Where are you writing about?

The Office

Yes, it is important to consider what you write.

And it’s important to consider for whom you write.

But have you thought about where you write?

Some of my posts are crafted at my cramped little nook at home, in a corner of the dining room.

Some of my posts are written in free moments in my office, at work.

Recently, I was asked by a coworker to edit a piece for a magazine. It needed a decidedly friendlier tone, because of the nature of the subject and the audience.

So I took it out to the atrium.

If you are cognizant of a particular mood or feeling you want to permeate your work, then choose a writing space that enables that sort of emotion.

  • Light/Dark.
  • Open/Closed.
  • Airy/Tight.
  • Private/Busy.
  • Quiet/Noisy.
  • Connected/Disconnected.
  • Natural/Artificial.

There are many variables to play with, and you might not have the perfect spot that tickles all the factors you’d like to control. In some circumstances, I may take an older nugget or idea from Evernote, and just jot a few sentences there. It’s important to capture the thoughts while they are top of mind, but it’s also important to capture the influence that environment has on thought. Sitting at lunch, I can write half a blog post if I want in Evernote, and sync it up with my desktop (then with WordPress) later.

As a reverse exercise, describe the place where you do the bulk of your writing, composing and thinking. Do you see elements of that description bleeding over into your tone? Your content? Your subject selection?

Don’t be afraid to tweak your environment to get the results you want. Like real estate, good writing can be about location, location, location.

How to gain attention from doing the very thing I am doing right now to gain attention

Follow this advice.

Wisdom

“Wisdom is easy. The application and timing of wisdom is hard.”

- Ike Pigott

The Wrong Solution

“The key to selling more truffles isn’t cramming them in Pringles’ cans.”

- Ike Pigott

The Chicken’s Guide to Writing a Better Blog Post

nest

There’s the short answer:

Fill in the empty parts until they aren’t empty, then hit “Publish.”

Then there’s the long answer. The process involves a number of steps you’ve considered, but you need the discipline to imprint it into your workflow. (oh… and this isn’t just for blogs, either.)

Lay the Egg

Every good blog post is an exercise in giving birth. You take a germ of an idea, something with your specific DNA, and you nurture it to completion.

Conversely, hatching someone else’s eggs makes you look weak in comparison, as you’re just promulgating someone else’s heritage. Be yourself, speak from your experiences and ideas.

Fit the Nest to the Egg

…not the egg to the nest.

  • A good blog post should be roughly 400-600 words.
  • You should only board with a single carry-on bag.
  • Your car should ideally weigh 1,823 pounds.
  • Your third child should have its arms and legs removed, to get you to 2.4 children.

Each one sounds progressively more absurd, but they all come from the same fallacy: an artificially-imposed restriction. There is no optimal length for your post, because only you can decide when you’ve exhausted the material to the level of detail you require. Yes, your 2,400 word novella can indeed bore a reader into submission, but you can just as easily bore them in 400.

Size doesn’t matter. Pixels are cheap, and you aren’t bound by the restrictions of print publications or rigid television time constraints. Say what you need to say, and let your passion expand to fill the prose.

Paint the Egg

If you’re giving the reader a lot of information, respect the way they navigate the page. Break up the post with visual elements that act as mileposts, so as they scroll down the page they can see the progress they’re making.

  • Bullets work for this
  • So do images
  • Pull quotes are great
  • Subheads are even better, because they communicate a structure

Look at an egg. Now spin it around in your hand. If it looks the same at every angle, how do you know when you’ve completed a full revolution?

Think about how you read. If you are scrolling through a page that is nothing but text, you can get lost. But if you know where you are with relation to that image on the screen, it’s easy to recover from a distraction and get back into the piece.

Don’t count on your sidebar to play that role. Readers tune out sidebars completely when they engage with your essay. Your visual signpost needs to be within that 600-pixel-wide content box.

When you preview what you’ve written, scroll through it. If you ever encounter a section that doesn’t contain an element for visual cues, then add something. Preferably something of value.

Paint the egg, add a decal… something that tells us we’re moving.

Hatch an Experience

People respond well to narratives, because story gives context while fact shivers naked in the cold.

Want to know what the original subheads of this piece were?

  • Hatch the Egg
  • Let it Breathe
  • Break it Up
  • Tell a Story
  • Tie Loose Ends
  • Start at the End

Those were very functional headings, but they didn’t drive a narrative. Once I went through my “Polishing Pass” (see below), I saw an opportunity to weave the chicken and egg theme throughout this post. It came to me as an after-thought, like many good ideas do. (And voila, I also now have a story to include in this post, which is already meta beyond hope.)

If there isn’t a real opportunity to insert a story, at least write the way you talk. When you write for academics or search engines, you end up meeting their expectations.

Dry and formulaic are no way to go through life, son.

Tidy the Shell Fragments

You are going back and previewing, aren’t you?

This is different than the typical proofreading pass for spelling and grammar. (And based on what I see published, too many of you believe spell-check will fix your there/they’re and lose/loose problems.)

This is the time to read for theme and tone.

  • Did you maintain a consistent voice?
  • Is your tone uniform?
  • Did you bring your reader to a satisfying conclusion?

I like a lot of the first instincts I have about what I write. But on the “polishing pass,” I look for opportunities to bring the post to a new level. Sometimes I’ll have a great beginning and ending, but missed a chance to extend the overall analogy to the middle points. You might have a post that starts with “X” but ends in “Y,” when really it is more interesting to bring things full-circle. Maybe start with “X” and end on “X-prime.”

Comedians refer to those hooks as “tie-backs.” The punchline you deliver early on can re-emerge during a crescendo conclusion with an altered meaning. It builds layers into your communication, and in the case of the comedian reminds the audience of something they thought was funny a while ago. Successful comics weave several tie-backs into the final minute, so the audience walks away remembering the highlights of the performance. Which leads us to…

Which Comes First…

…the chicken or the Egg?

Start with your End, or at least fake it.

Whether you are doing a speech, a Powerpoint presentation, a blog post or a story, you need to leave your audience with a takeaway. Have in mind the one thing you want them to remember, and strive to make that point.

Sometimes it takes you 2,000 words to make the case and share the evidence.

Sometimes it takes but a sentence.

But leave them with a single takeaway. If you have to, go back and tweak the introduction to properly set up the piece and foreshadow the takeaway. Then rewrite the title to describe the benefit, not state it.

Dear chicken, it’s not about you. It’s about the egg. Serve the egg, and you’ll be asked to produce more.

Embrace Your Inner Future Has-Been

New Ike avatar twitter purple

When you see a picture of me, that’s not a beard. Part of it is an adolescent reaction.

For years, I had been forbidden by my employer to grow facial hair. It would look dirty on television (and admittedly, it takes me forever to grow.)

So when I left news, I grew a goatee. Then a full beard. But it was not just pure spite. I wanted to send a message that I wasn’t the teevee guy anymore. I look like that guy, but that’s not me. It’s a visual separation.

Facing the Past

I think I had been out of television for all of three months when I had an encounter in the grocery store. You know how you can zig-zag through the aisles, and someone else can zag-zig, so you keep running into them going the other way?

This woman was giving me the evil eye with each pass. I kept jogging my memory, trying to recall where I might have seen her. Did I do a story about her? Did I do a Crimestoppers report that sent her kid to jail? I had no idea.

I skipped a couple of aisles to get out of the way and continued shopping. After circling back to the aisles I missed, I pulled into line at the register. Just as I started setting my items on the conveyor belt, I felt a series of sharp pokes to the back of my shoulder.

It was Stink-Eye Lady.

“I know you…” she began.

“You used to be somebody!”

Face Forward

Most of the people I tell that story to think I was somehow insulted by that. I really wasn’t. I just laughed it off with her, and explained to her I wasn’t in the news business anymore.

As I write this, I am 2,308 days removed from working in news. I have not wanted to be back for a single one of those days. Yet I still run into people who swear they saw me on television just the other night.

I’m glad I didn’t invest so much identity into what I did, because when that goes away you’re rudderless.

And as much as I like to joke about my “Personal Brand,” that’s not “me” either. I’m more complicated than that, and bring more value than an icon.

Every so often, you need to embrace your inner has-been. Figure out which pieces of you are you, and which pieces are garments you can shed. Talking about what you do in a dead past-tense is a fine exercise in putting your accomplishments where they belong: in the past. Clinging to accomplishments like they are still active is a sign that you’re not quite ready to let go – that you’re not quite ready to take a leap and become something new.

Tap yourself on the shoulder if you need to, and don’t worry if it’s uncomfortable. Most things designed to get your attention aren’t comfortable, either.

Open Letter to New Journalism Graduates

lindner2

Matt Lindner

I ran across this note on an online forum, and asked for permission to republish it. Matt Lindner is a TV reporter between jobs, and might just be between careers. He didn’t get into the business until after I had gotten out, but already he has a grasp of the challenges facing those who stay in – and those who seek greener pastures with more stable business models.

If you like it, let him know. He seems like a smart kid.

Dear Aspiring TV Newscasters,

My name is Matt Lindner and I am a recovering local newsie. For years, the events of whatever small town I was living and working in at the time were the air I breathed, all I could talk about, my joie de vivre for lack of a better term. As of 2010, my career in local news is (for now) over with.

Years ago, I sat where you did, dreaming of an exciting, glamorous life that involved chasing down the bad guys and telling stories where the masses would hang on to every word breathlessly. I — like you — thought I knew everything about everything, that I was going to come in and change the way things were done on the local level. I didn’t and quite frankly neither do you. So without further ado, here are the lessons I’ve learned through trial and error. The lessons I wish my college professors were more forthcoming about, that you — as an aspiring local news professional — need to know in order to survive in today’s world.

  1. 95% of what you learned in the classrom does not matter. The first thing you learn on your first day in the business is that it doesn’t matter how many college awards you won, what your GPA was, or how many professors told you you’re the next Cronkite, in reality you don’t know jack. Deadlines are tighter, viewers are more critical, news directors and producers alike aren’t afraid to dress your down in front of the entire newsroom. Nobody cares about where you went to school or that killer package you turned on the dying cancer patient while you were there. What they do care about is if you can turn a package and two VOSOTs in time for the five and if you can’t, there’d better be a damn good reason why you didn’t. College provides you with a fantastic fundamental base on how to dot your I’s and cross your T’s. Your first small market job will teach you how to be a journalist. Which brings me to my next point…
  2. You ain’t gonna start in New York, kid. There’s about 200 applicants for every single on-air television news opening — and that includes spots in the tiniest of markets like Alpena, MI or Grand Junction, CO. Never heard of those towns? Locate them on a map because unless you’re well connected, you’re going to be starting off there covering county board meetings and farmers markets. Bieng a small town local news reporter forces you to become a great writer because you’re making things that on the surface, you don’t care about newsworthy, writing so that the average person at home is willing to put the remote down and listen to what you have to say.
  3. If you want to get rich, pick another major. That’s just a cold hard reality of the business. Even today, some local news outfits are paying their on air talent less than 20,000, or right around the national minimum wage. Why’s that? Supply and demand, baby. As stated above, for every person who lands an on-air gig, there’s hundreds more who are willing to do that particular job for even less money than the incumbent is making. It happens. TV news is a desirable career because many see it as being glamorous and a ticket to stardom which is why so many people want to do it.
  4. Have a backup plan. The average teevee news career lasts about five years these days, and once those people are done they move on to something else, be it public relations, law school, real estate, etc. I don’t speak for all ex-newsies, but if I could do it all over again, I would’ve double majored or at least done a couple internships in something different just to have that experience on my resume. TV news is an interesting career, but the reason it has such a high burnout rate is because so many people tire of the instability and lack of pay. While this may be your life’s dream now, make sure you have a backup plan just in case several years down the line you want to have the stable life that a career outside of television offers.
  5. The news takes no breaks. Be prepared to spend your nights, weekends and holidays at your place of employment. While you may have grown up spending weekends watching football with your dad and Christmas morning opening presents with your little brother, those family traditions will eventually take a backseat to your job. As a rookie, you’ll find yourself working the shifts that most people dread. Your days off might be Monday-Tuesday or Wednesday-Thursday and you may find yourself spending Thanksgiving morning interviewing homeless people who are just grateful to have a meal. The fact of the matter is it’s part of the job and if people weren’t watching, you wouldn’t be doing it.
  6. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. There’s nothing a local news director hates more than some rookie who complains about having to shoot and edit their own video. In the current day and age, you’re likely going to have to be your own photographer at your first 2+ jobs. It’s going to involve a whole lot of frustration and stress. Newsflash — nobody you work with cares because they’re all in the same boat. If you stay humble and take criticism to heart, you’re going to last in this business. If you’re a hothead who lashes out at their colleagues, you won’t last til your 90 day review. You don’t know everything, you’re not as good as you think you are so shut up and do your damn job.
  7. Listen to the veterans. They’ve seen almost every conceivable situation. If somebody comes to you with a critique of one of your stories, be flattered by it because it means that they care enough about you to take the time out to offer you advice. They’ve made all the mistakes that you’re going to make and they don’t want you to repeat them. By that same token, they know how to bounce back from a poorly written pack or a live shot that you stumble through which is why they’re taking the time out to tell you how you screwed up and how you can fix it. Don’t take what they say personally rather learn from what they have to say.
  8. Enjoy the ride for what it’s worth. The friends you make in your first couple TV jobs will be the ones that stand up in your wedding. Everyone’s in the same boat living in the middle of nowhere and making next to nothing. Enjoy the happy hours, going away parties, and the camaraderie because once it’s all over with you’ll find yourself longing for that sense of community. You’ll also find that you’ve got the best stories to tell in any bar you should find yourself in because you lived the dream, you did what 99.98% of the country wishes they could have done with their lives.

I wouldn’t trade the career I had for anything. I’m not the richest person you’ll ever meet in terms of money; but in terms of life experience, I’ve seen more than I ever could have dreamed of. I — like you someday — have no regrets about the way things have turned out. So if this rant wasn’t enough to turn you off of a career in television news, pursue it with all you’ve got and don’t look back because while your bank account may regret it, you never will.

To those of you who made my career possible, thank you for investing your time and efforts into this crazy excursion.

(And to any news directors out there who might have an opening for a newsie who has learned all of the above, feel free to shoot me an email…)