Tag Archives: WordPress

Now featured on The First Casualty: my mistakes

An example comparison of different versions of the same post.
An example comparison of different versions of the same post.

One of the oft-noted pitfalls of online journalism — whether conducted by online-only publications or by traditional print/media outfits that have migrated online — is the lack of transparency over changes made to posts and articles after they’ve already been published. Many, for example, have observed The New York Times change headlines and even article text after posting them online, even after people have read the original version.

It is, in fact, this problem of unmarked revisions that gave rise to the truly stellar site NewsDiffs.org, which explains: “For better or worse, readers can now view ‘the making of the sausage’ that historically was discreetly tucked away from view with dead-tree editions.” The site scrapes the articles appearing on home pages of news organizations (currently The New York Times, CNN, Politico, and BBC) and archives each iteration of the ones that change after publication, so visitors can see what was revised.

Well, a few years ago, a developer named Scott Carpenter, responding to a “manifesto” written by Scott Rosenberg in which he called for news organizations to build a Wikipedia-style public revision history, built just such a plugin for WordPress blogs.

Fast forward to yesterday. Blog post revisions have been an ongoing internal question for me: I try not to change a post after publishing it if at all possible, but obviously I have to break this rule for a variety of reasons from time to time. If it’s something small, such as a grammatical error or a typo, I change it as soon as I see it, without noting the correction. If it’s significant, I usually add the word CORRECTION or UPDATE to the bottom of the post, to note the change. Inevitably, there are gray areas.

But I have yet to come up with a red-line rule on when to note a correction and when not to. Nor have I settled on a hard-and-fast point at which a post becomes “non-updatable.” (Generally, once I’ve written a subsequent post, I don’t update previous ones. But even on that, I’m not sure I’ve followed this rule 100% of the time: I’ve been blogging for over three years and am closing in on 700 posts, so I haven’t kept close track.)

Enter Scott Carpenter’s handy plugin. (Thanks, Scott!) I just read about it for the first time yesterday, and I immediately realized it would work perfectly for my purposes. Now, on all posts going forward and on every one that’s already been posted since the beginning of the blog, every published revision is publicly viewable. To take a look, go to any single post’s perma-linked page (just click on the post headline from the home page), scroll to the bottom of the post, and you’ll see a list of all post revisions, complete with links. If you click on an older version of a post, it will load it — and you can even scroll to the bottom again to see a side-by-side comparison of what has changed since then.

If you notice any problems or bugs, please let me know!

Thanks.

Enhanced by Zemanta

We are now fully Facebooked

like

As you may have noticed, I’ve finally brought The First Casualty into the 21st century. By this I mean, of course, that I’ve finally gotten rid of the old WordPress Like button and replaced it with a Facebook Like button (see above, if you’ve been living under a rock for about a decade or so). You may have also noticed that my posts now use Facebook’s commenting system as well. (Posts with pre-existing comments under the WordPress system will retain those comments, but you’ll now be able to add Facebook comments to them as well. However, the little comment counter under the headline for each post now only counts comments written using the Facebook system.)

These changes make sense on a bunch of levels. But the main reason — and the most obvious one as well — is that everyone’s on Facebook. Thus, by integrating its functionality into my site, I’ll be able to reach a broader audience and have a larger conversation this way. The Facebook-style comments and the Like button will work exactly the same way on The First Casualty as they would on any other blog or site.

Hope you enjoy, and don’t forget to Like and comment whenever the urge hits! Which should be often, of course.

Read on and on: The Dish, before and after the meter

dishAs most of the world knows by now — and by that I refer mainly to people like the ones that populate my Twitter feed — Andrew Sullivan has cut himself loose. On Monday, February 4th, The Dish officially switched over from the Daily Beast to Sullivan’s own WordPress-hosted site.

The change comes with a few extra bells and whistles: no ads or clutter, automatic resizing on smartphones (although this has yet to work on my iPhone), infinite scrolling, and so on. Probably my favorite new feature is the search engine — or as Sullivan put it, “I have given a sharp dagger for anyone who wants to make me look foolish.” On the very first day his new site appeared, in fact, I inadvertently stumbled upon this gem from October 2002:

The last phony anti-war argument was that President Bush had yet to “make the case” for war against Iraq, as if grown-ups didn’t have the capacity to make their own minds up on the issue without constant guidance from the commander-in-chief. But that surely must now be in tatters as a point, since the president has made speech after speech in the last year clearly laying out the rationale for the war on terror, a rationale that has always included defanging Saddam.

Oops.

Anyway, the main transformation of The Dish is that it will now charge for its content. More precisely, after seven “Read On” clicks within a 30-day period, readers will be directed to a subscription page, where they’ll be able to sign up for a year of The Dish at the very manageable annual rate of $19.99.

As a medium-intensity Dish obsessive (on the spectrum, I’m somewhere between “regular reader” and “currently tattooing the Dish beagle to my forehead”) and aspiring journalist, I took great interest in Sullivan’s gamble, which basically amounted to throwing off the corporate chains — chains that were accompanied, of course, by a large financial backing — and going it alone. I began to wonder, as did many other readers, how the switch from a principally advertising-supported venture to one backed directly by the readers would affect the content and form of The Dish itself.

This being Andrew Sullivan, he was only too happy to share his readers’ concerns in the days leading up to the switchover. (In fact, Sullivan’s masochistic willingness, rare among bloggers, to frequently publish reader emails excoriating his commentary is one of the main reasons I was so happy to subscribe to the new reader-supported iteration of The Dish.)

After Sullivan published one reader’s blunt adieu to The Dish on January 3rd — “For better or worse I like my Internet free,” (s)he declared, and then, one hopes, enrolled in Microeconomics 101 — he reassured his audience: “A reminder to our reader and others that the vast majority of Dish content will remain free to non-members.”

Two weeks later, in response to more reader reactions, Sullivan again noted: “Even if all of my longer posts are metered, only a portion of my writing will go behind the read-on, thus allowing all readers to get the gist of the post, regardless of subscription.”

Perhaps most interestingly to me, however, was the cautionary point raised by another reader several days earlier:

Another reader worries that “there may be potential copyright issues if it was less than 50% original content/comments by the Dish team with a “charge” being issued by the Dish.” But another writes:

The read-on might actually work to the external sources’ advantage, in that non-payers will then have more reason to follow the link to the original if they’re interested.

The above-mentioned post, in fact, contained a variety of creative suggestions from readers as to how, exactly, Sullivan should handle the “Read On” issue. Now that all content beyond the “Read On” button (after the first seven monthly clicks, that is) requires payment, it would be interesting to see just what type of content Sullivan is placing behind the “paywall” (a term Sullivan himself dislikes but which more or less describes his new model).

Long story short: I’ve just now completed such a study. First, I analyzed every post on The Dish in the one-week period from January 1 to January 7, 2013, in which I categorized each entry by:

A) whether it included a “Read On” button

B) what type of content came before the “Read On” button (as in, the part that is visible without expanding the post): (1) primarily Sullivan and/or reader commentary, (2) primarily third-party content (e.g. excerpts from an article, column, or essay), or (3) a combination of both Sullivan/readers and third-party content (as when Sullivan excerpts articles and then critiques their points, rather than, for example, simply excerpting another article rebutting the first one)

C) what type of content came beyond the “Read On” button (using the same criteria), if there was one

I chose the first week of 2013 (somewhat arbitrarily) as my control group because it preceded the implementation of the meter model. I then performed the same analysis on all posts on The Dish in the week from February 4th (the first full day under the new meter model) to February 10th. (All times are in EST, by the way.)

A few caveats are in order. First, as Andrew Sullivan himself made clear, the opening week of his new site is not exactly a perfect representation of how the “Read On” button will be utilized in the future. On February 6th, in response to a reader who questioned the additional value granted by subscribing, Sullivan noted:

That’s because after two days, we’ve been going easy on the meter. We’ll adjust as we go along. We want to keep the majority of the site free, but the deeper analyses, reader threads, my own writing, and other features will slowly become less accessible to the non-subscriber. It’s a balance, and we’re trying to figure our way forward with it.

As you will see below, so far this formulation has meant a significant departure from Sullivan’s use of “Read On” prior to the advent of the meter. Back then, in my sample, over two-thirds of all “Read On” segments — that is, the portions of his posts that lay beyond the “Read On” button — consisted primarily of third-party content. Now, however, “deeper analyses, reader threads, [his] own writing, and other features” have gained an increasing share of the “Read On” pie. (Again, keep in mind that things are still in flux: it’s only been a week.)

A second caution applies to my criteria for categorizing the posts. Obviously, there is a small subjective element to the endeavor. However, this is probably much less significant than one might think: the vast majority of posts on The Dish — and this applies equally to the “Read On” and non-“Read On” sections of each post — quite clearly fall into one of the three categories specified above: content produced primarily by Andrew and/or his readers, content produced primarily by third parties, and content containing a mixture of both.

To use some of his more popular features as an example, both sections of a typical “View From Your Window” post (both the content before and beyond the “Read On” button, in other words) would obviously fall into the first category. A “Mental Health Break,” which rarely contains a “Read On” button, would usually fit into the second, since these posts generally consist of a video produced by someone else with no more than an accompanying line or two from Sullivan. And an “Yglesias Award Nominee” post, while possibly fitting into the second category, often instead went into the third — as Sullivan frequently added his own commentary to the quote itself (either in the pre- or post-“Read On” sections of the post). Anyway, in the interest of transparency, I have included a link to my full Excel spreadsheet analysis here.

Bottom line: Andrew Sullivan has almost perfectly inverted his “Read On” content from before to after the implementation of the meter. From January 1 to 7, he posted 231 times; of those, only 52 (22.5%) included “Read On” buttons. Of those 52 “Read On” sections, 35 consisted primarily of third-party content (67.3%), 12 mostly contained material produced by Andrew and his readers (23.1%), and the remaining 5 were a combination of Andrew/readers and third-party content (9.6%).

Screen Shot 2013-02-11 at 1.02.23 AM

From February 4 to 10, however, several things changed. The number of total posts was almost identical to the January period (227), but — as he promised — there were significantly fewer “Read On” posts in the first week of the new meter (27, or only 11.9% of the total). Of those 27, 19 contained content primarily contributed by Andrew and his readers (70.4%), 5 contained a combination (18.5%), and only 3 “Read On” sections during the entire week contained content mostly attributable to third parties (11.1%, or 1.3% of the entire population of posts this past week).

Screen Shot 2013-02-11 at 1.03.58 AM

Of course, only time will tell if this trend of more original material after the “Read On” button continues. It would certainly make sense, since this section is now being charged for after seven monthly clicks (which probably took the average Dish reader, what, five minutes to hit on February 4th?). I’d expect the percentage of posts that contain “Read On” buttons to rise pretty soon, because that’s one of the primary added-value propositions of subscribing. But I suppose how quickly this all happens will depend on a number of factors, including how many new subscribers Sullivan is scooping up on a regular basis now that more and more casual readers are starting to hit the meter.

In any case, I’m excited to see a blogger of Sullivan’s caliber jumping into such a bold experiment, and I wish him the best! I certainly don’t always agree with him, but even when he’s wrong, he’s never boring.

Then there were Path, Pinterest, and Highlight: do we have too many social networks?

First it was Facebook and Twitter. (Or not even “first,” since those products were actually preceded by Friendster, MySpace, et al.) Now it’s Foursquare, Tumblr, Flickr, Pinterest, Path, and Highlight. Social networks are proliferating, but the addition of each new app/network is diluting the quality of the whole social experience.

In some (but not all) ways, social networking is a natural monopoly. The best customer experience is only possible when a large number of people are using the same service. The more fractured the space becomes, the less likely any of your friends are to be using the specific network you prefer. And this makes the entire social experience less valuable — both for prospective social media users looking to get involved for the first time, as well as for existing users looking to expand their digital influence/footprint.

I just downloaded Path on my Android smartphone the other day and, while I must admit that I haven’t spent much time with it, it’s a little unclear to me why anyone should bother using this over, say, Facebook, which already does the same thing (and more) and has the additional value of being used by nearly everyone I know. There is some merit in using multiple online tools — Facebook, for example, has yet to establish a blogging service capable of wooing customers away from Tumblr, WordPress, Blogspot, and the like — but much of today’s social sphere is simply redundant. Foursquare, or Facebook check-ins, or Google Latitude? They all do basically the same thing to varying degrees of success, but the existence of all three of them means that, at any given moment, relatively few of my friends are using any specific one of them.

Of course, the counterargument is that the presence of this competition is the very driver of innovation in the field. This is undoubtably true, and perhaps more importantly, there is no good way (nor would it be a remotely good idea) to force everyone to use a specific service anyway. But it is starting to feel as if the hyperactivity in social media these days is reducing the quality for everyone. I suppose the best we can hope for is that the presence of all these startups will force the big names like Facebook and Google to incorporate more of the best ideas into their own products. That is hardly an ideal free-market scenario, but it may be the best option we have at the moment.

Return of the prodigal blogger

After a self-imposed month of absence in June and a carryover helping of apathy lasting halfway into July, today I return. (Like Harry Potter, only with less fanfare.) A voluntary writing ban can last for only so long before disintegrating in a cloud of rusty word-dust. I say rusty because I am. Over a month ago I began posting on my new Tumblr feed (as well as significantly stepping up my Twitter prolificacy), and — due to my utter lack of practice elsewhere — I’d never gotten so much enjoyment out of devising captions.

Notwithstanding my two-pronged double-T social networking pastimes (tweeting and tumbling happily along, I did), long-form writing beckoned, and so here I am. In the blogosphere (I hate that word), long-form can actually mean something approaching book-length, but here I only use it to distinguish these missives here from their more concise 140-character counterparts.

By the way, I just discovered that WordPress has added Google’s +1 button as a sharing option for posts now. This brings me to a somewhat related point, which is that my Houdini-like vanishing act from this blog in June precipitated quite a foray into social networking in general. Google+’s launch roughly coincided with my “blogstinence,” and Twitter helped fill that gaping void known as narcissism-deprivation as well. I also recently acquired a Spotify account and have slowly begun reentering the chaotic and mostly annoying world of Facebook. “Hello, world,” indeed.

I can tell this post is going nowhere, so now’s as good a time as any to wrap things up. But suffice it to say that you should expect to see more of me in the very near future, cobbling together spare consonants, vowels, and the occasional exclamation mark toward whatever ends I please — which theoretically could be absolutely anything, and in practice will consist almost entirely of jokes likening Mitch McConnell to a Thanksgiving turkey.

Oh, and one more thing. I’m moving to Paris next month for grad school. My girlfriend is moving to Alaska for a law clerkship just days before. This seems (and is) vaguely ridiculous, but we’re staying together, which isn’t at all. So I would remind you (and by you I refer, of course, to exactly no one) that, if you could forgive my unannounced sabbatical last month, I would kindly thank you to equally absolve me of any sub-par upcoming performances, which will no doubt include fits and starts and the occasional sputtering “I can’t speak the language and I’m going to fail all my classes.” The first part will be true (at least at the beginning), and hopefully not the second.

I have never read Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, although I’m about to, but yesterday a former French professor emailed me its opening line as a sort of benediction for the coming year: “If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man,” Hemingway writes, “then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”

And with that, I bid you good night.