Plus ca change, plus ca change

The Life of Riley, originally uploaded by The River Thief.

While this photo isn't timeless, with the clothing, the car, the chair (in Canada we call them Muskoka chairs, not Adirondack chairs) and even the architectural style of the cabins in the background firmly fixing it in the late 1950s, early 1960s, my aunt is doing precisely what I wish I were doing now - sitting outside, watching the chipmunks and listening to the sound of the wind in the trees.

Instead, however, I'm blogging away, and the escape to the cabin in the woods will be delayed a few weeks. I came across this article about Bill Gates stepping down and wanted to link to it and discuss it because it details some of the controversy surrounding the battle for market dominance of Microsoft Word over WordPerfect.

It may be silly to be nostalgic over software (of all things!), but it's interesting to me that it is universally acknowledged that Betamax was better technology than VCRs and yet VCR technology still managed to triumph (for a while). I don't know the details of how that happened, or I've forgotten them. I do know though that WordPerfect had actually achieved market dominance at one point, and that it was lovely software to use. New releases were relatively rare, but when they happened, the richness of functionality, the ease of use of the new features, and their incredible usefulness made learning an intensely rewarding experience. No one has ever made the mail merge as simple as WordPerfect did, although it was a bit of a jolt, after having memorized hundreds of commands for the F keys, to just be able to use your mouse to click on an icon with version 5.1.

I remember coming back from a client user conference in California and trying to tell some of my 20-something colleagues what one of the product managers I'd met at the conference said to me. In retrospect I'm beginning to think anyone who worked in high tech PR during the dotcom boom deserves a medal merely for having been able to find a journalist under a rock who was willing to cover our clients - there was that much going on it sometimes seemed like we were asking them to be four places at once. Anyway, I remember telling them that the product manager had told me a story about his mother being a very early adopter of technology and that while she knew other software was available, she was still using Multimate. Even I had only encountered one or two computers in the 80s that used Multimate software. So I told them the story, adding that the software product manager had also said, 'Most people already have more software than they will ever need - or learn how to use.' I was met with blank stares. Usually my anecdotes get a better reception than this. Finally, one of the 20-somethings asked, 'Multimate?' I explained that it had been the word processing standard before WordPerfect. The stares were no less blank. And so I gave up. Twenty years can be a very long time, it seems. And my point - which was the bewildering profusion of options and the stress engendered by constantly having to learn new things to make one's job easier merely because new things were being developed and marketed, not because they were really necessary - had just sailed right over their heads.

But I was also thinking last week about the world before Starbucks. During one of my mother's last trips to visit me in Toronto in the mid-1990s, Starbucks hadn't really penetrated my consciousness. There was a Second Cup in my neighbourhood (Kensington Market), but Starbucks hadn't really arrived, and I caught myself wondering what she would have made of both the coffee and of the Starbucks experience. In her later years she was a huge Tim Horton's fan, and I wonder if she would have hated Starbucks' coffee, or if she would just have objected to its price.

The battle lines are very clearly drawn between Tim Horton's and Starbucks, and while it makes perfect sense that these two firms have positioned themselves at opposite ends of the marketing spectrum and deliberately set out to create completely different customer experiences, they've behaved like rival hockey teams. Except for the fact that they seem to have forgotten that you can't have a hockey game without two teams, and that hockey (and coffee) fans have something in common: they love hockey. Erm, coffee. I'm mystified by the loyal following Tim Horton's has (although I do snicker when folks cross the street with their Tim Horton's coffee to sit on the Starbucks patio directly across the street). The coffee is weak and bitter, the lighting makes me pray to be beamed up (or back in time to an era where fluorescent lighting had yet to be invented), and the whole orange and red thing - it doesn't just make me want to consume quickly and get out of there, it makes it pretty much impossible for me to set foot in the place.

But I find it sad to see Starbucks making the kind of mistakes that lead to the closure of 600 stores in a single year. When I lived in a town of 6000 in Ontario, the only good coffee I got was the coffee I made myself. I used to joke with my former colleagues that they could always leave Toronto and open a Starbucks in Kincardine, because the town needed one source of commercially available decent coffee (there were three Tim Horton's in town, I believe. Okay, two. That was two too many, IMNHO). Silly and frustrating though the whole Starbucks language is, as a corporate entity they've done an amazing job of training young staff and of creating a consistent experience. What seems almost like the mock-Italian of their creation labelling masks some very good things at the heart of this corporate empire. For staff, provision of benefits for even part-timers, a wage above the minimum, and a commitment to training are the things we as customers benefit from but don't necessarily see. Exquisite service, comfortable seating and lighting, and consistency of product quality are things we should celebrate, no matter our vintage.

Finding one's (northern) (southern) (eastern) (western) voice - another reason I blog

Copyright Ruth Seeley 2007.

I made reference, a couple of blog posts ago, to the fact that I'll be attending Northern Voice, the Vancouver blogging conference, later this month. It runs from Thursday, February 21 to Saturday, February 23. http://2008.northernvoice.ca/

The kick-off dinner is being held this year in the Polynesian Room at Vancouver's Waldorf Hotel http://www.critiki.com/cgi-bin/location.cgi?loc_id=196, and I am really looking forward to it. (Last year's was held in the gorgeous Volunteer Vancouver building on Main Street, I believe - should have gone, I heard rumours of fountains of chocolate or chocolate swans or something equally extravagant.)

I also made a comment, in my previous blog post, that I was going to attend for the second year, despite having had a really miserable time at last year's conference. Some of it was my fault, some of it was a case of 'I should just have stayed in bed today' and some of it rests squarely on the conference organizers, or at least those tasked with event planning.

Northern Voice (the conference itself), is held at UBC's Forestry Building. For those of you who've never visited the UBC campus - it's huge. It's freaking huge. The UBC population is almost 10 times bigger than Kincardine, the small southwestern Ontario town in which I lived for a year before moving to BC in 2002. And I managed to get lost there for months. The estimates I've seen are that UBC has a student, staff and faculty population of 50,000. It is a vast expanse of land. What can I say - they didn't call it the Wild West for nothing. The only place I can really find with ease at UBC is its marvellous bookstore, and that's only when the roads aren't completely torn up and I don't have to take six detours.

It was pissing rain on the Saturday of Northern Voice 2007. Yes it's Vancouver, and I am actually one of the few people I know who don't mind the rain here and don't complain about it much, even though I've always thought snow was the smarter form of precipitation. Snow doesn't get you wet and it's - well - it's usually much more scenic than rain. Still, it was Toni Onley's dreamy coastal landscapes I had in mind when I moved here. This was unusual rain for Vancouver though - hard rain - big drops that really got you wet. I think of this as Eastern rain rather than Western rain. Mean rain. Purposeful rain. Its purpose being to mess you up in a quest to replenish the water table as quickly as possible.

For some inexplicable reason, the bus driver I had was not familiar with UBC campus and couldn't help me find the Forestry Building. This is the point at which I step up to the plate and acknowledge that I could have done my 'how to get there' research instead of just glancing at the map and assuming the bus driver would know his or her route. And that I could have left the house earlier.

As it happened though, I ended up wandering in the aforementioned pissing rain, waiting for another bus that would actually take me to the Forestry Building, getting myself into a completely foul temper, and arriving an hour late for the conference.

So - off to a bit of a rough start. I ran into a few people I knew and attended two sessions, both of which were interesting. Then it was lunch time. I quailed at the prospect of heading back out into that mess, so armed myself with the map listing all the area lunch venues. Most of them were at least a quarter-mile's hike from the Forestry Building. Many of them were much, much further away. I had already noticed that the Tim Horton's in the building itself wasn't open weekends, and thought it odd that they hadn't made an exception for a weekend when a conference was going on. Surely it would have been worth their while to open up on a Saturday just this once? While I'm not a fan of Tim's, some hot soup and a sandwich would have been really nice. I might even have been able to forget my wet socks in the convivial atmosphere of Tim's.

But no. Muttering to myself about it being one of those days I was going to get soaked four times (to and from the conference, to and from lunch), I headed for the next-nearest provision-providing venue, Starbucks. A latte and a pumpkin scone would have been just fine. On the way to the Starbucks I noticed an independent corner store and thought, oh, I don't care what their sandwiches are like, this is a better idea than Starbucks. Apparently not. The store had been robbed earlier in the day and the police were still conducting their investigation. Even though I had cash, the store owners had been forbidden to conduct business until the police wrapped up their investigation. Starbucks it was, then.

Obviously I wasn't the only person who had taken public transit to the conference, and great minds do think alike (fools seldom differ). I've never seen a Starbucks slammed the way that one was. And no one looked happy, which is most unusual. Didn't take long to figure out why. There was no food. I mean, there may have been one of those cinnamon straws. But other than that, the glass display case was pretty much empty. The Northern Voice organizers had failed to notify Starbucks that there was a conference going on. The staff were bewildered and embarrassed. Run off their feet too, since they'd been unexpectedly slammed.

So I had a latte, which I think I consumed perched on a cement planter in a courtyard that provided some shelter from the rain, and thought about going back to the conference. And I decided not to. The wet socks were starting to get to me, and I was beginning to feel murderous thoughts.

This year's going to be different. A lot different. For one thing, I'll be driving or being driven. For another, I know where the Forestry Building is. I'm also going to give the Starbucks a call myself and make sure they know there's a conference going on. I might even call the Tim Horton's and suggest they open up on Saturday. I've already done the feedback thing* for Northern Voice 2007 and mentioned these issues, so perhaps my phone calls will be reminders only, if the organizers took my advice. If they didn't, I'm not taking any chances.

Which brings me to the third reason why I blog. In my post 'Columnists I Like' I talked about the joy of writing freedom. That freedom doesn't matter much until and unless you have truly found your voice as a writer. When I first worked in public relations I was amazed at how difficult it was to master the right tone and style of PR writing. I'd written poetry, short stories, book reviews, magazine articles, ad copy, research and non-research essays, part of a screenplay...this writing thing wasn't really a problem for me. I've kept a copy of my first case study, which went through about 45 drafts before it was finalized, as one of my writing samples. I had significant editing help from at least two of my colleagues. A red pen was used, until my always expressive face assumed a rather stricken look. A black pen was substituted for the red. That didn't really help my ego much. And then, finally, something clicked for me and I was able to rewrite the case study myself and get it approved. Everything became a lot easier after that.

Looking back, this is how I'd describe it. Have you ever worn cowboy boots? I've only owned one pair, and I'm not sure what happened to them, but I'm quite sure I cried when I got rid of them. I loved them. I loved them when I first saw them in the store and I loved wearing them. There was a two-week period when I first started wearing them though, when I actually contemplated cutting off my feet. I've never had blisters on the tops of my feet before. I've never had blisters on my heels that bled. I've never stacked bandaids one on top of each other to try to prevent further damage and a little cushioning just so I could get through the breaking in process.

Mastering another form of writing - and a difficult one - was like breaking in those cowboy boots. Ultimately it was worth the struggle. Much to my surprise, writing is a skill that continues to develop the more of it you do. I'd add, 'as long as you continue to read good writing,' as my one caveat. A couple of years after my first case study, the receptionist at work got a call from someone asking to be put through to the company's best writer. My boss wasn't in, so she directed the call to me. Turns out it was a headhunter, and while the lovely Diana was outraged at being tricked this way, it was pretty hard for me not to giggle with sheer joy at the compliment she'd paid me.

I remember a client objecting strenuously to a press release and demanding to know why we'd chosen to use each and every phrase and structured it the way press releases are properly structured. I'm not sure what possessed me, but I do know we'd sweated over this release (our 'best teams' approach wasn't quite working in this instance, I'm afraid). I couldn't help myself. Even though I was the most junior person there, I had to be the one to justify our approach. And I did, mounting an extremely convincing case for why the release needed to be left alone if the client's goals were to be met. That release and the subsequent media relations we did with it led to the longest feature coverage I've ever helped generate.

And that was the point at which I realized I had found my voice as a writer. While I may not understand it on a conscious level when I begin to write, whatever method I have, whether it's research or an outline or that weird form of subconscious analysis that happens when you absorb a new form of writing by osmosis from reading, reading, reading...I now know there's no form of writing I can't master. One of the best things I learned at my former agency was to stop being neurotic about my writing. The collective writing approach used in a PR agency means you can't be too proprietary about your work. If you were to have a hissy fit every time something you wrote got changed, you wouldn't make it through the probationary period. There's no room for that sort of journalistic ego in PR writing, and there's also no time for it. The sort of jockeying for position (front page, please, and if not that, I'll settle for a section front page) that goes on at newspapers won't cut it. The learning process may be painful. Hair may be pulled. Tears may be shed. Paper may well be crumpled and flung. (Gee, I manage to make a pretty much silent activity seem quite melodramatic, don't I?)

Then, of course, once you have found your voice, you must use it. Or lose it. And so, I blog....

* As you can see from the first link I've posted, the organizers have listened and are including lunch! Oh, it's so nice to be listened to. Heeded. To have one's views taken into account. I'm still calling Starbucks to give 'em a heads up though.