Joel Schalit

Editorial Notes

From a conference paper I’ve been working on

The Crisis of Progressive Periodical Publishing

You’ve heard it all before. Print periodicals are in deep crisis. Whether they be newspapers, magazines or home-produced ‘zines, each year, the circulation for nearly all American print media continues to decline. With increasing self-righteousness, analysts predictably respond to this situation with an “I told you so” kind of smugness, proclaiming this change to be part of a larger, evolutionary process that publishers must either adapt to or die.

Thirteen years after the web first emerged as a viable publishing platform, no one questions this wisdom. In every sphere of the publishing industry, the question is not “when?” but “how?” Do we simply recreate our print editions online, or are we to innovate a wholly new form of periodical that commissions every kind of media for publication? If we do so, can we still call what we’re doing a magazine or a newspaper, or are we all now television stations like Justin.TV? No one quite knows yet.

Unfortunately, its uncertain as to whether there will ever be a comparable level of revenue generated online as there once was by print fulfillment and advertising charges. For example, the Internet’s flagship periodicals – Salon and Slate – despite increasingly successful ad policies, still struggle towards profitability, while only one newspaper – the Wall Street Journal – has generated a discernible profit offering online-only subscriptions.

Clearly, despite the immense number of schemes being toyed with to raise money, most are not working yet. So why do pundits continue to make such a convincing fuss about a medium that has yet to prove itself? Is it that we’re still in a ramp-up period prior to the emergence of a new set of mechanisms to accrue revenue? Or is all of the hope expressed by the move online a reflection of how publishing is losing its economic value, and that most periodicals are increasingly supported by patronage, not sales?

Lets assume the worst: that the push to move online is because it’s a cheaper and easier place to publish, which, under present circumstances requires less staff, less marketing, and thus less investment. Just a one time-set up fee for a technologist, a design team, the creation of a posting script, and enough capital to cover minor, ongoing design work and a small commission for authors. Like print, the test of the magazine’s success remains squarely on its content, and how it’s subsequently ranked and circulated.

My New Job(s)

Its been nine days since I left Tikkun. Unwinding has not been easy. As I imagined, there would be email and calls to answer, and loose ends to help the accountant and staff sew up. I’d wager that at least three days were devoted to helping the office out, which is actually less time than I anticipated would be the case. Having spent six weeks at the office after resigning on November 22nd, I dedicated myself to wrapping up as much as humanly possible. I’m sure that there will be more calls and emails in the future. But for now, until the magazine hires a new managing editor, its my assumption that my major post-Tikkun work is complete.

Every time I find myself growing impatient with my inability to get going on my next projects faster – a book, a record and two essays – I always look back at my “To Do” list for December to remind myself of why I’m so damn beat. (That does not include the fatigue accumulated from having worked six days a week for two and a half years.) Ranging from IT, distribution and general business tasks to editorial planning, writing, updating the website and employee training, the six week period during which I undertook my concluding work sums up everything that made my former job so draining. I’m really grateful for the experience, but I’m also extremely relieved to be moving on.

The best part about being home is how comfortable it is to write in. Ever since we moved into our new house in San Francisco’s Bernal Heights neighborhood two years ago, unfortunately, given my work schedule, I’ve had a devil of a time finding any real occasion to spend time here. Every weekday morning, when I’d get up to make coffee before work, I’d stare into my beautiful office, wondering whether I’d ever get a chance to enjoy the space and take advantage of what it ideally could afford me. Lined with books and vinyl LPs, and a large desk bearing my home studio set-up, sitting in my decrepit Berkeley office, I’d frequently find myself daydreaming about importing old records bought at foreign flea markets into my rapidly aging computer.

Now that I’m truly here, I can’t say enough good things about it. The sun shines through my window for the better part of the day, giving my room some of the best light of any spot in the house. Sitting in my father’s old office chair, typing away while my favorite BBC shows stream through my Mac and my two dogs chill on the floor beside me, I can’t quite recall a time that I felt so at home. Really, anywhere. Though this definitely will not last forever -  essentially five months from today – it feels like I won the lottery. And I don’t feel the least bit guilty about this opportunity either.

As much as this all might seem like its about finally doing what one really wants to do, that’s not quite it. It’s about having a decent quality of life, and the time to take care of the kinds of things that we ignore, delay, or put off when we work sixty hours a week. Like spending time with one’s family, paying bills promptly, returning phone calls from friends (the same day, as opposed to two weeks later), and doing laundry.  And, most importantly, cooking dinner for my wife.  Seeing the smile on Jennifer’s face as she sat down to a freshly-grilled flank steak last night summed up exactly why this was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. All I can say in response is “Sweetie, there’s a lot more meat where that came from.”