Is Your Blog Making You an Information Middleman?

Joe wants information. Joe googles his topic, reads a few blog posts from the search results, then goes his merry way. Information is a commodity and these blogs have just served Joe as middlemen.

Is your blog making you an information middleman?

This idea was sparked by a post on Fred H. Schlegel's Frog Blog, Avoid Middleman Status. Fred observed how middlemen are being pushed out of the supply chain in many industries.

"This is not a new state of being. Walmart began its attack on independent distributors (middlemen with warehouses) ages ago wiping most of them out. They are so efficiently tied into their supply chain now that orders sometimes bypass headquarters and go straight to factories. (Headquarters as middlemen, who’d of thunk it?)"

I commented:

"My mind wanders toward blogging and how bloggers might also make themselves into middlemen. We can (and often do) end up being the middlemen between information and web users."

The facts conveyed in many blog posts are often commodities. Here's how Merriam-Webster defines them:

"a good or service whose wide availability typically leads to smaller profit margins and diminishes the importance of factors (as brand name) other than price"

Blog posts about blog posts, as well as other metablogging topics, abound. So do blog posts about SEO, blog traffic and a host of other topics which are supposed to be of interest to bloggers. These posts are commodities and diminish the value of their bloggers' blogs.

In other words, bloggers whose blogs offer commodity information diminish their brands, turning themselves into information middlemen.

And as Fred so astutely pointed out, middlemen are an endangered species.

Blogging's False Economics

I grew up in a small town. Like many small towns, the downtown district of my hometown has spent much of the last 20 years searching for an identity. The buildings are old, parking is limited, and commerce has moved to strip malls and mega retailers in newly developed areas. It has been interesting to watch the various ways downtown merchants have attempted to monetize the district.

In some ways, blogs run in a parallel universe to shops in the downtown district of my hometown. They develop false economies in order to survive, they come and go quickly but a few of the strong survive, and there are often several empty storefronts waiting to be filled.

There are valuable lessons for bloggers in the comparison.

The False Economy

One of the first big restoration movements in my hometown was what I'll call the "antique mall syndrome". In case you're not familiar with the concept, basically someone rents a storefront and sublets spaces to vendors who peddle their own "antiques" (which are often just garage-sale fodder).

My hometown's antique-mall phase was touted as the answer both to its many empty shops and its identity crisis. These antique malls made for interesting browsing, and created a certain amount of traffic. The problem is, they created what I call a "false economy" (yes, it's my own term).

The shop owner now seems to have a successful retail business. It is full of merchandise, it is attracting attention, and the traffic count is growing. It is now a hub of activity, but there is one small problem. The owner is making money, but not because anyone is buying merchandise.

The vendors are paying space rent, the vendors are paying for advertising, the vendors are paying commissions and fees for whatever is actually sold. Although they dream of being successful retailers, most of the vendors are nickel and dime operators and they're happy just to break even. Some months they pay out of their own pockets to keep their spaces, but they view that as an inevitable part of owning a new business.

But the store as a whole only needs to make enough sales to keep its vendors interested. When one vendor leaves there is usually another to take the place. The store does not need to meet a real need of the customer; it only has to keep its vendors hooked. It gives a false impression of success, based on a false economic picture.

The Revolving Door

One of the notable characteristics of my hometown's downtown district is the rapid turnover of its tenants. Because the storefronts are sometimes inexpensive to rent, many shops open with poor planning and insufficient capital. Often, vendors from the antique malls attempt to build their own false economies but lack the connections to attract and maintain vendors.

Because they lack the resources or fortitude to purchase or create their own products, these retailers often stock their shops with consignment merchandise.

These shops fail because of:

• A failure to plan, or poor planning
• A lack of capital to sustain them through infancy
• Failure to meet the needs of the customer (the public or the vendors)

A tremendous amount of resources are wasted on these shops, financial, physical, and emotional. While opportunities are available for prospective business owners to gain the training they need to open and sustain a successful business, most of these owners do not seek it.

A few of the strong do survive but remain on the fringe. They might be unusually tenatious or willing to live off limited resources, but they are not what could be called successful. Their businesses are emotionally, physically, and financially draining.

The Empty Shop Syndrome

In the midst of all this rapid turnover of shops in the downtown district, at any given moment many storefronts are empty. These empty shops serve as a deterrent to shoppers; experience has shown when too many shops remain empty in an area, buyers go somewhere else. But these empty shops look like opportunity to those who have dreamed of owning a shop someday.

The cost of entry is low and there are few hurdles to jump before you can have a shop of your own. Potential shop owners see the activity at the larger antique malls and expect they can do just as well. They set up a retail business on the assumption there is retail activity in the area without realizing the area is suffering with the antique shop syndrome.

Interestingly, neophyte shop owners often decide to rent a storefront before they have anything to put in it. They might not even have a complete vision of the type of business they will open. They are pursuing the dream of opening a business first, and figuring out the details later.

The same problem which enables the downtown district's decline also perpetuates itself. It is a difficult cycle to break because it is a difficult problem to recognize, but eventually the entire district will fail.

Blogging Suffers These Same Ailments

Some blogs appear to be financially successful but are actually parasites living off the blood, sweat, and tears of others. They sell advertising spaces in their sidebars, and they sell editorial space in their posts. The amount they charge is small enough that none of the advertisers are hurt deeply, but both transactions result in few or no sales. The advertisers hang on with the belief they are building their brands and success is just a matter of time.

As these blogs increase their traffic they can charge more for the space, but there is no impetus to build quality, targeted traffic which will benefit the advertisers. There is no real reason to produce quality posts which will truly benefit the reader. These blogs serve nobody but the blogger.

But like the ailing downtown district suffering with the antique mall syndrome, these blogs create a false economy. There appears to be happy readers and happy advertisers, but in fact there may only be a happy blogger.

In the second stage of this false economy, others try to emulate the apparent success of these busy little blogs. Because the cost of entry is very low new blogs spring up right and left, but these are blogs without a plan, without a real purpose, and without a real passion for their topic. The mortality rate is high for these infant blogs, although a tremendous amount of resources are spent in the hopes of keeping them alive.

A few of the strong do manage to survive, but it is not a marriage based on love. One day the blogger will wake up and wonder why they have spent so much time in this relationship; they will roll over in bed, tell themselves they just don't want to do it anymore, and that will be the end of their blogs. They won't have the energy or passion to keep things going, and the blog will fold. It will fold, but not before inspiring other bloggers to follow the same road.

It sounds ridiculous to say anyone will rent a storefront without having a clear idea of the business they will operate there, but it does happen when the threshold to entry is low. In a similar fashion, many bloggers start a blog without a clear idea of what sort of blog they will operate; it only seems more acceptable because fewer resources are at stake.

Many bloggers throw a few ideas against the wall to see what sticks. This method works for some, but many become too discouraged to continue. Either way, a little forethought and planning could not only save wasted resources (money, time, spiritual and emotional) but it could also perpetuate the birth of more meaningful blogs and more bloggers with a passion for their topic.

The blogosphere does suffer many of the same ailments which plague a dying downtown district. It suffers from the antique mall syndrome, the revolving door, and the empty shop syndrome. Bloggers start their blogs with expectations, but in the long run the vast majority of these expectations remain unmet.

Blogging as a community and an industry suffers as well, as readers turn to more effective, well-planned venues for information. All the empty shops and rapid turnover creates the impression blogs are neither a viable business option, nor a valuable asset for the online world, so potential readers and businesses go elsewhere.

Image by: takomabibelot

"Hark, the Herald Pygmies Sing"

It has been said Christmas in the Pacific Northwest is a gift wrapped in green. Although we’re blessed here with an abundance of fir trees and evergreens, many of us still dream about a Christmas of white. More often than not, however, we get a Christmas of just plain wet. So it was one Christmas Day a few years back.

Although wet, our Christmases here are as merry as the white variety and this particular wet Christmas for me had been a day spent with family and friends. As far as I knew all the gifts had already been given and unwrapped, and all the festivities had come to a close. But I hadn’t anticipated the festivities waiting for me back home.

The automatic light flipped on as we pulled into the driveway, adding to the glow from a thousand colored lights lining the house. Although home looked inviting in the dark and stormy night, the short trip from car to backdoor seemed a daunting task. I tucked my head under my coat and made a run for it.

A small herd of pygmy goats, about a dozen of my own and another dozen or two of my housemate’s, live in a simple wood barn tucked behind the house. They often greet anyone who approaches with a bleating chorus, half to greet and half to scold for being away. It was dark, it was wet, and the goats had missed their Christmas dinner. So their scolds that evening fell especially harsh. I had intended to ignore their complaints for the moment. Once inside I could don more fitting apparel and tend to the goats’ holiday feast. But during that particular moment in the rain, I just wanted to get indoors.

“Did you hear that?”

Of course I could hear it, anyone who didn’t hear the cater-wailing goat chorus should have been pronounced deaf.

“When is Bree due?”

“Next month.”

I felt a little irritated by what seemed an irrelevant question. Bree was one of my pregnant does and I knew she had a good three weeks to go before kidding. At the moment I was too wet and too cold to entertain any other possibilities. But suddenly from underneath the steady drone of the goat chorus I could hear smaller voices, higher pitched and more staccato. Everything I had been carrying landed on the back porch and I made a dash for the barn.

Two tiny figures dimly reflected the lights from the porch and the colored decorations as they maneuvered through the deep mud just outside the barn door. A row of curious white noses watched from inside the barn. Once I managed the presence of mind to plug in the barn light, Bree could be seen standing in the rain, shaking and uncertain. Two newborns circled her, very dirty and very wet.

I scooped up the babies and put them inside my coat, calling for towels. As if she hadn’t been agitated enough before, now their mother ran in hysterical circles. Unable to see her babies, she became blind to the rain and the mud. I held my coat tight around the two newborn kids and fought their mother until I had securely latched us all inside the barn.

I held the babies close to my body, sitting on the barn floor wet and muddy, rocking them and hoping to make up for their neglected birth. They struggled against being held at first, calling back and forth with their mother, but eventually became content in their warm new nest. Their mother remained worried and kept a close eye on me, but eventually accepted the new arrangement. I stayed with them through the rest of the evening to make sure the little boy and little girl were dry and nursing.

In ancient times a certain famous baby’s birth was announced by a chorus of angels. He was born in a stable, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lay in a manger. He was attended by three wise men. In my Christmas reenactment many years later, two baby goats were announced by a chorus of pygmy goats, wrapped in a swaddling coat and visited by a not-so-wise man who now pays closer attention to breeding dates.

For some, Christmas may be a gift wrapped up in white and for others Christmas is a gift wrapped up in green. That year, for me, Christmas was a gift wrapped up in mud.

What Are You Bringing to the Table?

Somewhere in the course of every family gathering I experienced as a child, my dad would tell a story.

My dad's stories were all true, or at least started out being true, and were usually about something you wouldn't necessarily expect to be funny. Nevertheless, he would always bring his audience to tears of laughter.

It was all in the way he told his stories.

My dad was big on visual aids, so he had to stand and use a lot of exaggerated hand gestures to illustrate his tale. My favorite part was how he would act out the reactions of his various characters. Dad might have made a great comedian.

Our family gatherings just wouldn't have been the same without my dad and one of his stories.

Every gathering is like a tapestry. It is woven in a combination of colors which cannot be duplicated anywhere else. If any one person is added or removed from the gathering, the tapestry will be changed.

For many, the holidays are a time for gatherings. They might be with friends, co-workers, or family, but at every gathering each person brings their unique contribution to the table.

But what if instead of being themselves, each person studied a manual and followed some formula for being "A Person At a Party" or how to converse at a party?

The tapestry would be a dull beige.

My last post discussed how information is a commodity and how information-based blogging might put a blogger out of business.

"Bloggers whose blogs offer commodity information diminish their brand, turning themselves into information middlemen."

While there is nothing wrong with blog posts which offer information, information is not all that makes a blog valuable. If an informative post is left at the commodity level, then the blog and the blogger move into the background. Your visitors will come, go, and forget you; only a nucleus of visitors will remain. But if we bring our unique qualities to the table, our posts and our blogs can never be a commodity.

What are you bringing to the table?

Let's All Share Some SPAM For The Holidays

The holidays are a time to gather at the table sharing fellowship, fun and of course, food. However, in the blogosphere we seldom find opportunity to gather in a similar fashion.

So I thought it might be fitting for the season to invite those of you who pass this way to share one of the most frequently consumed dishes of bloggers worldwide.

Of course I am speaking of that manna of the blogosphere, that ever popular and prolific web-based dish, SPAM.

What's that you say? You don't really care for SPAM, that little gift left on your doorstep by so many of your blog visitors? Possibly you simply haven't yet developed a taste for it.

SPAM is, of course, an acquired taste. Ever wishing to be helpful, I will endeavor to help you develop an appreciation for these tasty little morsels.

Here are four reasons you could like or at least appreciate SPAM:

1. People (and machines!) sometimes leave SPAM in an effort to be friendly or just plain helpful.

SPAM informs me of places I can do such useful things as getting rich and provides me with a long list of with helpful links to get me there. Realizing I might not yet be rich enough to pay cash for necesseties like cars, boats and homes, many thoughtful spammers leave comments about where I can obtain instant credit, possibly without a credit check!

Sometimes SPAM simply extends a hand in friendship:

"Yo,

I’m Anna, I’m 32 old, I work in a medicalised french rest house. it’s great to share with you and I’d would like to talk in english

cheers,

Anna :: maison de retraite"

Some spammers attempt to be both friendly AND helpful:

"very nice, have a good day, buy botox"

From time to time SPAM might at first appear offensive, maybe offering links where one might find sexual gratification. But if we remind ourselves SPAM is just a way to reach out and touch someone, such offerings come back into perspective.

2. SPAM can be good for your ego.

Spammers freqently comment on the wisdom behind my posts and the brilliance of my blog in general. This really helps when I feel down in the dumps. Often these spammers tell me they are going to bookmark or subscribe to my blog and tell all their friends to do the same:

"I like this place very much. This is such a extraordinary web. And it is not like other money directed place, the information here is very important. I am definitely bookmarking it as well as sharin it with my friends."

Evidently they do tell their friends and their friends are just as generous because the amount of SPAM I receive seems to grow exponentially!

3. SPAM offers a way for you to give something back.

Often spammers simply wish to tap my brain (understandably, since they have already expressed their admiration for my mental powers). I receive numerous tidbits of SPAM asking where the best cell phone rates might be obtained, or simply:

"…please where can I buy a unicorn?"

4. SPAM opens doors to communication.

Now I must admit, occasionally I do receive a bit of SPAM which I don't fully understand. Some of it seems to be written in some other language and it saddens me I can't enjoy it fully. Other spammers seem to exist on an entirely different plain than myself, yet I am happy they have decided to share:

"I stand here today humbled by the task before dofus kamas, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our cheap dofus kamas. I thank President dofus power leveling for his service to buy dofus kamas, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition."

I wonder what or who dofus kamas is . . .

So come. Gather 'round the table and, in the spirit of this season, let's share some of those tasty SPAM morsels which have blessed our blogging doorsteps.

You may leave your dish in the comments here; think of it as a holiday pot luck.