Writers
keep score all the time. Political reporters track the polls. Sports
writers count home runs. Business journalists seize upon each twitch of a
stock price. When it comes to journalists' willingness to be evaluated
themselves, however, we're in the midst of a weird, anxious -- and
ultimately foolish -- struggle to hide from the metrics.
For many decades, newspapers and magazines operated in a metrics-free bubble. Writers and editors pursued the stories they deemed important. No one had much idea whether individual story choices affected circulation -- and within many news organizations, no one cared. If writers and editors regarded their own work as first-rate, that was sufficient.
Everything is different now. With most readership having moved to the web, data on individual stories' readership rates is ubiquitous. A growing number of news organizations are tying writers' pay to their ability to attract readers, as The New York Times's David Carr recently observed. Meanwhile, news sites are constantly experimenting with different ways to factor in page views, unique visitors, social shares, length of engagement and so on.
The perfect metrics haven't yet been created, as Tony Hale points out in this piece. What is clear is that while metrics may help popular writers earn more, those with meager audiences will certainly earn less.
For traditionalists, it's all too awful. Carr's article bristles with warnings that journalism might degenerate into a profusion of kitten pictures and formulaic list-driven articles, in shabby attempts to boost readership. Some news organizations go so far as to shield their writers from seeing their own story metrics, on the belief that full disclosure should be preached, not practiced.
But guess what. Journalists' older siblings -- book authors -- have been living with highly visible metrics for decades, in the form of bestseller lists and royalty statements. The desire to win an audience hasn't debased the quality of books being published. The rise of rigorous but readable historians such as Margaret MacMillan, Doris Kearns Goodwin and David McCullough has been a boon for us all. If the headline-making success of their books inspires other historians to adopt a similar style, we're all better off.
What's more, metrics tend to get better. We've seen this in health care, where simple but flawed measures of surgeons' performance (mortality rates) have been improved with risk adjustments to reflect some surgeons' tougher case loads. Sales-team metrics are still a work in progress, but we've come a long way from the single-number quotas of past generations, which created skewed incentives to stuff the channel or to offer crazy discounts. Even in baseball, flawed measures such as batting averages now take a back seat to more sophisticated measures such as OPS or the all-purpose WAR.
In my own experience, timely metrics help me be a more effective writer in at least three ways. I'll save my occasional grumbles for the comments section below.
The first is the ability to identify, quickly and painlessly, what isn't working. Most of my online writing these days is at Forbes, Quora and LinkedIn, and at all three sites, the gap between the most- and least-widely read articles is at least 50 to 1. By looking at the laggard performers of the past six months or so, I can identify classes of articles that evoke nothing but yawns. Figuring out how to be incredibly productive may be hard; but creating more free time by getting rid of low-value clutter is an easy first step.
Second, well-built metrics reinforce good habits. Forbes likes writers who bring concentrated expertise, attracting a regular cadre of loyal readers, rather than a lot of random, one-time traffic. The pay system reflects this, with strong bonuses for writers who attract many repeat visitors in the course of a month. The result: when I write a cover story like this recent explanation of how Silicon Valley's best venture capitalists ply their trade, there's abundant incentive to follow up with a series of smaller pieces that show Sequoia's system in action.
Finally, sophisticated metrics help me pinpoint fruitful areas for further writing. When writing for LinkedIn/Influencers, I'm most likely to focus on which posts attract a high percentage of likes and shares. If those measures fall below 1%, I've probably overstayed my welcome on a topic, regardless of how robust page views might seem. If those measures surge to 3.5% likes and 15% shares, as they did on this post, Think Like an Immigrant, then I've identified a topic worth revisiting.
Bottom line: If politicians can live with the polls, and CEOs can accept the importance of their company's stock price, then writers shouldn't hesitate to press ahead in a world where readership metrics do make a difference.
For many decades, newspapers and magazines operated in a metrics-free bubble. Writers and editors pursued the stories they deemed important. No one had much idea whether individual story choices affected circulation -- and within many news organizations, no one cared. If writers and editors regarded their own work as first-rate, that was sufficient.
Everything is different now. With most readership having moved to the web, data on individual stories' readership rates is ubiquitous. A growing number of news organizations are tying writers' pay to their ability to attract readers, as The New York Times's David Carr recently observed. Meanwhile, news sites are constantly experimenting with different ways to factor in page views, unique visitors, social shares, length of engagement and so on.
The perfect metrics haven't yet been created, as Tony Hale points out in this piece. What is clear is that while metrics may help popular writers earn more, those with meager audiences will certainly earn less.
For traditionalists, it's all too awful. Carr's article bristles with warnings that journalism might degenerate into a profusion of kitten pictures and formulaic list-driven articles, in shabby attempts to boost readership. Some news organizations go so far as to shield their writers from seeing their own story metrics, on the belief that full disclosure should be preached, not practiced.
But guess what. Journalists' older siblings -- book authors -- have been living with highly visible metrics for decades, in the form of bestseller lists and royalty statements. The desire to win an audience hasn't debased the quality of books being published. The rise of rigorous but readable historians such as Margaret MacMillan, Doris Kearns Goodwin and David McCullough has been a boon for us all. If the headline-making success of their books inspires other historians to adopt a similar style, we're all better off.
What's more, metrics tend to get better. We've seen this in health care, where simple but flawed measures of surgeons' performance (mortality rates) have been improved with risk adjustments to reflect some surgeons' tougher case loads. Sales-team metrics are still a work in progress, but we've come a long way from the single-number quotas of past generations, which created skewed incentives to stuff the channel or to offer crazy discounts. Even in baseball, flawed measures such as batting averages now take a back seat to more sophisticated measures such as OPS or the all-purpose WAR.
In my own experience, timely metrics help me be a more effective writer in at least three ways. I'll save my occasional grumbles for the comments section below.
The first is the ability to identify, quickly and painlessly, what isn't working. Most of my online writing these days is at Forbes, Quora and LinkedIn, and at all three sites, the gap between the most- and least-widely read articles is at least 50 to 1. By looking at the laggard performers of the past six months or so, I can identify classes of articles that evoke nothing but yawns. Figuring out how to be incredibly productive may be hard; but creating more free time by getting rid of low-value clutter is an easy first step.
Second, well-built metrics reinforce good habits. Forbes likes writers who bring concentrated expertise, attracting a regular cadre of loyal readers, rather than a lot of random, one-time traffic. The pay system reflects this, with strong bonuses for writers who attract many repeat visitors in the course of a month. The result: when I write a cover story like this recent explanation of how Silicon Valley's best venture capitalists ply their trade, there's abundant incentive to follow up with a series of smaller pieces that show Sequoia's system in action.
Finally, sophisticated metrics help me pinpoint fruitful areas for further writing. When writing for LinkedIn/Influencers, I'm most likely to focus on which posts attract a high percentage of likes and shares. If those measures fall below 1%, I've probably overstayed my welcome on a topic, regardless of how robust page views might seem. If those measures surge to 3.5% likes and 15% shares, as they did on this post, Think Like an Immigrant, then I've identified a topic worth revisiting.
Bottom line: If politicians can live with the polls, and CEOs can accept the importance of their company's stock price, then writers shouldn't hesitate to press ahead in a world where readership metrics do make a difference.
