Finding a future business model

I just finished a paper on the future business model of journalism. My first reflection? Finding new sources of money is hard work.

It's difficult to distill all the industry's problems into a coherent blog post. So, I'm going to put one of the lessons we learned in class this semester to good use and link to what I'm just too lazy to explain myself.

In the old, proverbial nutshell, journalism is struggling because the Internet has disrupted the old mass-advertising business model. Journalists never sold their content; they sold their readers — to advertisers. In fact, subscribers to the daily newspaper pay a pittance of the costs that go into producing the paper. The actual cost is heavily subsidized by ad revenue. Accordingly, most people believe pay-walls and subscription content simply won't work as a viable business model. Variations on the pay-wall model could provide some options, but this still lies well within the realm of traditionalist thinking. Some politicians have proposed government plans to save journalists, but most journalists despise the idea of being beholden to the government and doubt public support would allow such a plan to proceed.

But, journalists being journalists, there is an abundance of ideas to reshape the industry. Most seem to be evolved content models, focusing on new ways to gathering and producing news that would add inherent value to the product, and thus, attract more readers and hopefully make it worth forking over some money. Others have approached new revenue models such as low- and non-profits ventures. Still others advocate enhanced services for advertisers to reclaim some of the lost ad revenue.

Frankly, it's not surprising that journalists would write about and post their ideas for the future of journalism — it's what we do. It really opens up the different thought processes to a level of transparency I doubt many other industries experience. I don't doubt, however, that these blogs contain the seeds of journalism's future.

Regardless, having combed the blogs of countless journalists all searching for an answer, it seems a shame not to add my voice as well. Below, I've posted the paper submitted to my graduate business-of-journalism class. I'll admit, much of the paper is set up and explanation (per the professor's request), but I believe in my conclusion. Through synthesizing what many of the more radical voices are saying, I believe journalism must evolve in order to stay relevant on the Internet, and the best way to do this is to offer a unique information service — not too great a stretch for journalists, but enough to jostle the entrenched, corporate side.

Reimagining Journalism and the ‘Service’ Media Business Model

Skyping with Jeff Jarvis

Earlier today, my Cronkite School business-of-media class had a Skype-enabled Q&A conversation with CUNY professor and author Jeff Jarvis. Talk about practice what you preach.

Jarvis has been a consistent resource for my media professor, Tim McGuire. If Jarvis could get a telepathic 'hit' for ever time the words "Jarvis says..." authoritatively passed my professor's lips, I'm sure he would absolutely love our class by now. Jarvis says that companies in the age of the Internet must open up. Jarvis says proprietary standards are obsolete. Jarvis says media companies must create platforms for communities. That's not to say my professor doesn't have his own opinions about what "Jarvis says," but suffice it to say, he has a substantial impact on class discussion.

Today, however, the class took a step toward making what "Jarvis says" a reality. Using a camera-enabled mac and the free Internet-video-chatting program Skype, a journalism class in Phoenix, Arizona, was effectively taught by a journalism professor in New York City. I can think of no better example of a "flat world," as Thomas Friedman calls it.

Traditionally, universities have flouted the quality of their professors to attract students. Well look out, because our experience today seems to indicate students and professors no longer need universities to bring them together. As seems to be the ruling aphorism of our generation: the Internet make it possible.

the individualist

For my grad communications class I've been reading The World Is Flat by Thomas Friedman, and while I'm reluctant to jump on the number-one-best-selling bandwagon — either from lingering post-pubescent nonconformism or my own, individual brand of neurosis (did you catch the irony?) — I have to admit its insight.

The crux, so far as I can discern about half way through, is that technological changes and standardization have broken down the "practical constraints" that once held people back from engaging in more efficient practices, i.e. collaboration, outsourcing, content production, etc. More importantly from my perspective, it provides a pretty comprehensive explanation of how the world is changing re: empowering individuals.

Friedman breaks it down like this: The human world has gone through stages in which various entities maintain control. So far as modern history is concerned, up until about the 1800s, countries held the reigns. After, industrialization gave corporations the power, which grew quite powerful thanks to burgeoning globalization. According to Friedman, the turn of the century represents the end of the corporate epoch and the beginning of individual empowerment, in which individuals have control and leverage over globalization, production tools, and vast resources. As an individual myself, this sounds pretty good to me.

And it answers the question journalists have been asking since 2000 rolled around: Where did all these citizen journalists come from? Well, they came from the advent of the PC, standardized word processing software, and a series of fiber optic wires promulgated during the dot-com boom. QED.

I'm sure Friedman would appreciate the illustrative elements of my even posting this. It shows how publishing has become decentralized, no longer relying on journalistic institutions or "the media" for its distribution. None of this is particularly tragic for me in light of my communications career choice; it simply means I must approach it from a different angle. Soon, no doubt, no one will need the media. That doesn't mean it will disappear. It does, however, mean the media will lose the substantial power its enjoyed as the only distributor of content. In my future, I see no free lunches on the corporate tab. But then, as a free-minded, decentralized individual, maybe I should never have wanted them anyway.

a time for impracticality

After almost two years of constant career-priming, it's about time for a semester off.

School started again, and despite my seemingly crazy ambitions, I'm glad to be taking some time off from my journalism studies: I'm taking mostly philosophy and law classes this semester. The first week has been a rough transition. My background in communications doesn't translate well to the more abstract thought of the great philosophers, and I find myself out-paced by all the poli sci and philosophy majors that I usually loath (but that's another issue entirely).

It's a time to rethink my priorities and take a breather from the career-treadmill I've been running. I love studying law and philosophy because, so far as I can see, at no other point in my life will I have time and support required to think about such vast and far-reaching ideas. The depth of thought and discussion I can reach in class is the antithesis to my "more practical" internships and skill-studies. Perhaps this semester will bring me back from the brink, instilling a good balance in my education. I can only hope.

dying industries

My girlfriend and I are both entering into "dying industries," or so she tells me. (This has the potential to become a great contest, re: my industry will last longer than yours.)

Really, they are the same industry split into specialties, with discrete distinctions that, beyond targeted experience and expertise, could easily be seen as singular. We both love — and study — writing and the print industry: me journalism, her publishing/editing. Often times I feel more pragmatic about the industry's difficulties. I'm trying to make myself flexible, dedicated and as open as possible to change. My girlfriend usually expresses her hatred for publishing's grim-reapers — Google Books, Amazon, and the Kindle — while bemoaning the trend away from ornately designed book covers and to generic omni-devices (though she loves her iPhone). But she's doing things to diversify as well — any novelty turned to advantage once school ends.

Yet, I don't feel like I'm entering a dying industry. The same doom-preaching chorus relaying the trials of the industry today (my j-school professors at ASU) now sits in a completely new university building, filled with the latest technology and creative minds. If there was ever a place to innovate and save the bottom line, it would be there. And while I've seen countless "goodbye-and-good-luck" e-mails at work, their authors usually seem poised to carry on elsewhere. So many mind-blowing projects are emerging from web designers, journalists and innovators, why has so much fear promulgated? The fear comes from economic uncertainty. Corporations and organizations have lost their Earth-turning profits, and thus, the industry is dying.

But what is an "industry," and why am I entering it in the first place? I'm not discounting the need for profits, but pushing past monetary motivations to the real spirit of why we do what we do — love for what we do — breeds a lot of optimism in me. If "industry" requires profits, perhaps I don't need it. I've no stock holders to appease, no board to satisfy. Halfway through college and embroiled in your-future discussions, concepts like "the industry" seem an unnecessary middleman to my main concern: me and doing what I love. Instead of singing odes to a dying industry, we should be consciously carving out our own space in, not an industry, but a living, however and with whomever we can.

summer could have been more restful

What can you expect from a summer internship? After working for the past nine weeks, I'd say a either lot or a little, depending on how you look at it.

For me, it's been a tedious tenure at Washington Post Digital — editing photos, writing photo captions, and attempting construct massive databases that, frankly, I doubt will be implemented. In short, the work wasn't too rewarding. And all for no pay; my validation is a inconspicuous byline that even I overlook most of the time. Such is the life of an intern, and after a particularly trying day, after a particularly trying week, it's easy to feel taken advantage of.

On the other hand, maybe things aren't that bad. After all, internships are always temporary, and when I think back on how I could have spent my summer, to live and work in Washington D.C. definitely trumps the alternatives. I can't say I've learned much from a technical or journalistic outlook; the things I've picked up fall more under the "real-world-experience" category, re: full-time job, managing bosses, taking care of myself (i.e. not partying until 3 a.m. the night before work ... again ... ). The program I took here, The Washington Center, provided a lot of cool events and experiences, so I don't regret my time here. Things have just been too hectic.

What I find most frustrating in every internship has nothing to do with the internship itself, but rather the pairing of a work and school schedule. The two never overlap cohesively, and neither boss nor professor seems to understand (or care) I have more going on with my life. Especially while I'm sitting at work, I'm always thinking of school work that needs doing, and vice versa. Its a classic scenario of work during the day, school at night and sleep in between — though never enough.

If this is supposed to build character and ambition, I expect to be supernaturally motivated and interesting when I graduate. Right now, I'm just tired.

damn, forgot the bribes

-------------
Five things you need to know about lobbying a senator:

1) Get the aides' names: The person scheduling your meeting — assuming it's not you — probably won't get the names. Best to just wing it and hope the phone-line-strangled receptionist knows what's going on.

2) Dress like a professional: Things may not always be "fashionable" on Capitol Hill, but that doesn't mean people don't appreciate some class. Pull out the three-piece suit for the Atticus-Finch look.

3) Bring a partner (preferably one who knows way more than you do): Lobbying is like making a presentation to a group of people who already know the speech. If those spitfire info classes didn't prepare you for the arena, shut up and let your partner fill in the gaps.

4) Bring business cards: What the heck are those things for, since you keep forgetting them at home!

5) Know your politics: Depending on what you're advocating, people may not be receptive. Usually, however, they will be cordial ... to constituents.

-------------

After three sessions of background education and training, I went with a partner to lobby Sen. Jon Kyl, R-Ariz, on Monday.

Some background: For my "civic engagement project" here in Washington, I joined a group called Americans for Israel and Palestine, which while not affiliated with The Washington Center, recruit heavily from its ranks. I thought it would be a cool and easy way to take care of the project. In the process, I learned a ton about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and ate free Middle-Eastern food at meetings.

The Capitol Hill meeting was definitely a cool experience — getting to see the Hart Senate Office Building, the senator's offices, the hardwood-filled, cabinet-lined offices with leather-upholstered seats. And I feel like I understand the workings of Washington much better.

On my part, it wasn't a stellar performance, but I had a very well-informed partner, whom I give credit for anything of depth during our presentation. I focused on the big — and, of course, less complicated — issues. Still, it feels good to have done something of substance, pressing the flesh and taking the names.