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| "Curious George? Really? What are you, like, four years old or something?" |
If the emails are any indication, I may have offended some of the more sensitive among you with the last post. Here's a more family-friendly post from DoyleMcDonald.com that should help unruffle your feathers.
When I was 12, my father took the
four of us kids to a book store near the University of Michigan, presumably so
he could check that box on his “Things I must do with the kids so I can tell
people I did it” list.
Michael, 13, who would someday
become a doctor, chose Grey’s Anatomy. Mary Beth, almost 11—who devoured
books like the “Planet Killer” on Star
Trek devoured planets (season 2, episode 6)—found and hugged a copy
of Gone with the Wind. Marnie, picked Stuart Little. She had no
intention of reading it, but even at eight she knew that by spiffing up Dad’s
I-bought-all-my-kids-books story she would take the lead in the perpetual race
for his affection.
But I didn’t want a book.
“You're getting a book.”
“I don’t want a book. Honest.”
“John, we’re not leaving this store
until ... you … select … a book.”
Today, a kid who disliked reading as
much as I did would be screened for dyslexia and ADD. But back then the
diagnosis was simply “he’s not a reader.” I could read people, though,
and I knew this book drive was less about my story-reading and more
about Dad’s story-telling. He couldn’t check that box if I
didn’t buy a book.
Out of frustration (and a
little spite), I chose The Big Book of Jokes and Riddles “recommended
for kids from six to 99!” Hell, I fit the bill. And the book was made for me—it
had lots of pictures, acres of white space, and short entries. The longest joke
didn’t top 400 characters.
“That's really the book you want?”
“Yep.”
Three seconds of his withering death
stare and then … checkmate. I win.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but
I was a pioneer in the short-attention-span movement that would sweep the globe
by the time my own kids were old enough to play me as well as I played my dad.
That movement declared victory this
week when Yahoo! paid a teenager $30 million for an app called Summly which shrinks news
articles down to 400-character summaries, turning everyone’s phone into The
Big E-Book of News and Commentary.
In his press statement
announcing the deal (which, I feel compelled to point out, ran far longer than
400 characters), 17-year-old inventor Nick D'Aloisio said,
“Our vision is to simplify how we get information.”
Simplify? Really? Have you ever
thumbed through yards of Dewey Decimal drawers in search of the alpha-numeric
code that would lead you to a distant bookshelf where the book you were looking
for used to be hidden before it was checked out by someone else? Ever
spent an evening squinting at news articles on microfiche desperate to finish
your homework before the library closed? Ever try to write a term paper using
the Encyclopedia Britannica as your Internet?
I didn’t think so.
The only way it could get easier to
get information today is if it were injected straight into our brain ports Matrix style.
As a storyteller, flack, or "seasoned PR expert," it's important for
you to understand how your audience consumes information. And these days, it's
in tiny, flashy, bites. Folks aren't ordering Chateaubriand with Sauce Bernaise
anymore. They want Pop Rocks and a large Coke--to go.
So give it to them. Spend some time
crafting a compelling lede to hook them. Then
edit your copy until it squeaks to keep them on the line. Then edit it again.
And once you've made your point, stop writing.
