Publicato: A Review, A Reverie, A Reminiscence, Pt.1

Three years and three months ago I started Publicato with dreams of click-jacking, SEO optimization, and AdSense pennies rolling in. I was unemployed, on my own, pretty cognizant of a dim future; my friends were either safely employed, studying, or hustling. I had some crazy and vague ideas about becoming a true internet personality, maybe doing some cross-promotion via Twitter, and getting into the thousands (re: readership) pretty quickly. Guest blogging my way up to a guest feature with a big name, like Vice or Cracked (which was still pretty legit in those days), or something even better (like a magazine website or maybe even print)... incredibly naive stuff, but I had my ambitions and what better way to pursue them than with Google Blogger?

Well, quite obviously, I should've made a hi-concept WordPress or Tumblr setup and done some mind-bending po-mo conceptualist shit. I knew about WordPress, but being a vaporwave blogger versus real Google monies was just too much. I had to make rent, I needed some better shirts and pants, maybe a third tie, something quantifiably adult that only true income or a career can provide. The internet was a different place in 2010 - there was less anxiety about content farming (which peaked and declined), it was less introspective, the 'blogosphere' was less of a joke term. Twitter was still kind of uncertain and it was easy enough to get by calling it a lifestyle service for people with goldfish brains and smartphones.

Times certainly have changed, but enough of that good memory stuff. This article is about Publicato... now you know what I wanted it to be (a $10-100/mo income supplement with good as hell jokes, sharp satire, reviewish articles and a ladder to proper freelance writing) and what it became (pro-bono, introspective, distracted, weary, strident, kind of phoned-in at times [sorry]) but what never changed was the mission, which was detailed in the first ever blog post I made (Canned Soup) on September 20, 2010:

"... if you let me I will create spectacular vistas of invented and existing things ... maybe not, and I will just be a bitter, judgmental internet spectator..."

Very prescient and wise, I'd say. It was the unstable first step, when I didn't know what to do, really, but wanted a bit of everything. Lots of blogs specialize or self-promote (often both in some ratio) and I didn't really have anything worth specializing in. What followed were mostly unremarkable posts, as I sought a voice and some kind of sense of purpose beyond getting a good number of readers and then monetizing the hell out of the blog. Name was chosen, quite obviously, as a piss take of Politico... the brand motto (slogan?) was derived from a line of Juvenalian satire. Satire was and remains quite important to this blog, but the aggregation of the odd sincere article and natural disinclination (not going to compete with the Onion), corroded any sense of purity of purpose. For reference: canned soup is still incredibly bland to me and I haven't found any good brands or varieties, nor does seasoning really solve the problem.

In the first three months I got a grand total of 31 hits, putting my dreams of monetization in jeopardy and essentially sending me directly into a dark place from which I have never emerged, all the while unemployed and pissing money into rent and other things. Reflecting on times gone by, I have to say the original content is actually quite decent. I would encourage any interested reader (assuming I have an actual readership and not just spider/bot/crawler traffic) to check out the older stuff all the way to 2010. 'Midst the hack writing there are a few gems, and the germs of some later fixations. If you're lazy or disinterested, don't despair! I will, before the year 2014, go through myself and post a list and review format blog post about the cream of the crop.

My blogging fortune changed dramatically in December 2010, when my recap of a Conan O'Brien (newly on TBS then) episode drew an unprecedented 200+ visitors, and even the attention of the audience member at the core of that episode. I was extremely excited by how that turned out, and did a sequel post about my stupid excitation, and replied to the comments like an idiot, and possibly established a readership that may or may not still exist. After that post I could expect more hits in a month than the first three months combined, and December 2010's stats eclipsed the next four months combined. Anecdotally, it would take almost a full year before I would get another non-spam comment.

You bet the grand visions returned to me then, and promptly fell away as reality intervened. A number of hardscrabble months followed, in which I realized that 70-100 views a month were fantastic compared to my old numbers but hardly encouraging. I wondered what I was doing wrong (probably everything) and how I could fix it (hoping to have to do nothing). I think I redesigned some font colors, the background, and the spacing in the header title... then kept on plugging away. I hoped that hard work could be substituted for buzz, but if anything this blog stands for the fact that you can do amazing work (hahah – just go with it) and get a minimal amount of interest. That brings me roughly to the end of 2010... please note that I am planning a 'best of Publicato' review (I am told it WILL unearth some gems), as well as at least one more part of reminiscence/retrospective.

Wikipedia Style Guide

If there was a style guide for Wikipedia (I didn't check) it would above all recommend 'the clinical tone of impartial record/sterile chronicle', which is an understandable and even commendable tone for a project that aims to encompass and provide the sum of human knowledge via the internet. However there are moments in which one can discern a personality beyond the dry Wikipedia tone ^{[citation needed]}. Sometimes it's a vandal or prankster, and those always lead to the greatest moments of Wikipedia, or the lowest, really. Most of the time it's just the earnest work of the tireless Wikipedian.

I wrote this because I don't believe there is a style guide for Wikipedia at all. There should be a set of loose recommendations and perhaps an editor. I can't blame a non-profit organization for not hiring a full time editor and I can't imagine anyone would particularly want the job (except hungry washed-out writers and editorial staff currently retraining out of Journalism into promising careers like banking, plumbing, or manual labor). Still, it would help a bit. I'm sure that individuals with a highly developed sense of grammar or the English language at large could find spelling and grammar errors at a ratio of .79 : 1 per Wikipedia page.

I know there's not a style guide because articles vary so wildly. Many are written in a serviceable and innocuous style. In the best articles there is no digression and very little error. In the worst, well, you find some surprising laziness. I don't know who exactly the wikipedia editors are – and I'm sure many of them are very well-intentioned,  knowledgeable, and capable people – but I get the sense they all have a musty internet smell about them ^{[citation needed]}. If they are the standard model for the librarians of the future, we may be doomed, for they will push the business of information right into the private market and/or entertainment industry. Maybe that prediction is a bit pessimistic, but we have no way of knowing whether it was something I wrote with an ironic smirk or caustic dismissal.

Unemployed university graduates, well-intentioned but 'eccentric' private citizens, and pedants make up probably 60% of Wikipedia editors, according to my highly amusing mental image of the average Wikipeditor. The other 40% is probably a remarkable melange of humanity, but I like to focus on the imaginary majority. They are all selflessly promoting the encapsulation and easy retrieval of verified, unbiased, correct information. It's a goal so lofty and impressive it makes me tender-hearted. I wish to offer my sincere thanks for the service, which has absorbed many of my spare hours and to which many more will doubtless be sacrificed, as long as the quality and tone do not spiral out of control.

Am I ridiculous? Allow me to demonstrate my point about Style and Usage, and a further point about the Illiteracy of the Internet Person. I will visit a prominent page of high stature (RoboCop, the 1985 Paul Verhoven movie) and traffic and look around innocently enough for some awkward constructions, grammar violations, and whatever else I deem fucked enough for notice.

Ah. These are the excerpts that inspired me. A pair of beauties. Shall I? I don't particularly want to, you understand: I get no pleasure from this, it's just part of the thing I'm writing a blog post about and nothing personal. I don't know if the RoboCop article gets the Wikipedia Writing A-Team, and if it doesn't, as stated above ^[where?] I understand that it's not professional copy or anything jesus christ leave an old man alone!

Anyways, 'having come off doing the special effects' as a construction is bad even for the 'first year University student's first hungover all-nighter' level. It's a special blend of missing prepositions and hazy colloquialism. I think it stinks, quite honestly. Shit. If this was written by a person with a post-secondary degree, any degree at all, they can fuck off and get schooled about how to write or leave their helpful insights out of the mix ^{[citation needed]}. Even done right ('Having come off of doing the special effects') the phrase is an inefficient abortion. The green line serves to indicate the thrust of the sentence, which asserts (via the erratic grammar of an illiterate) that the studio deciding about Bottin was itself coming off of doing the special effects for John Carpenter's The Thing. Where Bottin is even involved is impossible to discern, unless of course you're not a grammar machine and understand context. However, the lazy error stands, and goddamn it.

As for the inclusion of the second excerpt, I believe you know why I included the second excerpt. Redundancy is wasteful even at the level of the miniscule amount of bytes it takes to write a redundant element into a sentence. It also makes reading anything suck more than it has to, and in that way encourages illiteracy. Unacceptable. I'm not offended or outraged, I'm just having a bit of a laugh ^{[oh yeah?]} because 1) I want to have fun, and 2) I think that impeccable content is impossible in Wikipedia, which means the amount of awkward sentences and poorly disguised opinion (which I didn't even get into at all, but might at a later date) is potentially limitless! It's kind of fun, to me at least, and could be funny to others as well! Yeah, jokin' about Wikipedia. Good stuff.

The Fate of the Book

So much very subtle and quiet hype about the end of the bound stack of paper sheets known as 'the book'. There have been many books over the years, and I think everyone can agree that they were not always perfect, nor ever had an overwhelming reputation for improving the world. But there's a certain something to books and even if they are dying, take heart: our generation will be able to come by books cheaply for the duration of our existence, unless they begin burning bales of books.

If the global stock of books is significantly destroyed in the next twenty years, or publishing is severely repressed by economic or colluded forces, then at the very least books will have predicted that. Basic reading and communication skills will not likely be replaced, so language will continue, and the flow of ideas will merely take on another, potentially better form. Or our eyes will atrophy from an unmitigated hegemony of digital screens, flashing lights, and confused information.

Maybe there will be a tidal-wave of information in the future which will overwhelm us. Maybe it will get the better of us. We could be changed forever.

Or the book could go on well into the future, as some type of elitist symbol that nobody understands. Probably this view of the book's future is already some cliche that has been analyzed and exploited in hundreds of books. Maybe the book will suffer a renaissance in a few years, or maybe all the news sensationalism and existential dawdling will come to naught, and the book will be as ubiquitous and burdensome as ever – perhaps forever.

In the end, if it goes, the memory of the book will either be exterminated, merely forgotten, or enshrined by some freakish bibliophilia committee as the centerpoint of some futurist, knowledge-based cargo cult. And however it goes, the book will remain as at least a symbol.

But in the meantime there is all kinds of mawkishness about books and print media in general. It seems that the publication industry gets more fatalistic while the technology industry fills with empty hype. There is no real confrontation between the two industries. Largely, the recent history of the matter is that the print industry has had to accept and learn to work with tech, gadget, and electronics industries. It's not really the same as the music industry and the internet, though there are similarities.

So these publishers and maybe even some bibliophiles are very worried and the internet is very unconcerned. That's basically the gist of the story. In my mind television, the postal service, and radio are the real danger zones, and they're still around more than ten years after the internet. Writing killed or perverted most oral tradition anyway, so whatever happens at this point is fair and not unprecedented.

The Unpublished Writer

There's really no worse type of writer. There are hack writers, there are pretentious litterateurs, there are boring scholarly writers, there are award winners, there are profound writers, there are dead writers, there are exciting but empty pulp writers, and there are amateur writers who fund 200 copy runs out of pocket and sell most of them to friends and family and get interviewed in small town newspapers. All of those writers are doing what they love and are not worried about tomorrow: they produce, sometimes they get published, often they are the victims of overrating and hype. For the most part they are just adding to the colossal pile of wasted paper that represents literature in situ.

Then there are unpublished writers. Like cockroaches, they are headless survivors, unable to feed on their aspirations, often orphaned from inspiration, hiding in the shadows and mostly consuming (when they can, headless and all) and producing filth. It's impossible to really understand how many unpublished writers there are, or what drives them. Beyond merest subsistence, this type of writer has few goals that are concrete. A poem-a-day work quota, three hours of prose/day, or half a screenplay each night are not unbeknownst to the unpublished writer, but they are better acquainted with day-jobs and drinking binges and hopelessness. When they set down to work on half-forgotten characters and plots, these poor souls get caught in a vicious cycle of re-reading and compulsive editing. They are procrastinators, and in fact their relation to cockroaches is facile and untrue.

The cockroaches, at least, get published and exist in the tedious middle-ground of writerly success: readings, signings, 10-15k a year plus some royalties if they're lucky,  and maybe some articles and exposure pieces to round out the old portfolio. They could go into television or radio writing. They could go into various types of copy writing. Marketing and advertising are the prime escape vectors, but times are hard. Sometimes they're shortlisted for a prize and their cachet goes up for a while and they entertain visions of success.

Compare this to the spider that is the unpublished writer: day job madness, late nights, drugs, hair-pulling typing escapades with open source word processors. They see themselves as hopeless moonlighters. Somewhere in an immense tangled web of wasted promise, these writers slowly produce tortured works that are blurred with self-revelation and inconsistent style. Then silence for weeks or even years. Inspiration comes brightly and passes quickly and leaves no marks. No, the unpublished writer is wretched, and each year passes without a printed work or anything noteworthy for the portfolio. Queries are shot down in flames, credentials are nonexistent and mocked, routes to success are suggested, and the book is closed.

And another year passes, and with it any hope of true and honest publication. All they ask for – these withered shells, who write from their soul, who wouldn't use a vanity publisher if they were paid to, whose every word is wearied and grim – is a spot at the corpse-crowded table where the hacks drink greedily and pontificate about saleability and audience, where the old guard hoard awards, where the bright new prodigies bullshit openly, and where the eyes of the reading public are focused like the glimmering eyes of wolves in the dark... yes, the reading public, waiting for their three or four inspired works per decade, habitual readers who yearn for something new – something, perhaps, that has been overlooked, a supposedly worthless bauble in the cold, dying grasp of the unpublished writer.