Wikipedia, Collective Knowledge and Newspapers

A few years ago, I sat in a meeting with an editor and argued that we should start a local version of Wikipedia. The idea was simple. We could remain the historical knowledge of the community by using our Web site to help us.

Given that we were focusing on how to improve our online content, this new element, I thought, would offer something that people would come back to over and over again. (As an example, just consider Joe Biden’s folks trying to rewrite his political history with plagiarism.)

I figured it would be a cross between the newspaper archive and refrigerator journalism. Unless you’re from a particular region, state or community, you’re probably not going to go searching for this kind of stuff. However, school kids, locals and folks who need term paper topics for college might find it handy. It was, I believed, another way to chronicle the area’s history. And a new way to look at our jobs as journalists.

The idea was shot down for a number of reasons, including: The newsroom didn’t have the staff to maintain it; There was an unwillingness to open up the project to the community; There seemed no way to connect it to our online efforts; and most importantly, at a time when newspapers were struggling financially, it would compete with the idea that people would pay for old newspaper stories in the newsroom's archives.

Back then newspaper companies around the United States were struggling to keep readers from dropping their print subscriptions. They’re still struggling now, even though they've all changed their focus to online.

I must be honest. I’m part of the problem. I used to read a print newspaper every day. Several of them. I used to collect them on vacations so I could see what my colleagues were all doing and how well they were doing it. I used to think I’d never do anything but work for one. But today, I have a job at an Internet startup company, and if it weren’t for my parents, (and my boss who still gets the NY Times daily for work) I would rarely read a printed newspaper.

My parents are not the norm. They don’t own a computer or know how to use one. In fact, they weren’t sure what I did when I worked for one. And now that I work for a Web site, I might as well be working on another planet.

I, on the other hand, have a laptop at home connected to the laptop at work. I have a laptop at work connected to RSS feeds from around the world. I read more news online than I ever did when I collected newspapers to read. And my Blackberry connects me to everything, all the time, even in traffic. Not a day goes by in which I don’t know what’s happening, when it’s happening, updated by news alerts. So by the time the newspaper arrives at my doorstep every morning, I’ve heard it all several times over.

The only time I check the news is when it’s breaking. For example, when the recent shooting at a Wendy’s restaurant occurred down the street from where I live, I went to my local newspaper’s Web site to check out the coverage. I was able to share the name of a person in the restaurant at the time with an editor in another part of the state where that person was from – helping an editor in a newsroom I used to work in get a local angle to a story that got national attention.

I have, unfortunately, become the reader I wanted so badly to attract when I was working in newspapers, which circuitously gets me back to my point.

If we want to attract readers to newspaper Web sites, we have to be more than we have become. And one of the things I think we lost along the way was our commitment to being the historical memory of our communities. Between the buyouts and the layoffs, employees with years of experience in their communities no longer work at a place where they can share their knowledge with readers.

So here’s a suggestion. Give up your paid archives. If you were making the kind of money from them you needed, you wouldn't be laying off folks in the newsroom. And because I'm the kind of news person who hates telling you what to do without offering to make it better, here's an idea to consider.

Set up a Wikipedia for your community with topics based on the beats that are important to your readers. Use the collective knowledge of your readers to build that historical knowledge for your news Web site. Then assign upkeep of the facts of those entries to reporters in your newsroom – or if you’re a larger newsroom and still have a librarian or two, they can help as well. Older reporters who might be annoyed by the new work could be swayed by its ability to become a community resource. And reporters new to a particular beat might actually learn something about their community before they go out to cover it.

Then, if you consider my previous blog on links, you'd be able to use it to give readers a deeper online content experience. Every time a name pops up in a story or a well-known court case is mentioned, you can use your community's Wikipedia. And if you're like the editors I have spoken with who have concerns about the resource's accuracy, you will know that your version has been fact-checked by your staff as part of your new media efforts.

In the end, you become more useful to your readers. And who knows? You might attract an advertiser or two along the way.

Something to Link About

The last few weeks, I've spent a lot of time talking about connecting the dots for readers.

You'd think this would be second nature to someone who spent 20 years in newspapers, the last decade as an editor and the last several focusing on online projects. In my previous position, I once published a real estate database on a Friday afternoon -- a promo to a traditional Sunday print piece - that received so many hits in the first hour that it crashed a corporate server. Professionally, that probably wasn't the high point of my career, but it was a rousing readership success.

My point is, I have some experience in online content.

Still, since I took this job as an editor at an Internet startup (which launched its first Web site three months ago), I've learned that I wasn't nearly as good at giving readers what they wanted as I thought. I know this because, every day, I get a report that tells me where I didn't connect the dots for them. It shows me where they went to on the site, how long they stayed and at what point they left. When you know that, you can see where you need to focus your attention.

Over time, I've learned that by connecting the dots (from story to story, from writer to stories, from source to story and so on), I can improve the numbers. For example, I took one story on the site with a few links. I added links to other stories on the site, special projects and outside sources. The story kept readers engaged for more than an hour.

Yes, that was one story.

And yes, that was one hour.

And so, as you can imagine, lately I've been big into links. My e-mails with reporters go something like this...

Link it up…More links please…WHERE are those links?

This week, an editor (and friend) who manages a mid-sized newspaper in a cold state asked me why I had become the link queen. And I tried to explain what I've learned in a way I thought might be helpful for him - and for his readers. I used an example of a story about hockey that was published in his newspaper and on his Web site.

To keep this experiment all above board, I must make a confession. I am not a big sports fan even though I have overseen several sports departments in my career. However, I do admit I did enjoy tailgating as a student at the University of South Carolina. And when I lived near Philly, I did see the 76ers play, if you could call it that. And recently I watched the Dodgers beat the heck out of the Cardinals before the end of the third inning in a Spring training game.

So you know, I could have picked any sport for this little exercise.

The hockey story was no different than any other sports game story I have ever read. Here's what happened at game. Here are some names of standout players. Here's what the coach said. Blah blah. (PLEASE NOTE: For today, we're going to skip Marisa's lecture on good writing as the foundation for getting anyone to read your stuff, regardless of whether it's published in print or online.) Anyway, the whole story might have been 15 inches long. So I get to the end of it, and look around. But I can't find what I am looking for.

There is no "Click here for more about the team", which I'm sure has been written before. No "Find more stories by this reporter", who obviously has written them before. And no links to player or coach bios in the story, even though there are probably profiles in the newspaper's archives, somewhere. Nope. Nada. Nothing. Not a single link.

Ok, now imagine you're a hockey fan. (Big stretch for me but I'll try.) After you read this story, are you going to stay on the site? Are you going to come back to read news about your team? Or are you going to find a Web site that does more than offer surface information on your team?

Now, (Forgive the cliché) put the shoe on the other foot. Imagine you're a newspaper editor. You spend every day struggling to keep your readers as they drop your newspaper and head online to read about their favorite hockey team. What can you do to get them to read your hockey coverage, if not in print then online?

(If you still aren't getting it, here's a hint: Connect the dots.)

But wait, I'm not finished. I have one more thing for you to think about.You're a newspaper editor. You're still struggling every day to keep readers as they drop your print product and head online to read about their favorite hockey team.

Now instead of using the hockey story for this exercise, use the entire newspaper.

It's definitely something to link about.

A Poem, a Pocket, a Love of Words

Today I am using this blog as a public service message. I assume anyone reading is a lover of the written word. So here's my request. Consider this effort from the American Academy of Poets called "Poem in Your Pocket." On April 17, the organization is asking folks to "celebrate the power of a poem" by sharing a copy of your favorite with folks you meet through the day.

Write about it or participate in it, whichever you prefer.

In a world that seems to have forgotten the importance of words, I would ask that you consider a gentle reminder to others that words can make a difference in the world.

An Old Dog Can Learn New Tricks

They say an old dog can't learn new tricks. I know they're wrong.

About a month ago, I wrote about my "journalism dad" Don Moore, who had spent several decades working at the Charlotte Sun-Herald in Port Charlotte, Fla. He was my deskmate for several years -- a grump of a man with a big heart and an eye for a good news story. I used to tell people, "Don Moore could find a story in a crack in the sidewalk." And he could.

Last month, he got laid off in a round of cuts at the family-owned newspaper on the west coast of the state. It was just one more in a long line of layoffs at newspapers across the country. But because it was a small paper, it seemed no one even noticed he was gone.

Don started in the business when the writing tools of choice were a pad, a pencil and a typewriter. So in an economic climate like the one facing newspapers today, it was unlikely he was going to find another job. When I discovered he'd been let go, it felt like someone knocked the wind out of me.

So I wrote an entry in this blog, from a former newspaper-editor-turned-web editor, that asked the newspaper industry when it was going to find the answer to what ails it? And when it does find the answer, where will all the people like Don Moore be? You know the folks I'm talking about. They're too old for an industry that is struggling, if not dying. And too young to retire and sit out on a beach thinking about the good, old days.

After a few more days of stewing about it, I decided I couldn't sit around and wait for anyone else to come up with the answer -- because it may never happen. So I called him and asked him if he wanted to write for the web. Four weeks, a new laptop, a wireless router and some story assignments later, he had his first web-only byline on divorce360.com, the site we launched in December. And while he's still tryiing to figure out links and attachments, the same skills that served him in the newspaper industry have found a new home writing stories on the Internet.

Today, I got a series of e-mails from some friends I met when I attended the Maynard Institute a few years ago. All smart, savvy young professionals who fell in love with journalism and wanted to make a difference. The title of the string of notes was "another round of layoffs." And from newsrooms around the country, they e-mailed one-after-the-other about the various states of economic well being at their companies. It was not a pretty picture.

Given that I'm out of the traditional print industry for a time, I could only sympathize, send good wishes and hope for better days for them -- and for the profession itself. There was, in my mind, one happy thought. At least one of the fine newspaper journalists I know has been able to find his way to another job doing what he loves to do -- writing good stories -- in the new media landscape.

And that's got to count for something.

When Do You Know You're Hitting Stride?

Question: What's the coolest thing that happens when you're a web content editor of an Internet startup company?

Answer: When msn.com uses your stuff as one of the three main featured items on its home page -- after only a few months up and running. And when you click on the link, there's a list of more stories inside.

You gotta love days like these!

Going Daily, Hiccups and Change

Working for an Internet startup is sometimes like having a case of the hiccups. They come from out of nowhere, and you never know when they'll stop. The last few weeks have been like that at my new gig. It's been more than six months since I jumped out of the traditional print media and into a company that provides online content only.

Since we launched our first Web site two months ago, my weeks took on a certain rhythm. Monday and Tuesday were a steady flow of stories coming in from writers who turned them in and wanted my undivided editing attention -- NOW. It felt like the beginning of the day in at a newspaper, when even even put your briefcase down in the moring, there was a line of people who needed something.

We had been publishing every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. So if I planned my days right, Wednesday I could breathe again -- sort of. That's when I woke up from my copy-induced stupor to notice people worked in the office with me. Who knew? And I would think, "It's too quiet in here," and ask if anyone brought their iPod today so we can listen to something other than my stomach growl.

Thursday I dealt with the endless mound of paperwork that had collected on my desk -- invoices, contracts and a few phone messages from people who -- ohmygawd -- want to actually talk (not over e-mail like almost everyone in Internetland) about something having to do with content on the site.

On Friday, the pace picked up again as I prepared for the new week.

But about a month ago, the rhythm changed. One Friday, my boss walked in and said we needed to stop publishing three times a week. Then he went on to explain he wanted to switch out stories every day. And without fanfare, three days later, we went daily --minus the weekends, which are likely to be next. There have been a few hiccups along the way, to be sure. But in the end, it wasn't much different than adding a section to a daily newspaper or a day of publication to a weekly.

A lesson learned: whether in print or online, there's one constant -- change, change, change.

About Paul Simon, Divorce and Cinderella

I am divorced, and I don't talk about it often. Going through it was difficult enough, so why rehash? The closest I have come to describing what I felt are the words of a Paul Simon song on "Graceland." It goes something like, "Losing love is like a window in your heart. Everybody sees you're torn apart. Everybody feels the wind blow." While it's been almost 10 years since my own experience, I'm always amazed that I still occasionally feel "the wind blow."

Sometimes I think about the decisions I have made and wonder if they were the right ones, even though my gut tells me they were. The circuitousness of those decisions seem incredibly random today. I left Florida in the middle of a divorce to take a job at a newspaper so I could avoid hearing the sound of that wind. I returned to Florida to work for an Internet startup whose first site was focused on, you guessed it, divorce. Funny the way the world works. I'd call it serendipidy, except that implies a mood that's lighter than the circumstances.

I've been reading a book called, "Eat, Pray, Love," by Elizabeth Gilbert, which is, for some odd reason, connected to the other thoughts rambling through my brain. The book begins with her, weeping on the floor of a bathroom as she realizes her marriage isn't working anymore. So she gets divorced and gives up everything familiar to spend the next year searching for some meaning to it all -- through Italy, India and Indonesia, all places that seem like fine destinations to find some meaning.

Over the weekend, while I was preparing for the wedding of a friend who -- for years -- swore she'd never find the right partner, I came across this passage in the book. It was toward the end and it struck me as a pearl... "I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential of a man, rather than with the man himself, and then I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism."

Given the number of conversations I've had with the site's sources and writers, media covering it and even the folks running it, the quote stuck with me. It made me wonder if this isn't the problem we all have. We want to believe the best about the people we love. But the truth is, they're human -- just like us. And sometimes that humanity isn't pretty or even fun. In fact, sometimes it's just dark and sad and incredibly exhausting.

But in the middle of that pain, we look for something meaningful, picking up and continuing down the road with no guarentee that we'll ever find it. Because the simple truth is that we want to be like Ms. Gilbert, whose book has a Cinderella-type ending, or like my friend, who despite what she said for so many years, got married this weekend to a man who adores her -- and vice versa.

I guess the meaning is as simple or as complicated as we make it. We all want the glass to be half full -- half full of joy, of peace, of love -- for the short time we're here, because it really never is as long as we think it will be.

And isn't that really the meaning after all?