Praise, then hire, a freelance writer this week

(This post first appeared in The Independent Journalist, a publication of the Society of Professional Journalists.)

This week, if you see a freelance writer, give ’em a hug.

Better still, give ’em a job.

The annual National Freelance Writers Appreciation Week started Sunday, and if you haven’t heard it’s a seven-day serenade to all the wordsmiths and keyboard-pounders who give shape and life to ideas on their own time, often on their own dime, so that others without the patience or aptitude to write still have a voice.

No proclamation made this week possible; no act of Congress, or act of God — just the goodwill and good sense of people who put a premium on well-rounded words and the diligent souls who smooth them into shape.

And there are many of these souls plying this heartfelt trade. Besides being responsible for the words you’re reading here, freelance writers create most of the grant applications, e-commerce strategies and advertising copy that shape our world. They break news and they build reputations; they churn out blogs and business plans, pastorals and poems. In fact, you probably can’t make it through the day without seeing a freelancer’s work in ink or digital print.

So, this week, show your appreciation by giving a freelancer more than just a smile. Become acquainted with and support such prime sites for freelancers as the Editorial Freelancers Association, Freelancers Union, and of course, become a regular reader of the Society of Professional Journalists’ own Independent Journalist blog.

SPJ also offers a Freelancer Directory, where one can shop for freelance help, as well as a Job Bank, where freelancers can shop in return. And there’s “On Your Own: A Guide to Freelance Journalism,” written and edited by SPJ-member freelancers and free of cost to SPJ members. However, a small donation for it is welcome from everyone, as the money goes to help support freelancers and their efforts.

 

In social media, patience is spelled with five W's

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

In a perfect world, our words shine like jewels the first time we write or say them.

The reality is, they demand special consideration before displaying them in public. For one thing, so many terms in English have multiple meanings; for another, so many readers own distinct perspectives and biases. Ask 10 people to read the same sentence, and they’re likely to offer 10 slightly different interpretations.

That’s why, in our electron-fast, social media age, extra seconds spent pondering our pedantry before tapping the Send button can prevent embarrassment and thus preserve credibility.

So, at a time we’re still weighing New Year’s resolutions, or wondering whether to uphold the ones we’ve made, consider putting patience high on the list. Armed with it, writers and editors more easily catch spelling errors, check or recheck facts, change tone, even adjust attitudes — particularly their own.

The trick, of course, is finding patience where none existed. Hours spent banging out social media posts as fast as they come to mind can cultivate writing that’s reflexive, not reflective.

It may help then to install social media speed bumps of a sort — a set of objectives that forces introspection. For this, we could adapt journalism’s famous five W’s:

Who — Think first, “Who am I trying to reach?” Though social media networks permit users to group their followers, most users don’t, and their networks are a mishmash of friends, colleagues and acquaintances. The result: just one post intended for a small group of followers could send others packing. Craft posts with the broadest possible appeal, frame edgier posts with self-effacing humor or courtesy, and restrict the hardest commentary to direct messages.

What — Make sure the point of a post is clear and consistent with the facts. Go back through other people’s posts, check associated Web links and references to see whether those people are interpreting the information correctly, and whether you’re doing the same and not relying on conjecture. Only then can you safely answer the question, “What am I trying to say?”

When — Speed is a drug in social media; we assume the faster we post, the more certain we are to ride the leading edge of news. Blame this behavior in part on traditional media, which instilled the belief that “scoops” or “beats” on breaking news were just as important as the information itself. In truth, no newspaper shut down and no TV station went dark from not having enough scoops. Today, the Web is rife with humor and shame over errors by news organizations that moved too fast to gather facts. Thus, the answer to “When should I post?” ought to be, “After I have all the facts.”

Where — The term “social media” is as broad as the horizon. It encompasses numerous networks, each having its own best practices and tolerances. Still, we consider Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter and others to possess the same reach and intent. But there’s a saying: Facebook is for people you already know, Twitter is for people you want to know, and LinkedIn is for people you need to know. Learn the point and purpose of each social network, then you’ll be able to answer “Where should I post?”

Why — I’d like to think everything I say via social media is important. We all do. Nevertheless, each of us encounters users who think otherwise. That constituency dwindles though with solid answers to “Why should I post?” Whereas flippant or rhetorical commentary only attracts more of the same, social engagement founded on research and reportage is shared and re-shared more widely. 

Be thankful for the gift of freedom

Soon, I will decide whether my mother can maintain her freedom.

It’s a difficult, heartbreaking decision, one I never imagined making but now cannot avoid.

Until recently, she did well on her own in a cozy apartment filled with her favorite possessions, accompanied by her aging cat, Sugar.

Then, one night, my mother climbed out of the shower and into her nightgown, and as she buttoned the last button a sharp pain shot from one arm to the other and back to hit her square in her chest. The impact nearly knocked her to the floor, yet she managed to remain upright and reach a phone to dial 911.

An ambulance arrived in less than 10 minutes. Her neighbors in the seniors-only apartment complex rushed over at the first sign of commotion. They assured her, as paramedics wheeled her away, that the apartment and the cat both would receive good care.

One of those neighbors notified my aunt and uncle — my mom’s “little brother,” as she still likes to call him — who notified me.

At the hospital, doctors actually debated whether she had suffered a heart attack. Their initial cursory examination left doubt, although her blood pressure numbers had soared and were tapping the ceiling. So, they booked her into intensive care and scheduled an MRI for the following morning, to be sure.

The MRI showed that, yes, my mother had indeed suffered a heart attack, albeit a mild one, and the damage to her heart was minimal. In the meantime, she was prescribed heavy doses of medication to bring down her blood pressure.

When I spoke to her by phone just before the MRI — I live 1,600 miles away — my mother sounded calm and relaxed, enjoying a light breakfast and feeling better than she had in weeks.

“I’m fine,” she said between bites. “You stay put; everything’s fine, no need to worry. They’ll probably keep me here a couple days is all.”

“But mom,” I said. “You’re in intensive care. They don’t put mild cases in intensive care.”

“Well,” she said, “that’s probably true. Maybe it’ll be a few days longer.”

Regardless, I prepared to visit her. My aunt and uncle, who also live many miles away but closer than I do, were not able to fly out to her bedside immediately.

But before my bags were packed, she suffered a stroke. 

Nurses were in the room when it happened, my aunt explained; they said her pupils dilated, they watched a vacant stare cross her face, they heard her struggle to speak clearly in answer to their questions. They saw she also had paralysis in her left arm and leg.

The hospital stabilized her condition again, then sent her to a medical rehabilitation center to watch for further signs of stroke. By then, I had arrived at her bedside. Shortly thereafter, she was shipped to a second rehabilitation center, this one to deal with her paralysis.

I divided my time between staying by her side and caring for the cat. My mother kept worrying about Sugar, her closest companion for going on 12 years, and I worried that her concern for the cat’s well-being was distracting her from concentrating on her own. (The cat, by the way, was doing fine, whereas I wasn’t: I’m allergic to cats.)

“I’ll bet Sugar is fit to be tied,” my mother said in one of her few lucid moments. “She doesn’t like being alone for long.”

Now, almost a month has passed since paramedics carried my mother from her apartment, and the doctors, nurses and insurance company case workers who have been by her side the whole time insist her condition has plateaued; she will not get substantially better, she probably will not walk again on her own, she likely won’t be able to live by herself again.

All of this means she cannot remain in the rehab facility, either. There is a waiting list for the beds, and as far as the staff is concerned my mother is taking up space. Of course, not one of the nurses or therapists will say that. You can tell though by the looks in their faces that the thought percolates just below the surface. They’ve seen this kind of thing before. They know what to expect, and what not to. They have practiced the conversation that comes next with friends and families.

In a few days, I will have that conversation, the conclusion of which will shape my thinking on whether my mother can return to her apartment, her favorite things, her cat, and live the way she used to live — the way she prefers to live.

Which is why, this Thanksgiving, I urge everyone who can to give special thanks for being able to avoid that conversation regarding a friend or family member, or even themselves. Because, when you get right down to it, the most precious gift each of us has is our health. And when that’s gone, our freedom usually goes away, too.

 

Be thankful for the gift of freedom

Soon, I will decide whether my mother can maintain her freedom.

It’s a difficult, heartbreaking decision, one I never imagined making but now cannot avoid.

Until recently, she did well on her own in a cozy apartment filled with her favorite possessions, accompanied by her aging cat, Sugar.

Then, one night, my mother climbed out of the shower and into her nightgown, and as she buttoned the last button a sharp pain shot from one arm to the other and back to hit her square in her chest. The impact nearly knocked her to the floor, yet she managed to remain upright and reach a phone to dial 911.

An ambulance arrived in less than 10 minutes. Her neighbors in the seniors-only apartment complex rushed over at the first sign of commotion. They assured her, as paramedics wheeled her away, that the apartment and the cat both would receive good care.

One of those neighbors notified my aunt and uncle — my mom’s “little brother,” as she still likes to call him — who notified me.

At the hospital, doctors actually debated whether she had suffered a heart attack. Their initial cursory examination left doubt, although her blood pressure numbers had soared and were tapping the ceiling. So, they booked her into intensive care and scheduled an MRI for the following morning, to be sure.

The MRI showed that, yes, my mother had indeed suffered a heart attack, albeit a mild one, and the damage to her heart was minimal. In the meantime, she was prescribed heavy doses of medication to bring down her blood pressure.

When I spoke to her by phone just before the MRI — I live 1,600 miles away — my mother sounded calm and relaxed, enjoying a light breakfast and feeling better than she had in weeks.

“I’m fine,” she said between bites. “You stay put; everything’s fine, no need to worry. They’ll probably keep me here a couple days is all.”

“But mom,” I said. “You’re in intensive care. They don’t put mild cases in intensive care.”

“Well,” she said, “that’s probably true. Maybe it’ll be a few days longer.”

Regardless, I prepared to visit her. My aunt and uncle, who also live many miles away but closer than I do, were not able to fly out to her bedside immediately.

But before my bags were packed, she suffered a stroke. 

Nurses were in the room when it happened, my aunt explained; they said her pupils dilated, they watched a vacant stare cross her face, they heard her struggle to speak clearly in answer to their questions. They saw she also had paralysis in her left arm and leg.

The hospital stabilized her condition again, then sent her to a medical rehabilitation center to watch for further signs of stroke. By then, I had arrived at her bedside. Shortly thereafter, she was shipped to a second rehabilitation center, this one to deal with her paralysis.

I divided my time between staying by her side and caring for the cat. My mother kept worrying about Sugar, her closest companion for going on 12 years, and I worried that her concern for the cat’s well-being was distracting her from concentrating on her own. (The cat, by the way, was doing fine, whereas I wasn’t: I’m allergic to cats.)

“I’ll bet Sugar is fit to be tied,” my mother said in one of her few lucid moments. “She doesn’t like being alone for long.”

Now, almost a month has passed since paramedics carried my mother from her apartment, and the doctors, nurses and insurance company case workers who have been by her side the whole time insist her condition has plateaued; she will not get substantially better, she probably will not walk again on her own, she likely won’t be able to live by herself again.

All of this means she cannot remain in the rehab facility, either. There is a waiting list for the beds, and as far as the staff is concerned my mother is taking up space. Of course, not one of the nurses or therapists will say that. You can tell though by the looks in their faces that the thought percolates just below the surface. They’ve seen this kind of thing before. They know what to expect, and what not to. They have practiced the conversation that comes next with friends and families.

In a few days, I will have that conversation, the conclusion of which will shape my thinking on whether my mother can return to her apartment, her favorite things, her cat, and live the way she used to live — the way she prefers to live.

Which is why, this Thanksgiving, I urge everyone who can to give special thanks for being able to avoid that conversation regarding a friend or family member, or even themselves. Because, when you get right down to it, the most precious gift each of us has is our health. And when that’s gone, our freedom usually goes away, too.

 

The three R's of Twitter literacy

(This post was adapted from an essay for Gateway Media Literacy Partners, Inc.)

Look around, and look closely. Everywhere, from home to school, work to play, we’re witnessing a disturbing change in America, 140 characters at a time.

That change, heralded by the advent of social media, and the far-reaching, ever-expanding microblog platform Twitter in particular, demands we satisfy ourselves immediately with digital communications, telling our networks of virtual “friends” what we’re doing minute by minute, and expecting the same in return.

Evidence of this abounds as people meander down busy sidewalks with heads bent and eyes focused on the mobile devices in their hands; as pairs and groups in coffee shops, restaurants and other social settings hunch over their technology instead of engaging face to face; as car and truck drivers zoom past effecting the same debilitating pose behind the wheel. Twitter has attracted an audience of well over 500 million people — a number roughly equivalent to the 24 most populous nations combined. They’re tapping out an estimated 3,000 “tweets” per second, as of late 2011. And America tops this tweeting set, constituting about 30 percent of all Twitterers.

We could write off this behavior as endemic to a social species requiring engagement to survive and thrive. But such time-consuming, attention-diverting devotion to information that’s variously pertinent and pedantic instead removes us from society, inserts more space between ourselves and what we believe matters, and achieves the opposite of what we had hoped to accomplish through our amazing digital devices.

What would it take to disrupt this spreading inattentiveness before we’re reduced to letting technology do all the talking for us? Analysts say a refined Twitter temperament that fosters mature social networking is essential to sounding literate online, and the core curricula of that literacy can be boiled down to three R’s:

Restraint — We perceive the window through which we view the Internet as something akin to a one-way mirror when in fact it’s two-way, with potentially thousands of eyes peering back at us at once. Couple that with social media, which entices users to give up details about themselves to bolster their online “brand,” and little about us remains to the imagination.

Regardless, many Twitter users tweet every thought they have every minute they have them. They wax lengthy on food and fashion choices, spill secrets and tell lies, and they do these things either unaware of or indifferent to their network’s varied interests. The result: They lose followers and their networks shrink.

The best tweeters are not so random. Sree Sreenivasan, chief digital officer at Columbia University, says he waits six full minutes between tweets to ponder what he’s saying, how he’s saying it, and the possible reception from his followers. The alternative is a message that misses the mark and bruises his brand. 

“I delete much more than I tweet,” he said during a speech to the Society of Professional Journalists in September.

Research — Award-winning writer and St. Louis native Maya Angelou once said, “When you know better, you do better.” If only the Twitterverse were as insightful.

Instead, Twitter’s mix of immediacy and intimacy have the power to trump good sense. And because tweets are capable of circulating outside user networks, provided that the network's members retweet them to their own audiences, users tend to announce rather than report, hoping their personal knowledge, or wit and wisdom, carry enough water to grow their networks.

But proven knowledge — the kind supported by embedded Web links — yields more fruit because its presence demonstrates the sender’s diligence and effort to sound authentic. Like quotes and facts in a newspaper article, Web links pointing to legitimate and respected information sources help shore up the authority of tweets, and bolster the social media credibility of the sender.

“It’s not just about knowing how,” says noted social critic and modern media analyst Howard Rheingold. “It’s about knowing how and knowing who knows who knows what. ... Know-how is where the difference lies.”

Reciprocity — Social media’s best quality appears in its name. We’re drawn to tools such as Twitter because they’re both personal and public; some part of each of us seems woven into every exchange, intended or not. Moreover, Twitter’s trait of easy accessibility to anyone who uses the service encourages Twitterers to reach beyond their circles of close friends for networking with anyone who sports vast reserves of knowledge and experience.

But to get real value from Twitter, value must be exchanged.

“I think successful use of Twitter means knowing how to tune the network of people you follow, and how to feed the network of people you follow,” Rheingold says. “... If you don’t put out, you don’t get back.”

Digital marketing analyst Mike Calloway adds that “one of the greatest benefits of being part of a social network is staying up to date on all of the current events and updates. By providing your audience with information that is relevant and popular, you give yourself and your brand a distinct advantage.”

And when sharing relevant and popular content, “try to share great information that people can find only from you. ... Of course, other people will share some of the same information as you, but you should be a great hub of information that no one but you could provide.”

 

The secrets of great journalism

Recently, I was invited to speak at Francis Howell Central High School in suburban St. Louis about best journalism practices, and came up with this presentation on the wisdom of the profession gleaned outside of book-learning:

<div style="margin-bottom:5px"> <strong> The Secret to Great Journalism </strong> from <strong>David Sheets</strong> </div>

The secrets of great journalism

Recently, I was invited to speak to journalism students at Francis Howell Central High School near St. Louis about the lessons journalism serves up outside the classroom. Here, then, is the presentation I gave, listing practical advice over book-learning:

FHC_PresentationPP.ppt Download this file