has longevity. Now, Butterfinger tops the list. The candy bars I once saw as sophisticated now crowd the top of the standings. What’s more, I haven’t eaten a Mamba in more than a decade.

The champion is dead. Long live the champ.

Inspired by Jason Santa Maria‘s fantastic Candygram guest posts.


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Issues Considered: On..., Vilhauer

They Might Be Giants, “Fingertips” – 8.5.01

October 19th, 2010

It was never meant to be listened to in order – in fact, Apollo 18 was designed to be listened to on shuffle. Still, that doesn’t take away from the fact that, on a few glorious select occasions, They Might Be Giants used to rock the hell out of the entire 21-track “Fingertips” suite.

And if this doesn’t make your skull ache for more, you don’t understand the FANTASTIC parts about the soon-to-be-stilted early-90s alternative scene – most of which stood on the line between ridiculous and brilliant.

According to TMBW.net:

Linnell: “The project was to write a bunch of choruses and nothing else. In other words, I had to restrain myself from writing any other parts of the songs. I wanted a collection of choruses that’s something like what you see on TV late at night, like that old K-Tel commercials. I was thinking about how you know a lot of songs from these ads, but the only part you know is maybe one line, which is half the chorus. And yet they stick in your head in the way a whole song would. in a way, these tiny chips of songs seem complete, because you don’t know the rest of the song.”

Thanks, 1992. I had missed you.


Comments: 4

Issues Considered: Music, Music Video, Videos

Spoiler Alert: Collateral Editing

October 18th, 2010

Spoiler alert, you guys.

So New York Magazine’s Vulture blog posted a little ditty about whether or not Don Draper chose the right woman on Mad Men’s season finale, complete with an episode spoiler right in the headline: “Is Megan Really Right for Don?”

Spoilers in the headline? One comment summed it all up:

“It’d be awesome not to have spoilers in the headlines.”

Point taken, apparently: New York Magazine’s response was to change the headline.

Mad Men spoiler

Unfortunately, the headline doesn’t stand alone.

Updating Content = Updating Metadata

As with any content management system worth its licensing cost, posts on Vulture’s site are published with an automated simple URL. The assumption is that this URL becomes the permalink of the article, forever and ever, despite any changes in content or, in this case, the headline itself.

The headline was changed, but the URL remains the same. The result: a spoiler is only partially averted.

Spoiler URL

The lesson is simple: our blog posts and articles and Web pages are so much more than art and copy, and – especially in the case of a major news blog – we as writers and content specialists need to always remind ourselves that changes do not necessarily cascade throughout the metadata.

It’s not only a problem in the URL, either. When we update an article, do we also update the timestamp? Do we let the reader know the article has changed? Does it now fit under a different category, or are there different tags that can be assigned?

Updating an article or blog post or even a static HTML block of copy can range from a spelling correction to a major re-write or adjusted attribution. Different levels of change lead to different levels of updating.

That being said, all levels of updating require a quick confirmation that EVERYTHING has been updated. It’s something I forget on this blog every day. I’d be willing to guess it happens to you, too.

The “Change Everything” List

It’s one thing for this to happen on your little personal blog. But when it starts popping up in a major publication’s news feed, it becomes a larger (not to mention, more noticeable) problem.

Having a simple workflow in place to address post-publication changes can help catch the small things that might fall through the cracks. For example, when updating a blog post, a content wrangler should check:

A. URL – Does the URL still reflect the nature of the article?

B. Metadata – Tags, categories and other items of taxonomy – are they still valid?

C. Post Status – If the post has changed drastically, is there a way to flag the post as “changed” or “updated?”

D. Date/Time – Some CMS programs will automatically update the timestamp. Determine whether the timestamp needs to stay the same (in the event of a minor spelling change or other item of insignificance) or if the timestamp needs to be adjusted to reflect new information.

There’s more, too, depending on the level of journalistic integrity, what your CMS allows and what your readers expect. Adjust and administer as you see fit.

But What About Links?

Yeah. Good question.

In the case of this Vulture article, the headline itself was changed rather quickly – enough to think that, if the URL was also changed, it would still be in the initial stages of gathering inbound links.

But what about an article that’s a few hours old? A few days?

That answer ain’t simple, folks. It’s a matter of serious discussion, comparing the benefits of giving the post a more fitting URL with the risks of losing those inbound links.

Some CMS packages allow for single-page URL redirection. Most don’t – at least, not as a base function – and changing the URL runs the risk of leaving a sea of broken links, especially as an article moves further away from its original publish date.

In the case of this Vulture article, what seems like a URL mix-up may, in fact, be on purpose. If the article blew up early and garnered a large amount of traffic, the editorial staff may have said, “Hold on, buddy. Spoilers are a part of the business, and we’re a news-based blog, so let’s keep that URL and just change the headline.”

That being said, there’s a lot to be said about the editorial process before we even reach this kind of decision. If articles go through a solid set of checks and balances, there will no reason to get this far.

Boiling it Down

Above everything, the question of changing URLs after publication outlines the necessity of carefully reviewing content before it’s posted: a policy of steering clear of immediate spoilers, in this case, would have prevented the need for a URL change.

We can’t be perfect all the time, though. I know I can’t be.

So develop a quick checklist and apply it to all post-publish edits. Do it right now. It’ll take no more than 15 minutes, and it’ll save you from spoiling the finale of Mad Men for some unfortunate soul.


Comments: 1

Issues Considered: Career, Content Strategy

What I’ve Been Reading – Eating the Dinosaur

October 18th, 2010

I read Chuck Klosterman’s Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs with apprehension because it deserved apprehension. It’s a book of over-thought pop culture arguments, the ones you might expect having with a roomful of probably drunk college friends, and that reason alone gives one pause – are these arguments worth diving into over an entire book?

What I’ve Read:

Eating the Dinosaur by Chuck Klosterman

But even more than that, Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs was a guidebook for the geeky-but-not-quite legions of ironic thought: in essence, a rallying cry for those who found pleasure in debating the validity of Saved by the Bell’s influence simply because it was ironic to ever have considered Saved by the Bell influential at all.

Eating DinosaurUpon first read, I gave it two stars. A day later, I realized that I actually liked the book, and upgraded it to four.

I went into the book expecting to be annoyed by it. I was. And yet, I wasn’t. Because, let’s face it – those geeky-but-not-quite legions of ironic thought?

They’re my people. I’m probably one of them. *shudder*

Eating the Dinosaur, however, is different. It still follows the same patterns as Klosterman’s first essay collection, but it’s done in a way that’s both researched and filled with wisdom. These are no longer the essays of a college pop culture argument, but an almost Gladwell-ian look at the parts of pop culture that shape us.

Except that, unlike Malcolm Gladwell shaky attempts at the transitive property, Klosterman makes valid observations proven by common sense: The funniest shows are those without laugh tracks because we’re allowed to laugh for ourselves; voyeurism is natural and not at all creepy; football innovates specifically because it’s the most creative sport in the world.

It boils down to this: where Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs was a drunken romp through irrelevancy, Eating the Dinosaur is a buzzed discussion during after-work drinks.

Klosterman seems more grown up, is what I’m trying to get at. Thankfully. Because he’s better served that way.


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Issues Considered: Books, Literature, What I've Been Reading, Writers, Writing