Richard Burton, managing director of the Jewish Chronicle and former editor of the Telegraph online, believes that print is not dead. Is it just me or is this statement less groundbreaking than it sounds? I think the online module has (unintentionally?) given us an exaggerated faith in the omnipotence of web-based news, and Burton’s assertion only reinforced my print-shaped question mark. Sure, newspaper circulation’s decreasing, but the UK’s 17 million non-liners would be pretty unimpressed if their paper boy no longer had anything to deliver.
But of course, the web is generally speaking the way forward, and Burton of all people is perfectly aware of that (just check his CV).
Print/online debate aside, something didn’t sit right for me with this lecture. Burton was at pains to state that he wasn’t a businessman, yet his job is undeniably business-oriented. In a marked contrast to the ‘accuracy over exclusivity’ mantra of the BBC, Burton’s priority while at the Telegraph was breaking news first.
Two examples he offered particularly struck me. Apparently, when 9/11 happened, his team were “literally changing facts as [they] knew them.” And even worse (particularly for a ‘serious’ paper) was the Kylie story: when it was announced that Minogue would begin chemotherapy, he knew that this wasn’t big news (“Well of course she’s being treated, they’re not just going to leave her to die,”) so they ran the story with a ‘career in pictures’ add-on. Why? Because most of their readers are 35-year-old male office workers.
Is such cynical decision-making really the only option for commercially successful journalism?
Wednesday 28 November 2007
Sunday 25 November 2007
Frightened of a 12 year old
This evening I went to see Ratatouille with my housemates. The film was enjoyable enough but sadly our experience was marred by a group of three boys, aged around 12 or so, talking nearly the whole way through. They would chatter away, then get annoyed with each other and swear aggressively, then one would get up and move to a different seat, then they’d all follow, then they’d move back to where they’d been, then the cycle would start all over again, with some banging on seats thrown in for good measure.
I was glad to see they hadn’t completely forgotten their manners though – when one boy’s phone rang he did have the courtesy to move three rows down so his conversation wouldn’t disturb his friends.
So, what to do? I tried giving them a Hard Look™ – a type of icy glare my mother specialises in, guaranteed to turn even Osama bin Laden to stone, and which I have been honing to perfection in the mirror for many years now.
Maybe it’s been too long since I practised, or maybe these kids were just too damn cool – whatever, they didn’t succumb to the fear. Thus I began to formulate a Plan B. I decided that the best thing to do would be to go over, tap the ringleader on the shoulder and ask in a saccharine sweet way if they would mind being quiet – the ‘embarrassing them into silence’ tactic.
This idea sprang from imagining what would have shut me up if I were them – at their age an older person directly confronting me would probably have reduced me to a shadow of my former cool, boisterous self.
But as I was on the verge of going over to them, something stopped me. And what did I do?
Nothing. Save for a few Hard Looks™, I did not act. An absolute failure of modern day citizen policing, I sat there, heart racing, and chickened out of going over there in case… In case of what? Getting stabbed outside the Cardiff Vue? Well yes actually. What if they were Bad? They were wearing hoodies after all… They might be harbouring knives, or even guns, under there!
Ok so I know I sound like a Daily Mail-reading, Tory-voting 50 year old (although I wouldn’t have hugged the little rogues for love nor money), but these days you just never know.
As we left, I saw them counting their pocket money to see if they could afford an ice cream before climbing into a parent’s Renault Espace. But I could have sworn I saw the glint of a blade peeking out from beneath the ring leader’s anorak as he scrambled in, baggsying the front seat.
I was glad to see they hadn’t completely forgotten their manners though – when one boy’s phone rang he did have the courtesy to move three rows down so his conversation wouldn’t disturb his friends.
So, what to do? I tried giving them a Hard Look™ – a type of icy glare my mother specialises in, guaranteed to turn even Osama bin Laden to stone, and which I have been honing to perfection in the mirror for many years now.
Maybe it’s been too long since I practised, or maybe these kids were just too damn cool – whatever, they didn’t succumb to the fear. Thus I began to formulate a Plan B. I decided that the best thing to do would be to go over, tap the ringleader on the shoulder and ask in a saccharine sweet way if they would mind being quiet – the ‘embarrassing them into silence’ tactic.
This idea sprang from imagining what would have shut me up if I were them – at their age an older person directly confronting me would probably have reduced me to a shadow of my former cool, boisterous self.
But as I was on the verge of going over to them, something stopped me. And what did I do?
Nothing. Save for a few Hard Looks™, I did not act. An absolute failure of modern day citizen policing, I sat there, heart racing, and chickened out of going over there in case… In case of what? Getting stabbed outside the Cardiff Vue? Well yes actually. What if they were Bad? They were wearing hoodies after all… They might be harbouring knives, or even guns, under there!
Ok so I know I sound like a Daily Mail-reading, Tory-voting 50 year old (although I wouldn’t have hugged the little rogues for love nor money), but these days you just never know.
As we left, I saw them counting their pocket money to see if they could afford an ice cream before climbing into a parent’s Renault Espace. But I could have sworn I saw the glint of a blade peeking out from beneath the ring leader’s anorak as he scrambled in, baggsying the front seat.
Pete Clifton's guest lecture
When I read over my notes from Pete Clifton’s lecture, I found a flurry of statistics, new ideas and potential concerns – an average day for the Beeb then.
The main themes for me?
Audience statistics
Apparently, 80% of us will see (participate in?) some form of BBC journalism every week, but the way we want our news is diversifying. The website has 5.5 million hits per day, yet 15 million non-liners use Ceefax. Auntie Beeb wants to cater for everyone and faces the daily challenge of how to keep her increasingly demanding audience engaged, from using video to complement rather than regurgitate its written counterpart, to localising news. Whew – no wonder she’s struggling for cash.
Web traffic monitoring
Unsurprisingly, the news interactive team monitors web traffic like a hawk. This awareness of what is relevant to the site’s visitors is vital in maintaining the BBC’s popularity. But could this morph the site into a fluffier version of its former glory?
I asked Clifton whether popularity statistics affect editorial decisions on newsworthiness. He answered yes but only to a certain extent – especially because there is room for deliberate manipulation by the audience. The concern for me is what happens if a journalist identifies an important issue which doesn’t attract many hits – does it get taken off the site? It’s unlikely but let’s hope the Beeb doesn’t forget what it stands for – accessible but serious news as well as the fun stuff – in its quest to please the world and his wife.
Friday 9 November 2007
Charles Reiss: Telling it like it is
Today I am feeling pleasantly refreshed. No, I haven't had a massage, a walk in the park or a stiff G&T (yet) – alas, I have been at uni. However I have been left inspired and contemplative, both of which are rather unusual experiences on Friday afternoons.
Charles Reiss, former political editor of the Evening Standard, opened his guest lecture by (somewhat jovially) taking us through some statistics detailing how, unsurprisingly, journalists are at the bottom of the pile in terms of public trust, scoring a measly 19%. Newspapers specifically fare even worse, with just 6% of people trusting what they read in them.
So how do we rectify the situation? What we really need, Reiss declared, is truth: truth breeds trust.
The suggested methods through which to achieve this?
1. An end to spin
But, Reiss pointed out, spin can be extremely beneficial to journalists – it gives them some great stories and can serve them and the public just as well as it does politicians. He added, “‘Truth not spin’ is a false antithesis. In fact I used to go to Alistair Campbell and say, ‘Spin me spin’.”
2. On-record briefings
Well these already happen, and if you’re working on a major article you’re hardly going to ask about it in a room full of other blood-thirsty hacks. In fact, Reiss expanded, off-the-record journalism is often the best kind, and leads you to the most ground-breaking stories.
3. Clear rules for the publication of public information
Don’t these already exist too, both through the law and through industry standards?
4. More resources for online and regional communications
Of course this is a nice idea but, dare I say it, fairly obvious and perhaps a little idealistic. Journalists need to make the best use of the resources they’ve got – if this means they can’t check whether a story is true or not, then they shouldn’t publish.
Unsurprisingly, despite being a member of the group that put forward these suggestions, Reiss readily conceded that none of these solutions would get even close to the heart of the problem. Furthermore, when asked if he believed these targets would ever be achieved and consequently produce an enhanced public trust in journalism, he answered “No no, it’ll never happen, it’s just an ideal.”
Reporters and politicians - can they be too close?
Reiss’s frankness was probably what endeared him to us, the eager yet cynical-beyond-our-years students. The second part of the lecture was devoted to an exploration of the relationship between reporters and politicians. He told us how, through years of building contacts, he managed to develop some extremely reliable sources who, without explicitly detailing new stories, had enabled him to break some major news pieces in his years at the Evening Standard.
But more interestingly, Reiss explained that it was exceptionally dangerous to get too cosy with your most trusted sources. “You must bite the hand that feeds you – have a row with your contact at least once every six months!” he urged, giving examples of various people he’d done the dirty on over the years but explaining that mature politicians not only understood but respected that this was a necessary part of a professional journalistic relationship.
In a bold move, Reiss went on to assert that most politicians are doing the best they can. ‘You what?’ we all thought; ‘But wasn’t he a political editor?! Don’t journalists have to hate politicians by definition?’ Well, no, actually. The precise point that Reiss was making is that, yes of course, politicians get it wrong sometimes, and that can make for a better news story. But the vast majority of them genuinely are in the job to try and do some good.
Don’t worry though – Reiss hasn’t gone soft on us. He was at pains to emphasise that he wasn’t suggesting journalists should become tame, or lose their sense of mischief and irreverence, or (when necessary) their scorn for politicians who are doing wrong. Thank God! While I’m a great fan of impartial and accurate journalism, I don’t think I’d fancy reading a newspaper that didn’t take a certain perverse pleasure in outing the unpopular MP having an affair or the government report with incorrect figures.
A trip down memory lane and into the future
So why did I find this lecture so refreshing? Well pretty much everyone else who has come in to speak to us has primarily focused on the internet, multimedia platforms and user generated content which, while obviously hugely important to my generation of journalists, is getting a teeeensy bit repetitive. Reiss is an old-school hack who came and told us witty tales of a fading world – one in which journos wear ill-fitting suits and smoke more than Pat Butcher, where politicians and reporters have an affectionately antagonistic relationship, where you get to the top by starting in some vaguely obscure position in the middle of nowhere and slowly work your way up through your local rag to the editor of a broadsheet.
The main theme of what we’re being taught on the Cardiff course is that this world no longer exists – we are on a vocationally-based diploma which requires us to be multi-skilled with a grounding in web, audiovisual, pictorial and written journalism. The idea is that once we’ve finished we’ll start out in a pretty good position and may even be editors in five years or so.
In a sense this sounds much more appealing and, dare I say it, easier than Reiss’s journey. But I can’t help but think he gained a better training in journalism through his slow ascent up the greasy pole of the media career, making contacts the hard way, experiencing cloak and dagger scenarios in secret meeting places and getting pretty world weary along the way.
Hell, however we obtain our training, let’s just hope the public maintain enough faith in journalism for us to have a job at the end of all this.
Solvent abuse: the unknown killer
Please note this article was written as a class exercise. All characters are fictitious, although the figures quoted and details of Re-Solv are genuine. The piece was written for a magazine aimed at women between 30-50 years of age.
Hear the phrase ‘drug overdose’ and images of junkies in squats, ravers in clubs or Leah Betts on her death bed probably spring to mind. But there is a much deadlier killer on the loose; one which is immediately accessible in your home and which is as likely to be fatal on the first try as the 100th.
Solvent abuse, the most common form of which is ‘huffing’ (ie substance-sniffing), was responsible for 45 UK deaths in 2005 and it can unexpectedly strike in any family. Re-Solv, a charity which aims to prevent solvent and volatile substance abuse (VSA), says, “The one thing that must be clear is that there is no stereotypical child who sniffs volatile substances.”
Children can be tempted to try huffing by any number of things – experimentation, peer pressure, medical or psychological factors, accessibility, boredom, or social activity to name but a few.
Sylvia Derrick, 53, is the mother of a boy who is currently withdrawing from a solvents dependency. Her son Karl, 18, is the absolute antithesis of the type of person you might expect to become involved in drugs. In an interview with (imaginary magazine) Sylvia says, “He was a very happy-go-lucky child. He was good academically, always laughing and fooling around.” But one day what started out as some fun in the playground changed all that.
Karl and his friends were at school when they got hold of some glue and tried sniffing it, “just for a lark.” For his pals, it began and ended that day, but Karl soon began inhaling butane gas, which was kept in the garage, on a regular basis. This substance can be found in aerosol propellants, and accounts for 80% of all VSA-related deaths.
Sylvia explains, “Karl got used to popping in and having a few quick sniffs before coming into the house.” This quickly became a dependency and Karl has now been hooked on solvents for two years.
Shortly after Karl first experienced VSA, his father suddenly died of a heart attack. Many children use solvent abuse as a means of escape and this could have been a contributory factor to his dependence.
The first Sylvia knew of her son’s problems was about two months ago, when a neighbour told her that she had seen him with his face in a paper bag in the back garden.
Although it might seem surprising that it took so long for Karl’s dependency to become apparent, Sylvia says that she simply did not know anything was wrong. She had noticed changes in her son’s behaviour, but put it down to typical teenage angst: “Like most mothers I looked back with nostalgia to the years when he was ‘my boy’; when he’d come home and give me a hug and be laughing all the time. But I just put it down to growing up.” Karl’s mood swings and butane-induced spotty chin seemed to be signs of adolescence more than anything else.
And this is the problem: solvents are not as well known as other, more publicised drugs such as ecstasy and marijuana. Sylvia herself had only vaguely heard about VSA and she didn’t take it very seriously – she thought it was a drug of the ‘60s. If people aren’t warned of the dangers of solvent dependency, then how can they spot the symptoms?
Amazingly, Karl’s headmaster had deliberately not informed pupils about the dangers of huffing – he felt it would do more harm than good and if anything would increase the frequency of VSA by alerting the children to its existence and accessibility.
But Sylvia strongly disagrees: “I think it’s very important that parents and children should be educated; they should know that this isn’t something that’s completely harmless because it’s a first time killer.”
Indeed, a 17-year-old boy named Martin Kane recently died from asphyxia, triggered by sniffing butane. This came as a massive shock to Sylvia, who says that when she heard about it, “It was like a little explosion happening in the house. I was completely shocked and shaken and distressed.”
As soon as her neighbour told her about what she had witnessed in Sylvia’s garden, she confronted Karl, and after some initial denial and a very tearful conversation, they agreed to tackle the problem together.
They got in touch with Re-Solv, who immediately assigned Karl a mentor of a similar age who had recently withdrawn from a solvent dependency. Sylvia herself found the group to be a huge help as she could meet and talk with other parents who were facing the same problems.
Because of his dependency, Karl dropped out of school after failing his GCSEs and has since worked in a factory. He is now in the difficult process of withdrawal, which usually takes around two months. Sylvia says, “It’s like going cold turkey. He feels sick and has stomach cramps, he’s irritable, he’s depressed. He’s quite tempted to give himself a high again but when he gets like that he rings his mentor.”
Karl has begun to look to the future and is thinking about returning to 6th form college to complete his A-levels. Eventually he hopes to go to university and become a structural engineer.
But he is one of the lucky ones – one third of VSA-related deaths occur on first use, so it is vital that we warn children of the huge risk they are taking when they experiment with huffing.
The Re-Solv website recommends that you should make sure that your children understand the dangers of solvent abuse without telling them exactly what they can use to try it.
If you are concerned that your child may be involved with VSA, Sylvia advises that tell-tale signs to look out for are dramatic changes in behaviour and spots on the lower half of the face. Check the house for empty gas canisters and be alert to household products running out quickly or going missing.
For more information, visit http://www.re-solv.org/ or call the Re-Solv helpline on 01785 810762.
Hear the phrase ‘drug overdose’ and images of junkies in squats, ravers in clubs or Leah Betts on her death bed probably spring to mind. But there is a much deadlier killer on the loose; one which is immediately accessible in your home and which is as likely to be fatal on the first try as the 100th.
Solvent abuse, the most common form of which is ‘huffing’ (ie substance-sniffing), was responsible for 45 UK deaths in 2005 and it can unexpectedly strike in any family. Re-Solv, a charity which aims to prevent solvent and volatile substance abuse (VSA), says, “The one thing that must be clear is that there is no stereotypical child who sniffs volatile substances.”
Children can be tempted to try huffing by any number of things – experimentation, peer pressure, medical or psychological factors, accessibility, boredom, or social activity to name but a few.
Sylvia Derrick, 53, is the mother of a boy who is currently withdrawing from a solvents dependency. Her son Karl, 18, is the absolute antithesis of the type of person you might expect to become involved in drugs. In an interview with (imaginary magazine) Sylvia says, “He was a very happy-go-lucky child. He was good academically, always laughing and fooling around.” But one day what started out as some fun in the playground changed all that.
Karl and his friends were at school when they got hold of some glue and tried sniffing it, “just for a lark.” For his pals, it began and ended that day, but Karl soon began inhaling butane gas, which was kept in the garage, on a regular basis. This substance can be found in aerosol propellants, and accounts for 80% of all VSA-related deaths.
Sylvia explains, “Karl got used to popping in and having a few quick sniffs before coming into the house.” This quickly became a dependency and Karl has now been hooked on solvents for two years.
Shortly after Karl first experienced VSA, his father suddenly died of a heart attack. Many children use solvent abuse as a means of escape and this could have been a contributory factor to his dependence.
The first Sylvia knew of her son’s problems was about two months ago, when a neighbour told her that she had seen him with his face in a paper bag in the back garden.
Although it might seem surprising that it took so long for Karl’s dependency to become apparent, Sylvia says that she simply did not know anything was wrong. She had noticed changes in her son’s behaviour, but put it down to typical teenage angst: “Like most mothers I looked back with nostalgia to the years when he was ‘my boy’; when he’d come home and give me a hug and be laughing all the time. But I just put it down to growing up.” Karl’s mood swings and butane-induced spotty chin seemed to be signs of adolescence more than anything else.
And this is the problem: solvents are not as well known as other, more publicised drugs such as ecstasy and marijuana. Sylvia herself had only vaguely heard about VSA and she didn’t take it very seriously – she thought it was a drug of the ‘60s. If people aren’t warned of the dangers of solvent dependency, then how can they spot the symptoms?
Amazingly, Karl’s headmaster had deliberately not informed pupils about the dangers of huffing – he felt it would do more harm than good and if anything would increase the frequency of VSA by alerting the children to its existence and accessibility.
But Sylvia strongly disagrees: “I think it’s very important that parents and children should be educated; they should know that this isn’t something that’s completely harmless because it’s a first time killer.”
Indeed, a 17-year-old boy named Martin Kane recently died from asphyxia, triggered by sniffing butane. This came as a massive shock to Sylvia, who says that when she heard about it, “It was like a little explosion happening in the house. I was completely shocked and shaken and distressed.”
As soon as her neighbour told her about what she had witnessed in Sylvia’s garden, she confronted Karl, and after some initial denial and a very tearful conversation, they agreed to tackle the problem together.
They got in touch with Re-Solv, who immediately assigned Karl a mentor of a similar age who had recently withdrawn from a solvent dependency. Sylvia herself found the group to be a huge help as she could meet and talk with other parents who were facing the same problems.
Because of his dependency, Karl dropped out of school after failing his GCSEs and has since worked in a factory. He is now in the difficult process of withdrawal, which usually takes around two months. Sylvia says, “It’s like going cold turkey. He feels sick and has stomach cramps, he’s irritable, he’s depressed. He’s quite tempted to give himself a high again but when he gets like that he rings his mentor.”
Karl has begun to look to the future and is thinking about returning to 6th form college to complete his A-levels. Eventually he hopes to go to university and become a structural engineer.
But he is one of the lucky ones – one third of VSA-related deaths occur on first use, so it is vital that we warn children of the huge risk they are taking when they experiment with huffing.
The Re-Solv website recommends that you should make sure that your children understand the dangers of solvent abuse without telling them exactly what they can use to try it.
If you are concerned that your child may be involved with VSA, Sylvia advises that tell-tale signs to look out for are dramatic changes in behaviour and spots on the lower half of the face. Check the house for empty gas canisters and be alert to household products running out quickly or going missing.
For more information, visit http://www.re-solv.org/ or call the Re-Solv helpline on 01785 810762.
Thursday 8 November 2007
Nokia Trends Lab day falls a little flat
Last week we were visited by Nokia Trends Lab.
When guest lecturers come in and talk to us, some students seem to derive a real thrill from asking aggressive questions in a vaguely superior manner – whether this is because they have a point to prove, a chip on their shoulder or they’re compensating for something rather closer to home, we onlookers can only imagine as we shuffle in our seats embarrassedly, staring at the dust bunnies on the floor.
However, Thurday’s presenters provoked a negative reaction in a much larger proportion of the audience and here, in a nutshell, is why:
However, this is not to say that the day was entirely unsuccessful. Once we were broken down into our groups and let loose with the phones it was pretty fun, although a fair amount of previous knowledge was assumed. And of course it’s fantastic that Nokia has donated these phones, which will undoubtedly prove extremely useful to many of us. It was simply a sad irony that a day dedicated to mobile phones being used for journalism was so lacking in good communication.
When guest lecturers come in and talk to us, some students seem to derive a real thrill from asking aggressive questions in a vaguely superior manner – whether this is because they have a point to prove, a chip on their shoulder or they’re compensating for something rather closer to home, we onlookers can only imagine as we shuffle in our seats embarrassedly, staring at the dust bunnies on the floor.
However, Thurday’s presenters provoked a negative reaction in a much larger proportion of the audience and here, in a nutshell, is why:
- We didn’t have a clue who the people wandering around the front of the room were – one chap said he wasn’t employed by Nokia but he was involved with some music festivals – in what capacity, we were unsure. None of the other members of the team elaborated on who they worked for or what their exact roles were. Call me old-fashioned, but it’s nice to know the background of the people talking to you – it enables you to engage more fully with where they’re coming from and what they’re saying.
- We hadn’t really been told why they were coming or what a trend lab is. However, we did know that they had given Cardiff University some free Nokia N95s. Was this workshop simply part of the deal – we’ll give you free phones if you let us come and spin some spiel at the students?
- At no point did they explain what the N95 could do that another phone couldn’t, particularly in relation to mobile journalism, which I had thought was the central point of the day. But under the afore-mentioned questioning technique they did concede that the memory wasn’t great and that it would cost a hell of a lot to use the phones in their intended broadcasting capacity.
- The whole presentation seemed pretty ad hoc – I guess this was the vibe they were going for but it lost a lot of us somewhere along the way. Admittedly this was partially due to the sound not working (is the Stanley Parrish lecture theatre cursed?) but their intentions for the outcomes of the day were about as clear as mud. One would assume they were seeing us in the capacity of customers who can choose what technology to work with for our mobile journalism, however they treated us more like Nokia employees, showing us corporate video clips (with a whole load of corporate bullshit thrown in – hoorah for resultant questioning!) and basically admitting that any work that we produced would be owned by them to do with what they wished.
However, this is not to say that the day was entirely unsuccessful. Once we were broken down into our groups and let loose with the phones it was pretty fun, although a fair amount of previous knowledge was assumed. And of course it’s fantastic that Nokia has donated these phones, which will undoubtedly prove extremely useful to many of us. It was simply a sad irony that a day dedicated to mobile phones being used for journalism was so lacking in good communication.
What does digital storytelling mean for journalism?
I won’t lie: when we were told Daniel Meadows would be lecturing on digital storytelling, I thought, ‘Great, another airy fairy concept that’s all fad and no flesh.’ Five minutes later I was welling up – in a lecture! – and feeling rather silly.
Until then I had lived in the land of the old school where a journalist’s primary resource is words, pictures merely forming the auxiliary component... How naïve I was.
Meadows began by showing a sequence of polyfotos of his parents – moments in time captured in an age when every photo was a miracle, when people didn’t quite know how to act around cameras (although whether we’ve moved on is questionable).
This led me to wonder whether the digital revolution is rendering photos less meaningful now that we can take hundreds of pictures in one sitting, view them immediately and handpick those in which we look less like Pete Burns and more like Eva Mendes.
But before I could delve deeper into my reverie, Meadows was introducing Exhibit B. Dana Atchely’s video footage planted seeds in the mind; his words were the water but the most extraordinary element of the film was that it was left to blossom in the viewer’s own imagination: what wasn’t said made it brilliant.
The journalistic repercussions of this are huge. Today’s audience want their stories right now, the less effort the better – no reading? Perfect. And if anyone can tell a story through photography, then what does the future hold for us writers?
Until then I had lived in the land of the old school where a journalist’s primary resource is words, pictures merely forming the auxiliary component... How naïve I was.
Meadows began by showing a sequence of polyfotos of his parents – moments in time captured in an age when every photo was a miracle, when people didn’t quite know how to act around cameras (although whether we’ve moved on is questionable).
This led me to wonder whether the digital revolution is rendering photos less meaningful now that we can take hundreds of pictures in one sitting, view them immediately and handpick those in which we look less like Pete Burns and more like Eva Mendes.
But before I could delve deeper into my reverie, Meadows was introducing Exhibit B. Dana Atchely’s video footage planted seeds in the mind; his words were the water but the most extraordinary element of the film was that it was left to blossom in the viewer’s own imagination: what wasn’t said made it brilliant.
The journalistic repercussions of this are huge. Today’s audience want their stories right now, the less effort the better – no reading? Perfect. And if anyone can tell a story through photography, then what does the future hold for us writers?
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