OLD SOLDIERS:
Podcasting, Podfading, and Ordinary Voices Saying Extraordinary Things

(HPR INTRO THEME, HOLDS A BIT, THEN DISSOLVES INTO EPISODE INTRO MUSIC.  
MUSIC HOLDS A BIT, THEN OUT.)

Hello, this is lostnbronx.

It's been a while since my last episode of HPR.  Fact is, I haven't had 
a whole lot to say.  Or, at least, I haven't felt like I have.  But it 
occurs to me that this, on its own, is a point worth a little 
consideration: what are the causes of that dreaded scourge of our 
collective edification and entertainment...namely, podfading?  You 
likely know the term, but just in case, what I'm referring to here is 
that tendency for podcasters to slowly, over the course of time -- or 
maybe not so slowly -- stop releasing episodes of their respective 
shows, all the while intending to continue with it...you, know...later, 
sometime, when they're not so busy.  Said shows sometimes return in fits 
and starts over time, or come back with both barrels blazing (often only 
to peter out again), or, indeed, they become ghosts, and just...fade 
away.

This is a marked difference from those few shows, like Chess Griffen's 
"Linux Reality", that hit a certain mark, and then called it officially 
quits.  It was sad to see that show go, but it was nice to have a final 
word on the subject; it certainly beat waiting nebulously for a next 
episode that would never come.  A class act, start-to-finish, and one we 
could all stand to emulate -- myself included.  Which I'm NOT doing 
right now.  'Cause, I was just...you know...busy...I'll get back to it.

Yet what if I don't?  What if this is my swan song?  What if you never 
hear from me again?  What the hell are YOU gonna do about it?!

Sorry!  My combative nature reveals itself.  And therein lies the rub, 
for it is a combative nature that causes podfading to begin with: it is 
the very tenacity and good intentions of the average fading podcaster 
that makes them want to hold on -- that makes it nearly impossible for 
them to look at the situation at hand and say, "That's it.  I'm done.  
It's over."  There certainly must be some who have what appears to be a 
temporary impediment to producing a show which turns out to be a 
long-term or permanent one; but more often, it strikes me that few 
people stop recording solely due to outside pressures.  Internally, we 
(and by "we", I mean "they", because, like I said, I'm NOT fading here); 
I say, internally, we are fighting the good fight.  "Are they listening?  
Do they care?  Is anything I'm saying actually worth anybody's time?"  
We overcome that when we can, and we say what we want to say.  And when 
we can't, we don't.  So simple.  A voice ringing in a vacuum, or nearly 
so, is hard enough, but add to it the pressures and drains of daily 
life, of full-time work, and family, and personal troubles, and it 
rapidly seems amazing that anyone can do this at all.  And let us not 
forget the personality clashes and politics inherent in even small 
shows.  Now, I'm not talking about the Leo Laportes out there, who make 
a living at it -- they're just DJ's by any other name.  The vast 
majority of podcasters do not have those enviable production resources 
available -- the inner and outer worlds intrude and their shows 
sometimes grow thin and disappear.

That's my view, anyway.  There are so many exceptions, it's hardly 
worthwhile to count them, but there are even more tombstones in the 
podcasting graveyard.  My focus here is on the root causes of podfading.  
Why do people stop?  What makes a person go through the trouble of 
creating a show covering a topic that inspires them, only to let it pass 
away?  Understanding some common causes might add strength to those 
currently producing shows...or, at the very least, it might prove of 
value to those yet to start up this odd hobby.  Yes, hobby.  Some people 
have had a great deal of success at it, true, but that is not most 
podcasters' circumstance.  And even so, though luck may have had a hand 
in the popularity of some people and their shows, it was certainly said 
people's hard work that brought such success into being.  But, even 
beyond that, or maybe before that, I'm not sure just how best to express 
such successes: the measure of them, the descriptor we should use.  In 
the, shall we say, nonfiction arena of tech podcasting, where money 
doesn't really change too many hands, what kind of success can you say a 
show has gained?  Commercial?  Certainly not -- well, not usually.  
Artistic?  Maybe, to some degree, but it's not exactly art that we're 
talking about here.  At least, I don't think so.  Maybe "popular 
success" is the term I'm after.  The shows are popular.  The people 
involved are well known in their niches.

Okay, so a show gains a measure of popular success, it has a core 
audience, and people look forward to downloading it each week, or 
fortnight, or whatever.  That's one end of the spectrum.  The other end 
is that graveyard I spoke of.  And the goal is to strive for the former 
and stay out of the latter.  To my mind, the first order of business, 
therefore, is to see what works and avoid what doesn't.  
Popularly-successful shows will have at least several reasons why they 
are so well-liked, and the priority of any of these is somewhat 
subjective, so you may well disagree here, and I would not argue.  But 
for me, the success or failure of any endeavor can be summed-up by the 
three letters AIC, meaning Ass-In-Chair.  Every successful project 
starts with an idea, but if it never goes farther than that, then all 
you have are someone's thoughts, locked in their head.  The philosophy 
of AIC, has but one tenet: put your ass in the chair and get the job 
done, don't just think about doing it, don't just INTEND to do it.  
We're not talking about paid work here -- that'd be too easy; no money 
involved, no addition to your bottom line -- in fact it steals away your 
moments, your time.  Still, it's Ass-In-Chair.  You do whatever you have 
to to make the work a priority in your life -- not just a desire, 
certainly NOT just a dream.  There are likely as many ways to approach 
this as there are people who want to, and those journeys, on their own, 
are difficult.  But the basic, underlying motivation of AIC is to work.  
There are more dreamers than doers, and I will state here and now that 
good ideas are a dime-a-dozen -- good projects are not.  Mating your 
dreams with your actions, and MAINTAINING the resulting momentum is the 
demon to be faced.  The empty chair is the enemy.  It seems like it's a 
personal battle, but the chair, in fact, represents your world, and 
every good reason in it NOT to do the work; every valid excuse not to 
put YOUR ass in YOUR chair and realize YOUR dreams.

Now, this may seem like motivational drivel from the nineties, and far 
afield from the subject at hand, but bear with me a moment longer.  
Whether your project is a podcast or a knitted sweater is immaterial if 
you aren't able to get yourself BACK to it over and over.  Neither one 
is done in a single day, since, as avocations, both should be ongoing.  
A steady stream of sweaters keeps everybody warm.  A steady stream of 
podcasts gets your voice out there, gets your thoughts heard.  It's 
damnably easy to be ignored in this world, especially by yourself.

So, you're motivated, you start your show.  You do a bunch of them, you 
get some feedback, and everything is gold: it's fun, it's educational, 
and you get an awesome feeling of accomplishment.  In fact, it starts to 
fall into a routine.  In fact, it starts to feel like an...obligation.  
Yes, this is the crisis point.  This is when the show starts to fade.  
When the newness has worn off, and mostly what you see is the work.  The 
IDEA of it is still so attractive, it still seems like so much fun, but, 
the reality of it is, you've got a lot on your mind, your free time is 
limited, and your energy is flagging.  And when these things aren't so 
pressing, so immediate, well, you'll get right back on it...'cause it's 
FUN, it IS fun, but, it's a lot of work too, and you just can't right 
now.  But soon.  Honest.

Honest.

It's yourself you're lying to, of course.  Other people aren't fooled 
for long.  They've seen the pattern.  Hell, you've seen it yourself 
plenty of times, and if it wasn't coming from such an impeccable source, 
you wouldn't fall for it either.  But you do, because you do INTEND to 
keep going.  Maybe you end up doing so.  More like, you don't.  Either 
way, it's a poor place to find yourself in.  Especially if you really do 
like podcasting.  See, now you feel guilty about not doing shows AND 
you're robbing yourself of something you enjoy.  To say nothing of 
stifling your own voice.

So we're clear that this is usually a Bad Thing.  And I say usually, 
because exceptions abound.  AIC.  It is the reason for much success.  It 
is also the reason for much failure, because to do battle with the chair 
means to sometimes lose.  The world takes precedence, because it must.  
Because you have a career, or just a job, whatever, and you have family, 
and money problems, and personal issues too numerous or private to 
publicize.  And because, what the hell, podcasting is just a hobby 
anyway -- and maybe not even, I mean HOW long has it been since the last 
one?

And so you fade...

(INTERLUDE MUSIC UP, HOLDS A BIT, THEN OUT.)

A thought can go through one's mind when considering the status of their 
fading show, namely, "Am I any damn good at it?  There are so many 
better people out there: funnier people with better voices, better 
writing maybe, better audio skills, equipment, information, whatever."  
These seem like valid concerns, but they're not.  Of course there are 
better podcasters out there.  Some people have talent, plain and simple.  
We all wish we could count ourselves among them.  They just have a knack 
for it.  They're good talkers, good hosts -- by nature it seems.  
Certainly, by inclination.  Perhaps a nature and inclination we mere 
mortals don't properly share.  And you know what?  That's okay.  Because 
what YOU say, what YOU have to share matters.  Oh, maybe not a couple 
thousand downloads per episode worth, but it matters to somebody, and 
that somebody, first and foremost, is you.  Or it ought to be, because, 
dammit, it mattered enough to start the ball rolling in the first place.  
And, oddly, weirdly enough, in this disconnected age, people whom you 
have never met, people, you never WILL meet will miss you when you're 
gone.  Think not?  They ask about the show, don't they?  When's the next 
one coming out?  What's it going to be about?  Will there be a format 
change or whatever?  Even one odd email is someone who cares enough to 
write, who likes what you have to say, and wants to hear more of it.  
And what if no one writes?  So what if no one noticed the show, let 
alone it's fade?  You DO.  That's enough.  That's plenty of reason to 
keep fighting that good fight, without and within.

Ah, but you say it's really the cost issues: the hosting 
especially...it's unreliable, it's expensive, you just can't do it any 
more.  Well, that's a crock of shit, and you know it, because this is 
exactly what archive.org is for.  No, it's not the fastest thing out 
there, but it works and it's free, and they host whatever format you 
want to throw up there.  Unless you aren't releasing your work under the 
Commons, or in the Public Domain.  That's your choice, obviously, but if 
you aren't making any money with it anyway, and don't realistically 
believe you ever will -- not that Creative Commons and making a buck are 
incompatible at all -- but, if you restrict your redistribution 
opportunities, you're only hurting your potential listeners.  Fewer 
listeners means less feedback.  Less feedback means less AIC motivation 
when the going, or I should say, the sitting, gets tough.  Archive.org 
isn't the only option either.  You're listening to one right now.  
Hacker Public Radio.  It welcomes everyone with something vaguely techie 
to say.  And not even.  Good lord, if they'll release MY rambling 
nonsense, sharp characters like yourselves, with real points to speak 
on, real information and opinions, are not just welcomed but encouraged 
to participate.  Whether you're up to your own show or not, this one has 
room for you, whenever you have room for it.

Oh, now that sounds like a commercial.  Sorry.  Wasn't meant to be.  
What I'm really saying is it's an option, and not a poor, second class 
one either.  And neither is your own show.  The one you don't think you 
can do, or do any more.  But you know in advance that popular success is 
elusive, and not worth serious consideration, right?  That it's only for 
those few talented heroes of ours, while relative obscurity and the 
fandom of the few is our lot in podcasting life?  I'm being deliberately 
insulting, partly due to my combative nature, but also because a healthy 
dose of humility goes a long way, as does a thick skin.  In the very few 
things I've done, I've gotten mostly kind responses, but there have been 
a few who have expressed disagreement or dislike.  Hey, at least they 
responded!  Most of the time it's silence.  And that, right there, can 
be the hardest burden of all.  It can be a blamed source of podfading.  
"No one's listening anyway," you might justify to yourself.  That MAY be 
true, but more likely you do yourself an injustice.  In fact, whether 
they listen or not, you're definitely doing yourself a bad turn 
believing that.  Because it matters to YOU.  If you do, indeed, have a 
liberal license associated with your work, you have no idea how far your 
show is going to travel.  HPR gets linked to or even republished by 
various audio services around the world.  That's in-keeping with its 
license.  Your show can, and most likely will, do the same.  There's no 
way, in fact, of knowing who your REAL audience is, or will BE going 
into the future.  I can tell you for a fact that Charles Dickens never 
expected people to read his works a hundred and fifty years into the 
future on portable media players they carry in their pockets.  The 
eventual impact of your show will be a mystery, perhaps, but you'll HAVE 
one, almost guaranteed.

See, your thoughts matter.  Your show matters.  To you, to others.  
Ah...but what if it really doesn't, to you, anymore?  What if you're 
well and truly sick of it, or well and truly cannot do it anymore?  
Well, everything has an end.  The key here, is to announce it.  Admit it 
to yourself, and then to your listeners.  They deserve it.  You deserve 
it.  All things end, but not all endings are graceful.  This one, 
though, is within your power to control.  You can terminate your show, 
you can revive it, or you can finesse it under those circumstances.  And 
by that, I mean, something like, "I'm taking a six-month sabbatical,"; 
or, "I'll be gone for a while, but when I return, the show will have a 
slightly new format."  Stuff like that.  Waffling by any other name?  
Only if you don't really mean what you say.  If you announce that you'll 
be back in six months, then dammit, be back in six months.  And we're 
not really talking about the details anyway, are we?  We're really 
talking about making the show a priority.  Your hobby, your fun time.  
Make it a part of your life.  You have family, work, social or religious 
obligations, problems galore, maybe...and you podcast.  I will bet you, 
if you looked very carefully at your schedule, you could probably find a 
few things each week which you do that you neither HAVE to do nor WANT 
to do.  Is there a show on t.v. you watch that, honestly, you're 
ambivalent about?  That's time -- your precious time, that you will 
never, ever get back -- which could be spent getting your voice and 
thoughts out there for others to hear and enjoy.  So what if you only 
have a handful of listeners that you know of: it's not about them anyway 
-- it's your damn show.  It's about you, and what you enjoy, or think is 
important.  That beats the idiot box any day of the week, and you know 
that.  It beats letting your show fade away when you've still got things 
to say.

But IF it's true that you cannot, or do not want to, continue your show, 
at the very least, admit that to yourself, and have a final episode.  
Say your goodbyes.  Closure, baby -- it's not just for romance anymore!  
Give people a chance to take it out of their RSS feeds, or let them know 
they don't have to check your site anymore for new content.  It makes 
the best of impressions.  It shows respect for your listeners and 
yourself.  And they'll respect your show, all the more.  That starts you 
off with a very good impression for your next project, assuming you have 
one.  And, if not, a good reputation hurts no one.  They'll remember you 
for that if nothing else.  If you never get a second chance to make a 
first impression, you never get a chance to make another one at all 
after your last, so make it a good one.  You gave them your time and 
your thoughts and feelings -- give them a fond fare-thee-well, and call 
it a day.  And I fully believe, that if you're at that point, you, 
yourself will feel relief.  You won't have that nagging little voice in 
the back of your head, telling you to podcast.  Urging you to do 
something you used to love, which has now mostly become a chore.  
Pushing you to get a show out there, because people are expecting it, 
because it's been too long now, because your show is...fading.  No, you 
don't need that.  A clean getaway.  You did your show, you can't seem to 
any more.  Thanks for listening.  Goodbye.  And you can always bring it 
back, and people will be gladdened by the news, so why not go out on 
top?  Go out when you CHOOSE to, not when outside pressures and lethargy 
and maybe fear choose it for you.

(EPISODE OUTRO MUSIC UP, HOLDS A MOMENT, THEN VOLUME DOWN A BIT.)

If your podcast is fading, or in danger of fading, do something about 
it.  Bring it back or put it down.  Don't just let it slide.  It's your 
show -- a piece of your life.  It deserves the best treatment you can 
give it, under your particular circumstances; and by giving it that 
attention and respect, you are, in fact, giving those things to your 
listeners and to yourself.  Podfade?  Nah, that's not for you.  Or for 
me...'cause, I've just been busy, see?  I'm on it, I'm on it!

(MUSIC UP A BIT, THEN DOWN AGAIN)

This has been lostnbronx.

You can contact me at lostnbronx@gmail.com -- that's (SPELL IT).  You 
can find a transcript of this episode at my gopherspace.  That's 
gopher://gopher.info-underground.net/1/lostnbronx/ -- there'll be a link 
in the show notes, for that.  Don't let YOUR feedback fade away before 
it's even begun: write me, read me, never leave me.

Take care.


(MUSIC UP, HOLDS, THEN DISSOLVES INTO HPR CLOSING THEME)