Not quite getting it

Not quite getting it
Via The New York Review of Books, an attempt to explain Blogs. It's a long article, mentioning ten books about blogging, but this is the author's key misunderstanding: Bloggers assume that if you're reading them, you're one of their friends, or at least in on the gossip, the joke, or the names they drop. They often begin their posts mid-thought or mid-rant—in medias craze. They don't care if they leave...

Via The New York Review of Books, an attempt to explain Blogs. It's a long article, mentioning ten books about blogging, but this is the author's key misunderstanding:

Bloggers assume that if you're reading them, you're one of their friends, or at least in on the gossip, the joke, or the names they drop.

They often begin their posts mid-thought or mid-rant—in medias craze. They don't care if they leave you in the dust. They're not responsible for your education.

Bloggers, as Mark Liberman, one of the founders of the blog called Language Log, once noted, are like Plato. :-) The unspoken message is: Hey, I'm here talking with my buddies. Keep up with me or don't. It's up to you.

Much of the article is a calm, patient explanation of what blogs are, intending for people who sincerely don't know. Both the quote above and that calm, patient explanation seem to me serious misunderstanding about writing for the web.

The review, Sarah Boxer, assumes that her readers need this background about blogging because they don't know anything about it. She assumes that bloggers don't provide this background because they've all already got it.

For some teenage blogger writing for an audience of six or seven, the background may indeed be there. But for anyone trying to gather and disseminate serious information through a blog, the background is always doubtful.

On my blog Writing Fiction, I see that a striking number of my visitors arrive on the site after googling "How many pages in a novel?" Whether or not they've written a novel, that question means they're novice novelists. They lack the exformation of more experienced writers.

Similarly, people visit my bird flu blog, H5N1, with wildly different levels of knowledge about the subject. Some are officials with the World Health Organization, others are epidemiologists, and most know nothing at all except that bird flu is supposed to be bad.

Apart from assuming a basic level of English reading ability, I don't expect anything from my readers. For both blogs I have to find some way to bring the newcomers up to speed without boring the experienced visitors. I really do feel responsible for my readers' education, and I don't want to turn anyone away.

So on H5N1 I provide an introductory page, showing the new visitor what's on the site. Currently, I'm also providing definitions of Indian words like lakh, crore, and panchayat, because they keep turning up in Indian newspapers' reports on bird flu.

On Writing Fiction, I keep responding to comments to the "How Many Pages" post, which I originally made three long years ago. I also provide a link to Write a Novel, a self-guided online course containing the basic materials now lost in the archives of Writing Fiction. (Look for it in the Writers' Resources list.)

Some blogs, like some graduate courses, can assume a cozy familiarity with little-known material. Shared exformation creates an intimate atmosphere, a feeling of belonging that newcomers may not share. If anything, they'll feel deliberately excluded.

But most webwriters, whether serious amateurs or professionals, can't afford to think about the happy few who share our private jokes and roomed with us in college. We have to reach as many people as possible, and to provide something useful for each of them.

So we have to write in simple, clear language. We have to format our material for easy navigation and response. We have to think about our visitors' needs, not our own egos. That, it seems to me, is the exformation that Sarah Boxer doesn't yet have.

The 2007 List of Banished Words
It wouldn't be a new year without Lake Superior State University's list of banished words. I don't always agree with them, but they remind me to think carefully before using a popular new expression. It may already be a cliché.

It wouldn't be a new year without Lake Superior State University's list of banished words.

I don't always agree with them, but they remind me to think carefully before using a popular new expression. It may already be a cliché.

Advertising Your Website
Yup, I admit it, I am a bit biased, but I think that one of the very best ways you can advertise your website is through the V7N. First, without a doubt, your site needs to be in as many high quality directories as possible. The V7N Directory is the one directory that I personally recommend the [...]

Clichés of Journalese
If you write for print or electronic media, some of these terms will make you wince, because you've probably used them: Journalese-English Dictionary (first edition). Most are British, and a little unfamiliar to North Americans, but we have plenty. Our public figures don't just promise to do something: they vow to do it. The cliché du jour (to use a cliché) in North America's blogosphere is "nuanced." Whether it's Obama,...

If you write for print or electronic media, some of these terms will make you wince, because you've probably used them: Journalese-English Dictionary (first edition).

Most are British, and a little unfamiliar to North Americans, but we have plenty. Our public figures don't just promise to do something: they vow to do it.

The cliché du jour (to use a cliché) in North America's blogosphere is "nuanced." Whether it's Obama, Clinton, or McCain, whatever they say is nuanced.

Offline Marketing Techniques
  Offline marketing is very similar to online marketing, either way, word of mouth is one of the best forms of advertising there is, but a huge part of that involves getting to know the people around you. Online, that might mean joining and actively participating in groups and forums. Offline that could be taking a sincere [...]

A Forecast from 1994
Long ago, I published a piece in a magazine called Infobahn about how politics and the internet might evolve together. Judge for yourself how accurate I was: NET PROPAGANDA: COMING SOON TO A MONITOR NEAR YOU One fine fall day in 1948, I joined the American political process: I walked down Lankershim Boulevard in North Hollywood carrying fore-and-aft posters urging the election of Harry S Truman. As a seven-year-old sandwich...

Long ago, I published a piece in a magazine called Infobahn about how politics and the internet might evolve together. Judge for yourself how accurate I was:

NET PROPAGANDA: COMING SOON TO A MONITOR NEAR YOU

One fine fall day in 1948, I joined the American political process: I walked down Lankershim Boulevard in North Hollywood carrying fore-and-aft posters urging the election of Harry S Truman. As a seven-year-old sandwich man, I had become a campaign mechanism—a way of reaching voters with a political message.

The age of the sandwich man, however, was fast ending. A few blocks away, a TV set stood in our living room. It carried little but Felix the Cat cartoons, Hopalong Cassidy westerns, and primitive variety shows, but as a medium it would change politics before I was old enough to vote.

Over forty years later, politicians have a new medium to deal with: the Internet. So far they are using it clumsily, treating it as an odd mix of print and TV. But just as they learned the lessons of television, they will learn how to campaign in cyberspace.

They’ll have their work cut out for them. Most sensible politicians, after lurking on the Net for a time, would prefer to campaign by throwing bottled leaflets into the Pacific rather than use the Internet.

Political discourse on the Net—at least in the Usenet newsgroups—is on a par with turf wars among the howler monkeys. Tribes of fanatics battle for control of newsgroups: gun nuts, anti-gun nuts, school voucherists, libertarians, semiliterate teenagers.

Some Netters can supply sustained, documented argument for their views, but no one else pays much attention. Instead the Net provides a steady diet of flame wars, newsgroup highjacking, and debates that digress from their original topics with dizzying speed.

It’s not just that so many denizens of the Net are barking loonies; that’s equally true of the general population. But too many Netters are still a demographically narrow slice of the electorate. They’re too young to vote, too broke to contribute to campaign funds, and too busy downloading pornography to care much about upholding democracy. Worse yet, the medium itself doesn’t encourage reasoned argument or the kinds of people who engage in it.

Well, earlier politicians learned to use new media or die. If they failed to adapt, their careers ended whether they were good politicians or not. (In Richard Nixon’s case, TV killed and resurrected him several times.) So the successful politicians of the early 21st century will indeed exploit the Net—probably more effectively than they have with television.

Most 1990s politicians, if they use the Net at all, treat it as an extension of print media. They have reason to do so. Most users see the Net as text: tiny, semi-legible words scrolling up their monitors. The resemblance to newspapers and magazines is there, however distorted. So politicians from Clinton on down have been pumping out electronic news releases, press-conference transcripts, and speech texts.

For a long time I was on one of Bill Clinton’s mailing lists. He sent me verbatim texts of every speech he made on education, welfare, and related social issues. He always began with a joke, and every joke triggered what the transcripts called (laughter). When I tried to unsubscribe, however, Clinton wouldn’t let me; the jokes and (laughter) and presidential eloquence kept coming.

Eventually I pried myself away, but not before I’d learned something about the Clinton administration’s attitude towards the Net. For all the yelling about the Information Superhighway, the metaphor at work was the small-town newspaper editor’s office. When you signed on to Clinton’s mailing list, you had little choice: you could pick social issues, foreign affairs, the economy—and that was about it. What you got was raw government-issue rhetoric.

A small-town editor, getting this stuff over the wire, would know how to adapt it. A presidential speech would undergo heavy rewriting and paraphrase, or supply a few excerpts for a local columnist, or fail to appear at all. The editor, knowing local readers, would present only as much of the speech as the readers could understand and respond to. Otherwise readers would start treating the newspaper like just another kind of junk mail with nothing to say to them personally.

Clinton’s releases ran into another problem, directly related to the medium of the computer screen: It doesn’t like long stretches of text.

A monitor screen packed full of writing is ugly and hard to read. Text works best on the screen when it’s short, even fragmentary—more like a caption than a paragraph. One-liners and bulleted lists can assert and describe, but they can’t really argue.

So no matter how funny the jokes in Clinton’s speeches, few Netters would trouble to scroll past the first screen or two.

The medium’s built-in hostility to text has evidently sunk in. More recently, Clinton and other politicians are trying to use the Net like TV itself. Thanks to interfaces like Mosaic and NetScape, computer users can now access home pages full of color graphics: the White House, the president’s smiling family, and so on.

But this approach limits the potential audience still more. To get these pretty pictures you need a big, recent computer and a fast modem (better yet, direct Net access), and you need to know how to use them. So the potential audience is a small group of affluent hobbyists, a few serious professionals, and some university students.

Even with snappy graphics, this kind of Net access is right back there with Felix the Cat on a 5-inch screen, or picking up Philadelphia on your crystal-set radio: Gee whiz, you can see the White House on your computer, even if the quality isn’t as good as on your TV. This kind of thrill has a short half-life.

Plenty of politicians are using the Net as an auxiliary postal service, receiving e-mail from their constituents and replying with boilerplate comments just as they do with snail mail. As a barometer of public sentiment, however, e-mail is dubious; again, the sources are few and demographically confined to a relatively well-educated and privileged social stratum. Only in a desperately tight race would Netters be likely to swing an election—assuming they all voted the same way.

A few politicos are venturing into cyberspace themselves. David Schreck, a member of the British Columbia provincial government, goes online to debate with local flame artists—but he’s on a local BBS, not the Internet, in such discussions. “I’ve been in touch with maybe four of my 27,000 constituents,” he says.

Granted that scores of lurking constituents may also read his comments as lurkers, he’s still right to describe his online activities as a hobby.

A Toronto candidate for city council, meanwhile, did go onto the Net even though the vast majority of his readers, living far outside his district, had no interest in his campaign. For his pains he suffered intense flaming and won only 4 per cent of the municipal vote.

So the Net at this point is an also-ran as a print medium. As a TV-like medium, it’s barely better than a test pattern. For all the millions reportedly joining the Net every month, it’s not really a mass medium, and therein lies both its weakness and its strength: it’s a medium for narrowcasting, not broadcasting.

A broadcast medium assumes (or imposes) common values among millions of essentially passive consumers. As a newspaper columnist, I reached over a quarter-million readers every week; a really inflammatory article might provoke two or three letters. Print is not interactive; neither are radio and TV, for all the popularity of talk shows.

But they are “public” in the sense that we share a sense of some kind of community with other consumers. Most of us watch TV with friends or family, or split up the paper and read it together at the breakfast table.

When we go on the Net, however, we go solo. The technology puts us a few inches from a monitor, and even if we’re in a computer lab we are on our own. We read highly public messages, but we do so in private; our responses, however public they may eventually be, feel private.

That’s one reason for the flame wars that keep breaking out. It’s a problem of “register”—finding the right words to talk about the right subject to the right person under the right circumstances.

When introduced to Queen Elizabeth, we don’t say: “Hey, Liz, great to meetcha, you look a lot younger than you do on TV.” When introduced to the 13-year-old who’s come to baby-sit, we don’t say: “I am deeply honored to make your acquaintance on this memorable day, your ladyship.”

Politicians making speeches on TV sound like pompous liars because they’re usually in an “oratorical” register suited to large groups of people within earshot. Franklin Delano Roosevelt scored politically with his radio-based “Fireside Chats” because he found the right register for what seemed like small-group face-to-face discussion with a mass audience. Ronald Reagan did something similar with TV, finding a register that worked on the small screen.

So if politicians are going to gain votes on the Net, they’re going to have to find a highly intimate register, reflecting the fact that millions of users are getting the message when they feel like isolated individuals, not like members of a larger group.

The Net, then, makes its users tough customers for a political marketer. You can’t spam the voters with a generic message; for every one you get through to, you anger a dozen others. You have to tailor the appeal as precisely as possible, on the basis of as much information as possible.

Doing a simple “finger” on every Netter wouldn’t help much. But it might well be possible to track significant numbers of users as they make their way through various newsgroups—especially if they post plenty of comments. If they hang out on alt.rush-limbaugh, that may tell you something.

But most Netters are lurkers, as passively unresponsive as most newspaper readers and TV watchers. Is a given lurker a Limbaugh fan, or a left-liberal onlooker morbidly fascinated by the group? Here’s where the medium’s interactivity offers politicians a big opportunity.

E-mail the Limbaugh posters with a political message. But don’t just sit back and wait for flames. Offer them (and the lurkers) some reward for responding with details about themselves: a slick little software application, for example, as a reward for filling out a questionnaire. Maybe it even comes with a Rush icon showing him with a halo or horns.

This gives you a start on establishing Net focus groups, which while small will reflect values of larger populations. Now the political marketers can begin to tailor their appeals more accurately.

Net culture, at this point in its development, is still hung up on the technology itself. Telephone and TV users don’t think much about the hardware they’re using, but Netters do. If appeals from politicians are technically slick, the subliminal message is that the politico is a happening dude, riding the electronic surf. (Not long ago, The New Yorker magazine was breathlessly reporting on how many of Clinton’s young staffers were running around with PowerBooks, as if that were reason in itself to endorse his policies.)

This attitude will change as millions of non-technical users move into cyberspace, but it will be a factor for several more years.

The appeals will also reflect the limits of the medium: not good for extended print, not great for video or audio, but combining elements of all of them. So Net propaganda will probably tend to look like a TV commercial: strong visuals, snappy sound bites, and minimal text.

But it will be aimed at a very small audience. The multimedia ad that comes to my computer may be strikingly different from the one that ends up on my neighbour’s. Part of the difference will be content: in the version I get, the candidate pushes commitment to excellence in education, while my neighbor gets promises of spending cuts.

More importantly, each ad will be personal. When I open up the e-mail message, I hear the candidate saying: “Crawford, I’ve got some news for you and your family.” What follows will offer more TV-style jolts than hard information, but it will also offer quick, easy interaction. A slide-show questionnaire: just point and click to register your views on gun control, abortion, illegal immigration. Then see how your answers stack up against the total so far registered. Want more information? Click again for more specific messages on those issues, the candidate’s personal resume, or a free, autographed copy of his latest speech or her last book.

This is personal campaigning on a level rarely seen these days, even among main-streeting small-town politicos. But it’s taking place in a medium that’s also very public. How do you avoid looking like a liar when Netters compare your different messages? In part, you just don’t openly contradict yourself, and while your message is personal it’s not very concrete. If glittering generalities are the stock in trade of public oratory, sweet nothings are the currency of this more intimate medium.

In other cases, the strategy will be to highjack public newsgroups, just as candidates often pack meetings with their own supporters. Even now, one or two people can take over a newsgroup and set its agenda by dominating the discussions, flaming opponents, and dragging every thread in the desired direction. A couple of dozen supporters should be able to dominate debate even more thoroughly.

None of this will be official, of course—just the natural behavior of ordinary citizens who happen to support the candidate.

Home pages, still relatively primitive, could become highly effective infotainment tools for politicians. A candidate could even create captive audiences: for example, he might donate computers to nursing homes, recreation centers, and libraries. Each computer would be already programmed to log on to the candidate’s home page, which would supply plenty of data on how the candidate has supported seniors, recreation programs, and libraries. It might also include software applications that would provide a running tally of the size of the national debt, or the number of seniors murdered in the last 24 hours.

Sometimes the computer might look and act more like a video game. Imagine two or three of them set up in an employee dining hall, offering entertainment as well as political information: a game, perhaps, in which the goal is to corner the candidate’s opponent and force him to admit how he voted on some crucial bill. Or guess how much your taxes have gone up since the incumbent took office, and if you’re within 10 per cent of the answer, you get an extra 15 minutes’ time on the computer. Too expensive to work? Maybe not, if the employer is willing to cover some of the computers’ cost as a campaign contribution.

Hackers and crackers could find themselves in a new golden age. Once upon a time politicians had to break into one another’s offices. Now they can get into one another’s databases. Lists of contributors and supporters would be there for the taking—and the burglars could also damage such lists or destroy them altogether.

Dirty tricks could get really dirty. Imagine a forged home page providing violent distortions of the candidate’s position and record, or campaign ads that really come from the opposition. Such “black propaganda” would be hard to fight; publicizing the forgery would only draw more attention to its lies.

E-mail bombings could flood the candidate’s server with thousands of junk messages, making it difficult or impossible to reach voters and staffers. A software giveaway, sabotaged with a virus, would infuriate potential voters. The same virus could also disable the candidate’s system.

Scurrilous rumors could travel the Net in seconds, as hard to stop as neutrinos but with much more impact. The candidate’s private e-mail could turn up in conveniently downloadable form at FTP sites outside the country.

All of these tactics would not only resonate in cyberspace but would gain enormous attention in other media. The dirty tricksters, with very little threat of punishment facing them, could be as nasty as they liked...while their political masters hypocritically complained about them and called for more controls over the Internet.

Despite these threats, politicians are likely to get into the medium for one reason: Other politicians. Hardware and software defenses will emerge to hold off the tricksters, and the first politicos to master the Net will enjoy a measurable advantage over latecomers. Mastery will come from recognition that this is not just electronic print or low-res TV, but a medium that can and should answer back.

Net propaganda can’t just hammer on voters who do nothing until election day. It has to provoke them into response after response, with each response helping to define the politician’s next step. Many of those provocations will be inane, patronizing or downright vicious. But for once the voters’ reactions may actually force the politicos to treat them like intelligent, informed citizens.

And for the politicians, that could be the Net’s most frightening threat of all.

Infobahn, Summer 1994

Mediated Cultures
Thanks to the colleague who sent me the link to this very interesting site: mediatedcultures.net @ kansas state university. It's a showcase of the "Digital Ethnography Working Group" at Kansas State University, and it offers some dramatic examples of web communication...especially the "Explorations of Mediated Culture" video. The links on the main page are worth exploring.

Thanks to the colleague who sent me the link to this very interesting site: mediatedcultures.net @ kansas state university.

It's a showcase of the "Digital Ethnography Working Group" at Kansas State University, and it offers some dramatic examples of web communication...especially the "Explorations of Mediated Culture" video. The links on the main page are worth exploring.

Nielsen on Website Readers' Reading Habits
Via Jakob Nielsen's Alertbox: How Little Do Users Read? His summary: On the average Web page, users have time to read at most 28% of the words during an average visit; 20% is more likely. The conclusion he draws: Unless you're writing for really dedicated readers with a strong interest in your subject, you should keep your text to no more than 100 words per page. I'd be interested in...

Via Jakob Nielsen's Alertbox: How Little Do Users Read? His summary:

On the average Web page, users have time to read at most 28% of the words during an average visit; 20% is more likely.

The conclusion he draws: Unless you're writing for really dedicated readers with a strong interest in your subject, you should keep your text to no more than 100 words per page. I'd be interested in your reactions to his argument.

The Slovenian Designer
Recently I had the pleasure of seeing some of the work of a graphic designer, known as the Slovenian Designer. I was so impressed by what I had seen, that I decided to take a look through his blog. WOW! This is definitely a site worth spending some time on. Not only is he an extremely talented web [...]

A Handy Reference
I recently ran across a useful little book, The Elements of Visual Style: The Basics of Print Design for Every PC and Mac User, by Robert W. Harris. While it's aimed at print-based writing, webwriters can also draw some lessons from it. Harris gives us a quick guide to typography, layout, and the use of art in print documents. The illustrations show bad and good examples, and the book itself...

I recently ran across a useful little book, The Elements of Visual Style: The Basics of Print Design for Every PC and Mac User, by Robert W. Harris. While it's aimed at print-based writing, webwriters can also draw some lessons from it.

Harris gives us a quick guide to typography, layout, and the use of art in print documents. The illustrations show bad and good examples, and the book itself is pretty well designed. I wish it were more "hypertextual": We get no references to other books on document design, and no links to sites dealing with this and related issues.

Still, it's a compact, concise, and inexpensive handbook. Even if you find most of the advice very familiar, the book could help you back up the points you're trying to make to your clients.