Regarding this week’s centre
Contrary to popular belief, not all publications decide on cover or front page stories the night before an issue goes to print. There’s a considerable amount of detail and effort that goes into each story published in a newspaper or magazine, and the cover story—or centre story, in The Ontarion’s case—is even more detailed and planned.
Cover stories are the stories that publications want to showcase—they’re stories that are so important that an entire team of designers, editors, and writers took the time and effort to have a number of conversations, ultimately deciding to highlight whatever ends up gracing the cover. Suffice it to say, editorial teams don’t take cover stories lightly, and editorial teams don’t decide to feature any run-of-the-mill feature as a cover story.
Sometimes, cover story ideas are obvious—a terrorist attack against a publication, a sports event integral to the fabric of the community, or titanic shifts in a nation’s future. In the case of stories like The Ontarion’s medtech feature or our service dogs piece, it’s simply a matter of wanting to discuss endeavours that are undeniably integral to a community, but that might not be that well-known.
At The Ontarion, cover story conversations begin on Wednesday, more than a week before an issue hits stands and almost immediately after we’ve sent the previous issue to press. The conversation carries over into Thursday or Friday. By Saturday, the story should be fleshed out. Writers have been conscripted, sources have been contacted for interviews, and Dana Bellamy—our superhuman Photo & Graphics Editor—has already started working on ideas for the cover’s and centre’s design.
It typically takes a week to get from brainstorming outlines to printed issue. Some cover stories, however, need time to incubate—some stories need time to sink in.
On Monday, Jan. 25, 2016, when Emilio Ghloum—The Ontarion’s and, therefore, my Editor-in-Chief—announced that he’d emailed the editorial team something important. One could hear the office’s natural buzz reduce to a whisper, as we slowly worked our way to the truth.
The team at the Guelph Mercury was going to publish their final print issue on Jan. 29, 2016.
It took several moments for the din to return, but the question on most of our minds was quite simple: How do we report on the passing of a family member?
The Ontarion and the Guelph Mercury have always shared more than a professional relationship. Time was, writers and editors would matriculate from the halls of The Ontarion and become freelancers, writers, editors, copywriters, and ad execs for the Merc. Until a few years ago, they even printed The Ontarion on their press. The Mercury deserved more than six pallbearers; it deserved a Norse Funeral.
When the din returned, we knew that we needed to address the loss of the Mercury immediately. There was a brief conversation about writing some words from The Ontarion’s team, but that idea was turned down because an immense sadness entered our midst. The Ontarion was continuing its print publication—how would it seem to the writers, editors, freelancers, and ad execs of the Merc if their little brother waved them goodbye? Would it be manipulative? Would it seem exploitative? Would we be making light of a serious issue?
Ultimately, we decided to not write anything about the Mercury in our Jan. 28, 2016 issue. Instead, the first mention of the Mercury’s passing was in our Feb. 4, 2016 issue—in an article written by Matteo Cimellaro, a regular contributor to The Ontarion.
The question remained: How do we report on the events of the Guelph Mercury’s closing? In retrospect, the answer almost seemed too easy: We report on the tectonic shifts in a constantly changing industry.
Well before the Mercury’s closing, there was lots of talk around the office—and around newsrooms all over the world—about what comes next for journalism. The Internet seems like an interesting vehicle, but no one really seems to know how to properly transfer print media into a proper online space.
The problem for many publications is that print makes money in two ways: advertisers and subscribers. With free news available all over the Internet, publications now rely on advertisers to foot the bill more than ever. Coupled with the rise of Internet radio, Internet television, and true Internet publications, it’s no secret that media as a whole is shivering at the thought of a cold future.
The Mercury wasn’t even the first Canadian publication to catch 2016’s attention. On Jan. 15, 2016, the Torstar corporation announced plans to sell their printing plant in Vaughan, Ontarion. Several days before the Merc’s announcement, Postmedia announced plans to merge several of their tabloid and news offices across the country, laying off 90 workers in Vancouver, Calgary, Edmonton, and Ottawa in the process.
Even on the same day as the Mercury’s announcement, Rogers Media announced that it was cutting 200 jobs in television, radio, and publishing. In fact, on the same day that the Mercury printed their last issue, the Nanaimo Daily News also bid farewell to its print issue.
And so, The Ontarion’s editorial team—including myself—decided to get to the bottom of the media problem.
The Ontarion’s centre story this week, “Where Has All the News Gone?”, attempts to find an answer to the burning question on the minds of reporters, broadcasters, advertisers, writers, photographers, videographers, and content creators around the world: What’s next for the industry?
Emilio Ghloum, Matteo Cimellaro, and I each interviewed members of the Canadian press, asking questions that we hoped would shed some light on the issue. Though we may have asked different questions, we all arrived at the same conclusion: The media industry needs to rethink the strategies it has employed since the dawn of the printing press. Business models need to be reassessed, marketing strategies need to be redeveloped, and advertisers and content creators need to work together to better understand consumers.
Journalism, of course, doesn’t need to worry. Literature doesn’t need to worry either. Neither do radio, or film, or television, because these are all arts. There will always be a small group of concerned citizens ready to ask the important questions of the day—there will always be a contingent of artists ready to release the truth to the masses. How the masses receive the news—how we continue to consume art—is a constantly changing, amorphous blob of possibility.
Suffice it to say, we’re all a little apprehensive of what comes next. I, however, am always excited for the absurd possibilities.
On a final note, a message to the Guelph Mercury: So long, and thanks for all the news.