You can stick your stickability

February 2018

The traditional sub-editor on a weekly paper is now a creature of the past, more or less relegated to the sidelines to sit blanketed in bitterness, scoffing at errors in headlines, wayward apostrophes then jumping to his or her feet with howls of despair when the subjunctive and indicative are played incorrectly.

Of course on weeklies, the ‘sub’ didn’t just correct copy but was expected to be an expert in production journalism, layout, typography and good design practice.

The template system has made much of that obsolete; the machine can cast off faster and with more accuracy than the most nimble of red pens (though a session or two for designers with print gurus like Peter Sands would not go amiss on good layout).

But the digital revolution has ridden roughshod over the tried and tested. While it is all about analytics and how long visitors stay on your page, how many share, like, love and emphatically emoji all over the place, there doesn’t seem to be a gauge for irritability. The tecniques of click bait have ridden roughshod over the traditional editorial rules.

But isn't it, ultimately, all about reading? Or, at least, shouldn't it be? There are two common features now that simply drive me nuts. I believe they are as relevant to the web as to print – the turn and the drop intro.

The turn was always used sparingly, usually from the front (or back), though not elusively, and carried on with the ‘continued from...’ tag. I remember the derision we heaped on one title that regularly ran a story, say on page three, with a continued on page seven line. Then on page seven it would have “continued” on page 13, then at the foot of this saga on page 13 it would say “turn to page 27 for picture”.

Come the days of the ‘expert’ tuition on writing for the web, the message was one of brevity and “you don’t want people having to scroll to the floor”. Then as quick as you could say “stickability” the turn was brought in as a tour de force..

So now you have your teaser, take one I was sucked into this morning, “Thirty Hollywood stars who you will have forgotten about but are still working”. Catchy eh? The picture looked like George Peppard, who I know has been dead for more than 20 years, so I clicked.

Of course the usual happened. After the first load (Mel Brooks), I had to click ‘Next’ and by the time I had cleared Ann Margret and Dick Van Dyke, my page was surrounded by a bunch of labels telling me “Next”, “Click here”, “More” and so on. If my clumsy fingers didn’t have me re-directed to an advert I seemed to be bounced back to the beginning. I never got further than Dick Van Dyke and gave up in disgust. I made a mental note of the website and vowed I wouldn’t return.

The temptation is there of course, but there is one digital strategy I’ve spotted, detest and avoid – the drop intro.

In journalism, it’s a technique used sparingly. It is usually, again not exclusively, employed on features. If not it has to be a really good story by a really good writer. And bear in mind that in the good old days you often had to cut a story from the bottom; they had to be written in such a way that you could, theoretically anyway, cut 23 pars of a 25-paragraph story and it would still tell the tale.

Again “stickability” is given greater importance than sowing the seeds of detestation and repulsion. So we get the likes of: “When Sandra and Steve McIver found a secret cupboard in their new home, they couldn’t believe what was inside and their lives would be changed for ever...”

And so we begin on a marathon journey, starting with a scene-setter then thick, globules of waffle prose, interspersed with pictures of their house, then the door, then the entrance, then the stairs, and so on, until we see the outside of the secret cupboard. All building up to what lies within.

Again there are few of these tales I have ever managed to complete without being drawn into a clingy equity release promotion or a pension promotion that is harder to get rid of than herpes simplex.

The few annoying mazes I have managed to get through have resulted in discovering the McIvers discovered in that concealed cupboard, a shoebox. Within that shoebox was a piece of paper. On that paper was a recipe for lasagne. Sandra and Steve tried it, and really liked it. (ENDS, 1400 words).

I’m sure there are those who love the challenge and traversing the tale, but I don’t want to waste all that time discovering I’m reading rubbish.

Applying some of those old, near-forgotten rules of print might just be good for credibility, and more considered commerciability. Of course, we are nearing an era when most won’t realise there was, and is, another way.

In the meantime, I continue to get frustrated and annoyed. Much the same as I do with radio commercials that rhyme – for heaven’s sake how does anyone sell that idea to a client? At least the radio provides a target when I throw the tablet in a temper.

Picture: Anokarina