Bethlehem Says

I’m no good at the ritual of pitches, and that’s not just because it’s wholly unnatural. It’s hard, on a regular basis, to send several editors several different ideas that will be among the best they see that day. Nobody has that many stories that strong, especially if they’re well-considered or hinge on reporting. Like, nobody.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with pitches. It’s probably better for everyone involved if editors vet ideas—editors in general are a good idea, despite what a lot of the Internet may think. The point of this post is not to insist that my life be made easier and certainly, I’m in a better position that a lot of freelancers. But there’s no trend in journalism that can’t take into account the erosion of staff positions, and even the assumption of steady, stable work. There are more truly freelance folks out there than ever, and more talent. By all sorts of laws of economics and sharing fish-shaped cookies, editors should err on the side of an open door policy, as much as sanity will allow.

I understand that staff positions still do exist, and I’m lucky enough to have particularly good relationships with several editors. Trust and a writer/editor rapport are the ideal state for any kind of word-making. Still, I pitch them very much like I pitch anyone else, just maybe first, with more informal emails, and with more of a willingness to take risks. These are more “freelance with privileges” than staff-lite, and that’s wholly a function of how unstable the field has become. As I’m fond of recalling (and probably romanticizing), I got my start in 2001, at a Knight Ridder paper that was a few years away from making major cuts. Today, we’re at the the other end of the spectrum.

Full disclosure: I have standing arrangements with a few places, so again, don’t feel too bad for me. But I still send out pitches. Very few people get rich writing these days, though as my shrink pointed out, “get a real job” isn’t as easy as it once was.

However, writers like myself, who benefited immensely from blogging on our own, haven’t exactly helped ourselves. Personal blogs, however you want to define them, are at heart narcissistic. Increasingly, I wonder if this is the sole defining quality of “blogging”. It doesn’t matter whether the angle is strict first-person or there’s a genuine attempt at commentary—the blog answers only to itself, and the audience accepts this. In theory, topics can be addressed whenever. Sure, many blogs chase the news cycle, and certainly, corporate blogging has doubled down on this aspect. And yet there’s still the assumption that voice, or some ongoing, nebulous project, remains implicit in all but the most mechanical paid blog work. It also encourages self-indulgence and promotes bad habits, and in many ways resembles the tenured, out-of-touch columnist we all revile.

Blogging, as defined here, is almost certainly the enemy of pitching. Pitches require taking into account the needs of the publication, its audience, and in many cases, what’s both timely (even popular) and still underdeveloped. Blogging puts voice, or perspective, first; a pitch assumes your voice, but substance wins out over style every time. Essence precedes existence, even. Voice can give you an edge, and mutually beneficial brand synergy counts for something. But if you’re used to being accountable to no one’s perspective but your own (your audience buys into that), pitching in this environment can be a particularly harsh experience.

I have no idea what the answer is, especially when economics and craft don’t always share the same interests. I do know this: Voice both matters more and less than ever before. You can make a name for yourself while developing skills that will not serve you well as a freelancer. Having survived and sort of assimilated the web, journalism is getting closer and closer to being whole again. That’s impressive, but sometimes simmering contradiction can cause more damage than all-out war.

Grantland launched, and as a prominent member of the “writing about sports is a deep and meaningful activity fuck you Boomer” community, I feel obliged to comment. Some disclosure: Early on, when Grantland looked like it might be a writer’s utopia, I made my interest known. Nothing ever came of it, and I’m fine with that, especially given the recent revelations about the limitations, and expectations, inherent in this project.

Nevertheless, I was expecting to find a much different Internet when I emerged from my therapist’s office at 10AM, Pacific Time. There were a few jokes in my timeline, many of which I could have predicted in advance. Other than that, though, it didn’t seem like, to paraphrase one friend, there had been any need to gird my loins in advance (I already have every STD in the book, anyway). For a launch that got its own Doomsday clock, Grantland’s sure was weak. Maybe I don’t know how to make a splash on the web; understand how slowly people read; or get the true value, and elegance, of negative space. Mostly, I wanted more than two features, a preview of a blog that appears to not yet exist, and the introduction to the Grantland oral history, on the way from Miller and Shales in 2057.

You’ve probably already formulated your own opinions about the design, the advertising, and maybe the content itself. My main gripes, other than being robbed of a Major Cultural Event, are more esoteric.

I don’t get opening with Simmons, Klosterman, and Chris Jones. Actually, I do; it’s the site’s two biggest names, and probably the most high-profile contributor. To the extent that Grantland did make a bang, or a dent, today, it was with that star power. However, Simmons was adamant about hiring “unknowns” who would be turned loose to “do their thing” and rise to prominence under his watchful gaze. The preview pieces from Katie Baker and Molly Lambert fit that bill; that was the site’s opening salvo. And then today, just the good ol’ boys. I wonder if the ambivalent response to those first two offerings inspired a change of course … or if some suit at ESPN was sick of being told that indie cred is a brand-building virtue.

I also sort of resent the perpetual cat-and-mouse game today seems to set us up for. After the previews, many suggested that we suspend judgment until the actual launch. Today scarcely represents any kind of cornerstone, or solid foundation for critique. I get that Grantland is an enormous project that, even if it weren’t were ESPN’s meddling, would take months to really hit its stride.

But as a reader, I’m wary of being coerced into a holding pattern, or being told that I’m a feral prick if I seek to draw any conclusions before the appointed date (Launch 2?). Grantland isn’t process, or becoming; it’s a major market initiative by a company flush with cash, and whether as art or commerce, should be able to at least make its intentions clear (no, telling isn’t the same as showing). I respect its right to grow and find itself organically. At the same time, at some point its identity has to become fair game. That’s not just about would-be critics, either. It’s about keeping the loyalists awake and charged, too.