'Pay for praise' undermines journalism's credibility

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The crisp suits and tuxedos are put away, the gowns and evening dresses are hung as well. America’s journalists have packed their finest threads for another year, and the shining plaques and embossed certificates that prompted such fashion displays are already up on shelves, bookcases and desktops across this wide nation.

This is because journalism’s two-month season of giving itself awards recently ended; everything from Pulitzers to proclamations went out in rapid order, ranging in purpose from national recognition to just a pat on the back. It’s an unabashedly narcissistic season in which we journalists look back at our work to see what we did best, or did right, this past year, and try to justify among ourselves the value and importance of it.

Absent unimpeachable proof from our readers and viewers that they think we’re doing the right thing, it’s the optimum means of self-gratification available to us.

And yet, the implied veracity has come into question with me. Thanks to a particular incident, I wonder, especially now, how many of those honors truly recognized laudable effort — or whether they are the result of cash guarantees.

I didn’t use to wonder. As president of the St. Louis Chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists, part of my responsibility has been to assist other SPJ chapters in evaluating submissions for their annual awards, so they could avoid the appearance of currying favors from friends and colleagues. To juxtapose even more space between thought and deed, SPJ urges contest administrators to seek that assistance well away from their chapters’ membership areas. The closest chapter I assisted this year was a six-hour drive from me.

This year, my third consecutive as a judge, I volunteered to assess submissions for five different competitions — one of them national and four regional, or two more competitions than last year. Looking back, I’m sure though that one of those chapters won’t ring up my number again.

Before the explanation, a little background: Besides recognizing excellent work and stroking egos, awards contests can rake in a lot of money. Organizers often attach entry fees per submission, ranging from a few bucks to tens of dollars, ostensibly to offset administrative costs but also to generate operating funds for the chapters. For example, imagine a particular award category attracts two dozen entries. Charging $10 per entry nets a fast $240 in pocket for a chapter before even the invitations go out.

Multiply that by, say, 80 categories spread across the spectrum of print, televised and digital media, and the chapter is looking at potentially thousands of dollars to not only spend on impressive looking plaques and certificates to hand out at tony venues where food is served and fashions much nicer than office wear is de rigueur, but also bank a few bucks for other special events, scholarships and professional training. 

This kind of thing is not unique to journalism; awards are handed out in much the same way across the scope of professions, each with its own rationale for assessing fees. One would think though that journalism, prominent among them, eschews guarantees of praise to go with those payments, if only to ensure the notion that its award-giving smacks of the same objectivity attempted in its news coverage.

Think again. As my award-judging obligation wound down I received an email from a contest organizer who was dismayed with my selections — not so much regarding my overall judgment as the lack thereof for a handful of categories. In other words, where I judged the entries to be wholly substandard, I left the category blank, ensuring no award.

“Perhaps I was unclear in my instructions, and for that I apologize,” the contest organizer wrote to me about a week after I made my choices. “These entrants paid the submission fee. We should show that they are getting something for their fee.”

Absent that, he continued, they may decide to not make submissions for future contests. And we need the money; the awards are central to our fundraising efforts.

I tried to shore up my position by reminding him that the five reporting categories I left blank had just one or two entries total for three potential awards — first, second, third and honorable mention — and that the entries themselves were laughably far off the award-winning mark: unenterprising, perhaps culled from batch-distributed public relations announcements and devoid of sourcing that might prove to me the reporters attempted to verify a shred of their PR content. In a couple instances, what struck me was that the florid wording of the original PR release had oozed through into the story.

Granted, I was not certain of the story origins. But after 30 years in this business, much of it spent coaxing good writing from bad, I have come to recognize patterns of writing, and that recognition is fairly bankable.

The awards organizer, perhaps immune to my argument, graciously deflected my concern.

“We appreciate your time and effort,” he wrote back. “Please send back the entries you judged for the categories in question, and we’ll have the awards committee review your decisions.”

I did as advised, and a few weeks later I checked the contest website for the results. Sure enough, there were the categories I had judged and left blank newly filled with winners in each and with carefully worded platitudes attached. The circle of this particular contest remained unbroken, no matter my noble intent.

Maybe I’m may be part of a dwindling contingent that believes awards and honors should recognize true exceptionality. The Pulitzer committee, at least, is a member of this group, charging $50 per Pulitzer-prize entry while not at the same time issuing awards like a supermarket coupon dispenser. That entry fee opens the door to contestants; it doesn’t ensure them one of the silver-and-gold medallions.

When any of us promise awards for the price of entry, no matter the profession, we cheapen not just the award but also the work it was intended to honor. The organizers for all journalism awards need to keep that in mind, lest their efforts to distribute praise and bolster funds also chip away the foundation of journalism’s credibility.

Nuance matters in shooting video

(This post first appeared in the May/June 2012 issue of Quill, the magazine of the Society of Professional Journalists.)

In the mad rush by journalists to become multilingual in the language of multimedia, a few finer points can get cropped out of the picture. Key among them: nuance. Lacking this, attempts at quality journalism will seem a little less so, to journalists as well as their audiences.

For example, in print journalism, it’s crucial to know that most words have many definitions, intended and implied, and the context either way can make the difference between enlightening readers or confusing them. Radio talent understands this, too, and is adept at conveying additional meaning through pronunciation and delivery.

Meanwhile, videography incorporates both sets of nuances and brings another that’s purely visual in scope, something many seasoned journalists are wrestling with as video news-gathering rises in prominence and importance. These nuances do not come bundled with the technology, though; they are, like verbal and audio knowledge, products of wisdom acquired over years of practice and error.

Thus, while it’s one thing to know how to use video technology, it’s quite another to use it properly and effectively, to bring out a news story’s layers and colors. So, be sure to make room for nuance in video, the better to keep an audience engaged.

Among the nuances that deserve attention:

Humanity: The more complex a story, the harder it will be to explain all its facets. That’s why it’s more effective to narrow the story’s focus onto one person, one character, who embodies the issue. Pull the audience into that character’s life and explain how this one person fits inside the larger issue. People relate to people better than broad concepts or ideas. Show how the central concept or idea has affected this single character.

Personality: If you’re the one in front of the camera, do not fear the lens, as the audience will see that fear. Look directly into the lens, taking care not to read from cues or prompts. This way, the delivery looks natural, the conversation seems personal, and nothing appears scripted. Audiences also can sense that there’s a script nearby and will be just as distracted in listening to it as you are reading from it.

Energy: Don’t just talk to the lens; show energy and commitment while delivering the message. Bring all that energy to the camera if you want the audience to bring all of its attention in return. When the subject material makes this difficult, it may be easier to also attach a purpose to the delivery, such as getting the audience to laugh or cry or to have it ponder a particular point.

Brevity: Audiences give videographers just seconds to make their case, then only seconds more to explain why audience members should even care. So don’t waste the audience’s time or patience. Make the video’s main point in one shot, preferably unedited, because viewers tend to trust clear, straightforward messages to ones that are filled with edits. After that, keep the video’s maximum running time at three to five minutes. Not only does this respect the audience’s time, it reduces the potential for errors in the final product.

Clarity: Speaking of the final product, take care to include only the essential elements in any video clip. The best way to do this is edit out the beginning and end of the clip, where you’re stepping in and out of the frame. There’s a theory that leaving in the rough edges around a clip makes the end result seem more natural and inviting. But news trumps “natural” when it comes to credibility. Stick to using clean clips and resist the urge to “edit in” more than what the clip is saying. 

 

Social media and the news

This spring, I gave a presentation at the Society of Professional Journalists' Region 7 Conference, held this year at Iowa State University in Ames, Iowa, where I discussed briefly how best to implement social media in journalism. There is much more depth to the discussion than this, so consider the presentation a primer, not a guide.

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As social media use in journalism continues to grow, the scope of this discussion and the best practices that go along with it will broaden, to the point where one day may become the central theme of journalism. That's why there's no better time like the present to start the discussion in earnest, and start it with presentations like this one. I hope it helped you in some way, and I encourage input regardless.

Bringing far-flung freelancers together

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(This post first appeared in The Independent Journalist, a blog for freelancers by the Society of Professional Journalists.)

As the market for freelance journalism grows, so too has interest in the evolving tools for that job.

That interest is acute where collaborative journalism is concerned, because simply pitching PDFs of Word documents back and forth via email tends to be a clunky way of doing business in this demanding age of digital interactivity. Now, no matter the distance or purpose, teams of people with shared goals all want to work together as if sitting in the same room.

A relatively new website called Widbook tries to provide that goal-oriented environment and foster a social network to supplement it. Widbook is a writing and editing space that lets people alone or in groups craft book-length projects and shorter stories; insert resources such as photos, videos and animations; and add to or augment contributions by other writers.

Widbook also invites writers and readers to share and tweak favorite developing works, and create libraries of published works whether self-written or from other authors.

Early reports on Widbook, still in beta, call it a “YouTube for books” because of its heavy emphasis on interactivity. The central theme and interface are better suited for collaboration on projects. Writers who prefer to work alone can use Widbook as well, but they’ll miss out on many of its features.

And Widbook is free of charge to register for and use — surely the most attractive feature to freelance writers and hopeful novelists working with meager budgets. The only things that first-time visitors to Widbook need to get started is to create a user name and password. Options include creating a personal profile, linking with Facebook, and selecting favorite literary genres from which to build a library. Members also can send messages and “follow” one another through the site.

Because it’s in beta, Widbook has limitations and quirks. For one thing, it’s not possible to export a finished project to another platform, though that’s expected to come later as the site matures, and it’s not obvious to early users how the social media aspect will supplement the collaboration tools. The interface is also a tad balky with projects running longer than a few chapters.

Still, for collaborative writers and editors, Widbook presents an intriguing new way for collaborative journalists to exchange ideas and bring far-flung talent together in the same room.