saving ink

Last month, I transitioned from a “proper” job as the editor of a small newspaper to a freelancer. Now that the novelty of working at home and out of cafes at whatever hours I choose is wearing off, I’ve made some observations.

To be completely honest, what I’m going to miss most about my job, besides the people I worked with, is the press previews, free passes, and additional access that the title of “journalist” afforded me at events like exhibition/museum openings and festivals. Not because, if I were to add it up, I probably got thousands of dollars in free entrances and swag (although that certainly helps), but because of the status that came with how I got those things. That little badge that says “MEDIA” or “Press Photographer” on it is not just a free entry, it’s proof that I’m just a little more clever than the people without one, because, hey, those suckers had to pay to be here while I didn’t!

It’s the privilege of knowing something first, before the unwashed masses get their hands on the information (though thanks to Twitter and WikiLeaks, that privilege is quickly disappearing). It’s tangible proof that I’m better than other people - or, of course, it just seems that way, because everything I’ve said is complete and utter bullshit.

Being a journalist does not make you a better person; it makes you, in the best of cases, a more observant person, and in the worst and more frequent cases, a closed-minded, self-satisfied son of a bitch. Journalism is a world of entitlement, because whatever job title or piece of paper says that you’re a certified journalist entitles you to information. But it’s a closed world, and it rarely produces human beings that come out better than when they started in the business.

Still, I’m glad I had the experience, and I’m glad to be out. I still want to write more than ever, but on my own terms, and not dictated by the hot topics of the day. And I believe there’s still a market for this type of writing, perhaps more than ever before, thanks to the proliferation of god-awful articles and thinking out there. It just becomes that much more difficult to make it without that innate entitlement that comes with the title. That’s ok, though, it’ll make it all the sweeter in the end.

One morning a couple of months ago when I still had a job (a painful 9:15 am to be exact, about five hours before my brain tends to wake up), a colleague and I interviewed one of the trumpeters of St. Mary’s Church (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, I suggest clicking the afore-mentioned link to read about an awesome legend that involves a Tatar warrior with rather unbelievable archery skills). While in general the interview was pretty fascinating (turns out, there are seven trumpeters, and they work in 24-hour shifts that allow, at most, 55-minute catnaps during the night), there was an anecdote he told us after the tape recorder was turned off that seems like an apt parable for today’s news media.

According to the trumpeter (and technically, fire fighter, as every trumpeter is a member of the Krakow Fire Brigade), in the early 1900s there was a watchmaker’s shop on the Market Square, right by St. Mary’s. Every morning, the trumpeter on shift would go to the watchmaker’s and check the time and calibrate his pocket watch, then proceed up to the tower to do his job, which means playing the Hejnał (St. Mary’s hymn) every hour, on the hour, sun or rain or hail or snow or holiday or weekend. One morning, the trumpeter awoke to find that his watch was broken, so he set out earlier than usual to make a longer stop at the watchmaker’s. As the watchmaker was fixing the pocket watch, the trumpeter asked, “Sir, how do you calibrate the clocks in your shop to keep the correct time?” “Well, that’s easy,” the watchmaker replied, “I listen for the Hejnał every hour!”

Perhaps you can see where I’m going with this.

The world of the news media and journalism has become a closed circle of information, feedbacking onto itself much like a guitar pick-up placed too close to a speaker - after a while, all you get is noise. The news agencies have replaced interviewees as primary sources, and the rapid pace of updates has allowed for inexcusable mistakes. All of this has led to a downward spiral of journalistic quality, when one outlet keeps time by the other’s watch, which is simultaneously being wound according to the former’s. 

So what’s the solution? Better quality control at journalism schools? (Does anyone even go to those anymore?) A narrowing of the market? Or perhaps a change in motivation, from ad revenue to direct payment for content? I still don’t know the answer, but I know damn well that a change is necessary, before the rest of the world’s media is swallowed up by the self-referencing American model.

Whenever I see a headline that says “Most Americans are for/against X, poll says”, I feel the urge to take a virtual red pen and change it to “Most Americans are idiots, poll says”, because in most cases, the latter statement would be more accurate. In fact, change “Americans” to “people” and you have a philosophy.

Or perhaps, “Most polls are useless, poll says”.

*Except for a few good days, this means me as well.

I hate to resort to LOLspeak, but it’s true, New Yorker.

In case you haven’t heard, Condé Nast, parent company of The New Yorker, released an iPad-only app of the esteemed magazine. The app may be beautiful and functional, but as I wrote last week, the world is not quite ready for an app-based publication.

First of all, as the above commentators point out so eloquently, there is no subscription model in place. Second, print subscribers are (justifiably) infuriated that they have to pay twice for the same product - which also exists online for free. Not only does this highlight an absurdity, but it illustrates something that the decision-makers at Condé Nast have obviously failed to realize: it’s the content, stupid. The content is what matters, and the delivery system, whether print or app, only exists to facilitate access to that content. When people buy magazines, they’re not paying for the dead tree parts in their hands, they’re paying for the content - the same principle applies to apps (and should have applied to the Internet from the start).

What the New Yorker should have done is to hold off on the app until the time was right: until tablets and iOS devices became truly ubiquitous, at least in the US, and until their print subscriptions had dropped down to the point of non-sustainability. That’s the tipping point, and that’s when you make the switch.

But the switch cannot be made half-assed. Once you decide to go app, you must kill the print, and discontinue the system of offering the same content for free online. In fact, just stop offering magazine content online! No one wants to read that in a browser when they can experience it in an app, even if that means they have to pay. Because if the product is good, they will.

Will it piss people off? Of course. But revolutions always piss some people off. Hell, revolutions piss most people off. I’m sure when Gutenberg was extolling the virtues of his dandy new machine, there were plenty of detractors predicting the end of civilization behind his back. And yet, there will always be those few people who embrace change and usher in a new, better system, years before everyone else catches up. The history books will call them visionaries. But are they visionaries? Maybe. Or maybe they’re just fairly smart people not crippled by the fear of change.