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Over Paying Bloggers for "Free" Content

chrisshipley — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 19:11:26 +0000

On most days, Carla and I debate our analysis in private, Skyping with one another until our fingers burn. And this day started just the same. She’d been mulling over the value of reasoned analysis as subject matter for blogs. Then, a TechCrunch post about (I think) why investment in blog media companies will never pay out described the blogging as some sort of word-based Fight Club, and that tipped Carla to action.

Her post today asks, essentially, whether thoughtful analysis has any place in the blogosphere. She quoted one colleague who effectively said that if one writes a solid analysis, then what’s there to say in the comments. The subtext: fire off an ill-conceived “rant” and we can really sink our teeth into that.

Reinforcing that thinking is a comment from Cyndy Aleo-Carreira on profy.com:

I think I nearly busted my gut laughing at the idea of “thoughtful analysis” ever being popular.

To be fair, Cyndy commented on Carla’s post more fully:

. . . I’m still of the old-school that feels like quality should stand on its own without the constant whoring for Diggs and link-backs and attention. . .
The reality, however, is that the squeaky wheel gets the eyeballs in this industry, and the eyeballs get the money.

I’m heartened to see the thoughtful comments being added to Carla’s post, but still I wonder why the (mostly) intelligent people who spend hours each day consuming blog posts don’t demand more from the bloggers they read. Readers reward shoot-from-the-lip bloggers with traffic and attention, and never seemingly feel exploited. Somehow, the opportunity to get into the mud with an A-lister out-measures the value of time and intelligence.

This, of course, is not a new phenomenon. Back when DEMOletter was still published on paper (yes, the Dark Ages), I wrote about attention and time as the currency of Web 1.0, and now, most certainly of Web 2.0 and beyond. Yet still, the social-media consuming public doesn’t understand that value. Too many people have so devalued their time and attention that they “over pay” for “free” content, allowing the value to accrue to bloggers who, frankly, are not always worthy of the page views.

In a quest for readers and rank and authority, too many bloggers have turned the posts and comments into a side show. The only thing that will change that is if readers demand more.

Is Thoughtful Analysis Dead?

carlacthompson — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 16:22:14 +0000

Mike Arrington’s post on TechCrunch this morning about bloggers and the capital around them was uncanny, as I spent yesterday pondering the ins and outs of blogging in the current climate. A bit of a ramble and frankly, lacking introspection, his post was nonetheless an interesting perspective on the blogging market and its potential future. It’s prompted me to lay bare some concerns and questions I’ve had of late.

The Guidewire is a relative newcomer to the blogosphere. Not counting personal blogs and the weekly posts on DEMO.com, Chris and I haven’t contributed much to the blog conversation. To be honest, our initial stab at a Guidewire Group blog collapsed under its own weight. We approached it with too heavy an editing hand, too complicated an interface, too… much thought, if that’s possible. We’re industry analysts by nature and trade, a profession that doesn’t lend itself to off-the-cuff musings and breaking news. We spend weeks, sometimes months, weighing market trends and startup viability and only then do we craft our analysis aimed toward Guidewire Group’s primary audience of VCs and C-level execs in technology firms. As we delve deeper into directing some of those thoughts into a blog, though, I increasingly struggle with how to build and maintain an online presence by producing interesting, mindful content that people want to read without turning into a ranting egomaniac. It’s right there in About The Guidewire:

Our goal… is to add to the conversation, not echo it. We hope that when we do wade in on an issue, we can offer a different perspective, one that’s missing from the discussion.

Easier said than done. All the well-intentioned, reasoned thought in the world isn’t worth much when people don’t see it. I think Chris best summed up our abrupt education in blogosphere politics when she said recently, “I’ve become a link whore.”

Chris and I have no interest in becoming another TechCrunch. Arrington has built a hell of a business but his philosophy of “leave no lingering emotional stone unturned” isn’t our style. Engaging in blog arguments “as bloody as possible” seems to me a good way to drive oneself completely mental, but if it works for him, so be it. Personally, I want The Guidewire to engage deeper in tech punditry by contributing both a voice of reason and cutting-edge thought. A perfect storm of Chris’ seasoned industry experience – she’s forgotten more about emerging tech in her 25 years than most of us possess in our pinkies – and my position at the forefront of new technologies.

I parsed over some of this with a blog-savvy friend yesterday, who said something I can’t get out of my head. He believes that when you write a blog post with a beginning, middle and end, – as Chris and I often do – there’s nothing for readers to contribute. Take the pretty little bow off The Guidewire, in other words, and expose a bit of the skeleton of our analysis. Does he have a point? Are we presenting our blog readers with flat content? Is that even a negative? If we focus on being thought leaders, must we sacrifice visibility?

The pre-blogosphere way of thinking would hold that I shouldn’t even post this. Publicly questioning The Guidewire’s direction, some may posit, shows a certain weakness. But my immersion in communities like FriendFeed, Twine, Twitter, and Seesmic is making me question a lot about effective interaction and engagement online. So let’s hear it, bloggers, pundits, and just-plain readers (do those exist anymore?) – what do you want from The Guidewire? Is traditional analysis dead?

Does This Blog Make My Butt Look Fat?

chrisshipley — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 18:34:21 +0000

Let me just start by saying that I realize I’m wading into shark-infested waters, dangerous territory no matter how I try to spin these next few paragraphs. But wade I must.

Until this morning, what I’m about to share have been private ponderings reserved for conversation with colleagues. Then I read the most ironic post by Michael Arrington. In it, he berates gossip site Valleywag for its coverage of the underbelly of Silicon Valley and the Web 2.0 movement.

Before I go further, I state for the record:

I respect Michael for what he has created at TechCrunch. I may go about the business of reporting and analyzing the technology business in a manner very different from him, but there is no doubt that he has created a successful franchise.
Valleywag leaves me conflicted. I like Owen Thomas, and even though he’s reported things I wish he hadn’t, he’s always been fair to me. Still, I’ve never thought Silicon Valley needed a gossip rag, an opinion I’ve held since The San Jose Mercury News carried the gossip column by my friend Chris Nolan in the 90s.

Then, came a post this morning. In his hyperbolic way, Arrington skewers Valleywag for its salacious coverage of Jimmy Wales’ breakup with his girlfriend Rachel Marsden. The irony comes in his conclusion:

There’s a market for this kind of content, obviously. And nothing can stop it except significant changes to our libel and defamation laws. That isn’t something I support. But the valley was a much nicer place to live and work before the days of Valleywag.

And, one might argue, TechCrunch and dozens of other blogs that stoop to a level of discourse that is undignified, disrespectful, and anything but social.

For much of the last year I’ve been struggling privately with a collection of essays about the nature of reporting, journalism, commentary, criticism, and opinion that is the blogosphere. Collected under the title of this post, this unpublished commentary is tied together by a simple idea: that social media, as it is largely practiced, has become entirely anti-social.

Thousands of innocuous blogs are little more than self-absorbed chatter of people we’ll never meet and wouldn’t want to. Their lives are important to them and to a cadre of friends and family, yet by blogging about themselves they presume an audience and a stature that far exceeds their reach. They may not be creating a broader social experience by sharing intimate details of their daily diet or by writing posts rather than visiting with friends, but these people feel good, even great, about their blogs, and that’s all that matters.

And then there are the blogs that assume (the operative word) a greater importance. Their writers are convinced by fact or fantasy that their world views matter to the greater populace. And so they opine. But with relatively rare exception, opinion alone doesn’t drive the traffic and blog ratings with which one lays claim to standing in the blog community. The problem, though, is that constructive opinion is difficult. Destructive criticism is easy. So, in order to post early and often, these people spew venom about all manner of things. And their most anti-social behavior attracts readers like onlookers to a traffic accident. Sadly, blog traffic and vitriol track each other.

Now, these aren’t popular opinions. I’ve had many a long debate with Naked Conversations author Shel Israel about the absence of civil discourse in the blogosphere, and largely, we agree to disagree. He contends that the blogosphere is one big, congenial conversation where the occasional jackass is tolerated, perhaps even admired, for the “success” of his or her blog. I contend that many of the most vocal bloggers and blog media companies have failed to assume the responsibility and transparency that comes with the leadership they have gained. That the blogosphere is in desperate need of the responsibility that comes with authority (or at least authority rankings).

And don’t get me wrong. There are many, many wonderful blogs providing a heightened discourse that is additive to the global conversation. ReadWriteWeb, WebWorker Daily, and Redeye VC offer smart, considered coverage of social media, the tech industry, and the startup ecosystem. Confessions of a Pioneer Woman is wonderful read and a refreshing break from all things tech. These stand among many intelligent, thoughtful, respectful, and provocative blogs.

The keywords: intelligent, thoughtful, provocative, respectful.
I’ve covered the information technology industry in a variety of capacities for nearly 25 years. I have read and written thousands of stories about product, companies, and people. Some of those pieces have been critical – very critical – but, I believe, never disrespectful and never personal.

And then along comes “social media” and the discourse gets nasty. Why stop at a reasonable critique of a business plan or a product when you can belittle the entrepreneur? Why just disagree with someone when you can name call?

When did technology analysis become personal? Why investigate and report when you can just opine? Why provide reasoned analysis when you can simply dump on any idea you didn’t think of? How is “stupid” an analysis of a product or idea? When did it become okay to call the subject of a story an asshole? Is it that bloggers write “posts” rather than “stories” that they need not adhere to some level of social decorum?

If serious bloggers want to be taken seriously, it’s time they grow up. It’s time they treat their writing as well as their subjects with dignity.

What's so Funny about Understanding?

carlacthompson — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 19:43:54 +0000

There’s a lot of anger in the air these days. It’s the nature of blogging, I suppose – dash some vitriol off and you’re guaranteed to start a conversation. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; better to generate emotion of any kind than none at all. But it can also be damaging to the very essence of entrepreneurship. If ideas are met with too much resistance, will the tap eventually dry up? Will innovators become too afraid to put themselves out there, lest they anger the blog gods? The answer depends on who you are.

I talked with two companies recently that have been on the receiving end of some anger. Wikia Search rolled out its alpha to a chorus of “What the hell is this?” Company execs responded, “It is what is,” able to do so because of a supportive community and a general agreement that the search sector needs innovation. At the other end of the spectrum lies Story2Oh, an intriguing little project started by screenwriter Jill Golick, who wanted to dip her toe into Web 2.0 and got smacked down harshly in return. I’ll cover specifics on both companies in future posts but wanted to comment on the larger issue here. Golick is the very definition of an “outsider,” working in a field far removed from Silicon Valley (penning dramas for Canadian television). She was intrigued by the possibilities of the social graph, taking an experimental attitude of “let’s go play in the new frontier.” Only two weeks in the making, Story2Oh was awarded the label of “stupidest idea ever” by a popular blog, leaving Golick to wonder what she was thinking in the first place.

The merits of the Story2Oh idea are still to be determined. I’m not posting about it because I necessarily think it’s going to succeed. What gets my goat is the implication that she doesn’t have the right to try. Wikia Search is also the definition of a work in progress but because they’re Valley insiders (and admittedly have a huge success in their pocket), the anger was somewhat tempered with a “let’s wait and see what happens.” I’d bet a pile of cash that if Jimmy Wales had come up with the idea of social storytelling, the response would have been quite different.

As tech insiders, we should think of ourselves as hosts; guides to a world that welcomes innovation no matter whence it comes. Let’s take the “community” that is so important to Web 2.0 and share it with everyone on the Web, not just the ones who show up at cocktail launch parties. Otherwise, we may critique ourselves right into oblivion.