Traitor to the cause

I am unabashedly an NPR junkie.

It’s disappointing that the public radio station in Gainesville spends most of its airtime playing classical music, but fortunately, I can still listen to the programs I’m missing.

I subscribe and listen to 10 NPR podcasts, my favorite of which is “This American Life.” What can I say, I need my weekly Ira Glass fix. I love podcasts — they’re like Tivo for radio.

I also subscribe to the “Talk of the Nation” podcast. I like most of their segments: Ask Amy, Political Junkie (the Dean Scream intro = fantastic) and the general news interviews.

But I’m not into Science Friday.

I’ve tried. Really, I have. As a wannabe science journalist and NPR lover, I feel awful that I can’t like it.

I have my reasons. Take this week’s episode. In the “Advances in gene therapy treatment for blindness” segment, the woman being interviewed repeatedly used the word “vector.” Plus, you get the really nerdy listeners calling in. These people are nerdy even for the pool of NPR listeners.

Part of the problem is the live radio-interview format. There’s no time to edit, and when you’re interviewing scientists it’s usually dense. I know that from experience.

But even though I know the radio medium makes it difficult, that doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to Science Friday every week.

Sorry, Science Friday; it’s not me. It’s you.

"Bats perish …

and no one knows why.”

If that doesn’t make you want to read the story, I don’t know what will.

People love weird news, and I am no exception.

But even ignoring the weirdness, it’s a good story. Lots of people quoted and suspense — why are the bats dying? There’s even narrative, as well as lots of bat pictures.

From the headline to the photo, this story makes me want to read to the end.

Excuses?

I like to think I know good journalism when I see it.

But, of course, good science writing is easier said than done.

I was reminded of that Monday when I reported on a health care forum for the Alligator, the student paper I work for.

Granted, I had only 10 inches to work with. And the material was dense. And I was on a tight deadline.

It’s my story, so I’ll remain objective and not discuss any opinions I might have on the event. But here are the facts: three expert speakers, about two hours, an attentive audience and a relevant topic (health care).

I was finding it hard to make the piece as informative and important to the readers as it was to the audience at the forum.

See excuses above.

Hopefully, I succeeded in making people care about an event that’s already happened and in communicating the speakers’ thoughts. While this is more of a business than a science story, the elements are many of the same ones that can make or break a science story.

It’s always easier to edit other people’s writing than it is to look critically at your own. And it’s easy for me to find what’s wrong in science stories, but a lot harder for me to correct when I find it in my own writing. Which is why editors exist.

It’s hard sometimes to bite the bullet and keep trying to make things relevant rather than just making excuses and settling with what is easy to write. It’s hard to get good enough at it that you can churn out a piece that you’re really happy with on deadline.

But I don’t want to be a journalist who makes excuses.

The Inverted Pyramid, continued

I know, I know, no one wants to hear more about the inverted pyramid.

Too bad.

But really, this is more of a clarification on my previous post. I had pointed out to me yesterday that dense subject material makes for dense writing, not so much the inverted pyramid.

OK, point taken. But my point wasn’t so much that the inverted pyramid is useless — I was simply questioning whether the inverted pyramid was the best way to organize science stories.

You can obviously have badly written short inverted pyramid stories, just as you can have badly written long inverted pyramid stories. Bad writing will persist no matter what the format.

But I think the inverted pyramid makes it easier for writers to write boring stories. There, I said it. That said, what are the alternatives?

Hilary’s alternatives to the inverted pyramid for science stories:

- Subheads

-Transitioning between personal stories and technical elements

This approach works especially well with health stories. Talk about the drug’s effects, talk to someone who’s been affected by the drug.

With any story, you’re fighting an uphill battle for the reader’s attention. With science stories, the hill is even steeper, since many readers have preconceived notions of science as boring.

The Inverted Pyramid: a dinosaur of journalism.

Ah, the inverted pyramid.

If you’ve taken the most remedial journalism classes or worked for any paper, you’ve had it pounded into your head. The inverted pyramid is a method of organizing writing that supposedly originated with the telegraph — important information at the top, less important information near the bottom so it could be cut more easily.

If you’ve ever been reading a news story and wondered why we don’t save the best for last, that’s the deal. With the inverted pyramid, journalists are supposed to have answered the 5 W’s and the H (who, what, when, where, why and how) within the first five paragraphs, generally.

But with the introduction of “new journalism,” the inverted pyramid has fallen out of style. Literary journalists rarely use the inverted pyramid, opting for other techniques that create suspense and drama.

One of my professors described the inverted pyramid as “a dinosaur of journalism whose time has, for the most part, passed.” But the inverted pyramid is still the modus operandi for breaking news and hard news stories at most papers.

So, does the inverted pyramid style work for science journalism?

For an example, take this article (Healthday via Washington Post) on tracking stem cells in the brain. It’s not that it’s bad — it’s well-written and understandable, for the most part — and it’s completely newsworthy.

But here was my clue that the inverted pyramid wasn’t working so well:

“Finally, multiple sclerosis patients may also benefit from MRS-guided research into neural stem cells.”

This article isn’t that long. There were only three elements being discussed in that section: antidepressants, early brain development and multiple-sclerosis research. But somehow, the word “finally” was needed to transition into that paragraph. To me, the use of “finally” says that the writer is getting tired of the subject. And if the writer’s getting tired of it, why should I keep reading?

The quotes toward the bottom get weaker, too, with more jargon. The word “neurogenesis” appears in the last quote for the first time in the article with little introduction or explanation.

Near the bottom of this article, I had to keep looking up to the beginning to remind myself what the story was actually about from the “important” information. And I actually enjoy science. I’m betting that many readers didn’t get past the first few paragraphs of that story.

I think the inverted pyramid can have a place with short science stories. It is, as I’m reminded daily, a useful way to organize your thoughts. But with longer stories, you run the risk of all the information that gets categorized as “boring” being grouped together near the bottom. And that doesn’t do much for readers’ understanding or interest.

For an example of a good inverted pyramid research story (and research stories, in my opinion, are the hardest science stories to make interesting), check out this New York Times story about a device that measures carbon monoxide in the bloodstream. Short, sweet, interesting and understandable.

Bless you, Tom Brokaw

One of my Heroes of Journalism, Tom Brokaw, recently gave an interview to Time magazine in which he was asked what advice he would give to “up and coming broadcast journalists.”

Here’s what he said:

“Get a broad base of education. I’m not a big fan of journalism schools except those that are organized around a liberal arts education. Have an understanding of history, economics and political science—and biology, these days—and then learn to write.”

His advice really goes for all journalists, not just broadcast. And it resonates with me because, as a journalism student, I honestly find that some of the classes I take in the journalism school are useless to me.

Don’t get me wrong — I love the UF J-school. But the best journalists will tell you that journalism is a trade, not an occupation, and with a trade, you learn the most by gaining practical experience, not sitting in class.

I think when people like Brokaw say that journalists should actually know something about the outside world they want to cover, the journalism world sits up and takes notice. I’m also happy that he DID mention science as important for journalists to know, since many of the people I know in journalism are self-described science-phobes.

And for that, Tom Brokaw, I thank you.