saving ink

NOTE: I wrote this in September 2010, right after the launch of the iPad, long before the iPad 2, Galaxy Tab, Kindle Fire, etc. had made this prediction a reality. Um, I told you so?

The dominant trend for mainstream news and magazines has overwhelmingly been paper —> website —> app (or occasionally website —> app for newer media organizations) for the past few years. The problem with this model, other than the obvious lack of ability for these organizations to find a way to generate revenue online, is that rather than eliminating a previous platform when making the switch to something newer, the content is simply replicated across the different platforms. Worst of all, one or two of the platforms charge for access to the content, while the other one or two offer the exact same content for free.

But what if we got rid of those first two steps, and simply began a media source* as an app?

A media entity that starts as an app is unencumbered by the burden of “free”. It was never free to begin with, so there is no initial gut aversion from the public. But more importantly, it ends the disconnect between customer and content, because when readers pay for what they’re reading, there is no longer room or need for advertisers to worm their way into that relationship; the editors and writers once again work to please readers, not corporate overlords.

The concept of in-app purchases is becoming accepted as a way to pay a fair price for new or additional content to an existing product. In fact, there are already whole categories of apps (comic book companies, for one) where this is the norm. A couple of media outlets (McSweeny’s is the first that comes to mind) are doing this already. So why can’t media apps work this way, in which they are initially bought for free or for a very low price, and every day or week or month a new “issue” of content is available to pay for and download within the app. It could be tied to an email system that informs subscribers that a new issue is ready for download, or entices casual readers to purchase the issue by giving a small preview of what’s inside.

The beauty of this system is that it would eliminate the need for both print and online versions.

Granted, for this to become reality, several things must happen:

1. iPads and similar devices must become ubiquitous.
2. App development must become either easy enough for a non-developer to handle, or app development apps, if you will, must become ubiquitous.
3. Apps must be made cross-platform by default, just as websites can be opened in a variety of browsers and most programs are made for several operating systems. OS limits can only harm media apps.
4. Our concept of “app” needs to change completely, from being a pretty icon on a phone screen with limited use to being part of an overall system. iOS4’s folder organization is definitely a step in that direction.

My guess is that it will be at least five years before these conditions are met - or at least enough of these conditions are in place so that slowly but surely media organizations can once again see a profit. But with any luck, the iPad and whatever devices follow will allow for a renaissance of quality journalism.

Hey, a girl can dream.

*I’m hesitant to use the words “magazine” or “newspaper”, even though that’s still the closest approximation. Perhaps a fifth condition should be the invention of a new word to describe these new forms of media.

Maybe because I never went to journalism school (or took a single journalism class, for that matter), I have resisted to a fault using journo-slang such as “angle”, “lead”, “advertorial”, etc . But while those terms are simply annoying and usually unnecessary, there is one piece of journalese that I absolutely cannot stand: “copy”.

Copy |ˈkäpē| noun ( pl. copies):

1. the words of an article, news story, or book
2. any broadcast writing, including commercials
3. any written material intended for publication, including advertising

What’s wrong with “article” or “story”, or if you must speak more technically, then “text”? ”Copy” sounds cheap. It sounds like something produced in a factory, tailored to the specifications of the customer.

“I’ll have 1,200 pieces of copy, and two crates of by-lines, please. And throw in an advertorial on the side, will ya?”

Perhaps it’s just my lack of proper initiation into journalism. But perhaps this is a case of semantics dictating attitudes. I mean, have you ever heard Shakespeare or Joyce described as “great copy”? Did Hunter Thompson produce “killer copy” for the National Observer while tripping balls on LSD? No, he told amazing stories, submitted mind-blowing articles full of engaging sentences constructed from perfectly chosen words.

So it’s no wonder that other than occasional long-form gems found in a few select papers, the majority of mainstream journalism has become cheap, AP-style copy. Perhaps if journalists stopped thinking of themselves as cogs in a machine producing copy and began writing stories, the public might want to read them again.

But what do I know? I never went to journalism school…

I’ve been trying to write this for eight days.

I found out about the plane crash that killed the president of one of my countries on Saturday morning, eight days ago, by means of a text message I was convinced was a cruel joke being played on me by a coworker. I was on vacation thousands of miles away, sleeping in the warm land where I had spent most of my life, purposefully cut off from all things related to Polish news. The actual cruel joke was that the biggest event in recent Polish history would become the predominant headline worldwide, right in the middle of the ten days I’d spend out of the country this year.

So after scrambling to catch up on the news that had swept Poland hours before I awoke, I set myself the task of writing an editorial: a personal statement, as the Editor in Chief of a Polish paper and all, stating something deep and significant about the Polish nation amidst this tragedy. And I discovered that I couldn’t write a thing.

In the following days, when people in America would ask me what I felt, I’d answer that I was in shock. That wasn’t exactly true; I was definitely surprised, but what I felt was nothing. I was distracted by a completely different reality that surrounded me. I was disconnected, geographically and emotionally. Whether the former was the cause of the latter, I can’t know, but the lack of feeling rendered me with a tremendous case of writer’s block.

Not until I breathed Polish air on Wednesday could I begin to slowly form ideas about what I could write, and even then the process was far more painful that usual. I expected to feel the gravity of the plane crash the second my own plane landed on Polish soil, but instead I saw life going on around me more or less the way it had when I left, with the exception of everyone now hanging up Polish flags from every building.

I really wanted to be in Poland this weekend. I hoped that being here for the funeral, for the chaos and the communal sense of tragedy, would force me to feel something. I was scheduled to fly out on Friday morning, on a work-related trip to the Netherlands that was booked ages ago, back when no one imagined this could happen. To my great relief, my flight was grounded thanks to the Icelandic ash cloud wrecking havoc to Europe’s flight plans, the very same one that would keep the president of my other country away.

So I’m here today, not even as a member of the press (I didn’t bother to apply for a press pass as I thought I’d be out of the country), but as an ordinary Pole, drawn to this place of mourning. Don’t get me wrong, a big part of me realizes that this is a reporter’s wet dream, and I would lie if I said I didn’t feel any excitement. But mostly I wanted to use this day to understand what others are feeling, what the nation is feeling, so that maybe I could feel it too.

A little before the mass at St. Mary’s was to begin, I left the office near the Market Square and began to wander around the streets leading to the square, where I could go without a pass. The crowds were already substantial, and even walking down the street was difficult. I could hold my camera above my head and shoot the multitude, Polish and black mourning flags in their hands. But it wasn’t until right at 2 pm that something happened. I was walking back towards the office. A church bell rang out, signalling the hour, and then an air raid siren started its alarming wail (yes, we still have those - you never know when you’ll need one in Poland). And at the moment the air raid siren sang out, everyone stopped. A few clueless tourists kept walking, but quickly came to a halt, probably puzzled. And as I looked around I realized that I had stopped about ten seconds ago, along with everyone else.

The siren howled for a full minute, and the air was otherwise still. Few people moved, no one spoke. And the minute finally passed, the siren let out a dying cry and then faded, and everyone returned to their trajectories and conversations, as if some god had just pressed the play button on a divine TiVo.

It might seem strange to an outsider, but this is exactly what took place this week. For eight days, the nation stopped, and the people stood as one. Before and after, its citizens would inevitably follow their individual paths. But for that moment, for this week of mourning, as the world kept walking, Poland stopped its normal course and stood silent and proud, coming to terms with its loss.

It’s a sad state of affairs to think that society’s traditional watchdog, the media, needs its own watchdog. Case in point:

It may have been the letter from Fox News — or maybe a stinging piece last week about Mr. Beck’s gold associations on Comedy Central’s “The Daily Show With Jon Stewart” — that led to the change in the “paid spokesman” designation.

- Glenn Beck’s Gold Deal Raising Questions at Fox, NY Times

Luckily, there’s Jon Stewart and The Daily Show to fulfil that role. But what does it say about the shape of journalism in the United States when it takes a comedian on a fake news program to police the “serious” journalists*?

I think the main problem is motivation. The purpose of journalism used to be information, but now it’s purely profit. No matter how dedicated and idealistic an individual journalist may claim to be, as long as they’re part of a for-profit system (this obviously excludes services like the BBC, NPR, PBS and so on), their work is governed by their employer’s very legitimate need to make money in order to employ them. This then leads to the watchmen being at the mercy of the very companies they’re supposed to investigate, and it’s corrupt turtles all the way down.

I think the model for the future is BBC News. While it’s not perfect, quality-wise it’s far superior than any comparable (i.e. mainstream, ubiquitous) American news service. Of course, the BBC is more far-reaching than just news, but that doesn’t mean this sort of public subscription model couldn’t work for individual news media. But the model does not necessarily have to rely on public funding, as long as the means of funding does not impact a journalist’s motivation to report the truth in every situation.

*Yes, I know FOX News classifies Beck as a commentator, not a journalist, but he is given prominence on a news channel, and there are enough people who take his word as gospel to establish that he does have a responsibility to at least divulge any conflicts of interest.