Category Archives: Growly

Note to vendors:

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Never, ever reply to an angry librarian who you have clearly offended with something like this:

“Dear Ms. Rogers, I am sorry that you were having such a bad day when you responded to my email.”

It is, quite simply, unacceptable.

The American Chemical Society has a lot to answer for.

Fortunately, this did not come from my primary contact at ACS, and my sales rep is responsive, understanding, and does a good job smoothing ruffled feathers. But I’ve made it clear, and i believe he understands: If you want to sell me an expensive product, you better damn well make sure I want to do business with your company. This? THIS IS NOT THE WAY TO DO THAT.

Netflix and libraries and #hcod

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Netflix changed their pricing structure. The reaction from librarians (and people, in general, but specifically librarians) online is really bothering me. I thought about it all day, and here’s what I came up with as to why.

In short, as information professionals, during the whole HarperCollins and OverDrive debate, did we learn nothing?

But I’ll back up. That’s the conclusion, so how did I get there from Netflix?

Fact: Netflix has, for many consumers, been a great deal — from-the-comfort-of-your-home DVD rentals, legal streaming of tv shows and movies, all at a relatively low price, particularly when compared to cable TV.
Fact: Movies are information content. They’re what we consider “entertainment”, but it’s all part of the information economy governed my market forces, intellectual property law, copyright, licensing, etc.
Fact: Studios are the equivalent of publishers in this corner of the economy, Netflix is a broker akin to Overdrive in that they repackage and make accessible the content of others, and we, the public and libraries, are consumers.
Fact: Studios (and book publishers) have been slow on the uptake regarding what the online information environment would mean for their profits and revenue streams, continuing to scream ever more shrill-ly about copyright and BUY BLURAY (or hardcovers) rather than investing in new digital projects (though I’m more charitable toward publishers than studios, but only by a small margin).
Fact: Everyone has finally clued in. Book publishers, movie studios, the consumer.They’re all clear: in the current era, savvy customers want their digital stuff as cheap as possible, preferably free, and definitely on-demand. Welcome to the new market reality.

So. In our current economy, there is a direct link between the services we are provided and our costs.  We pay, someone provides. In this case, we pay, and Netflix provides.  Much like we pay, and Overdrive provides. But Netflix, like Overdrive, has to buy the stuff we’re asking for from the people who own the rights to it — book publishers and movie studios.  And since those content owners were pretty blase about what they appeared to see as “that streaming nonsense”, Netflix and Overdrive got pretty good deals when they started. And we, the consumer, loved it. We ate it up. It was cheap, it was cool, it was on-demand and pretty close to free. Win-win, right?

Well, yeah, right up until someone NOTICED.  HarperCollins noticed, and decided they wanted in on the revenue stream they had so foolishly given up. And the studios have noticed, and want in on the revenue stream Netflix has been pulling in hand over fist. Netflix is going to have to negotiate hard, and pay considerably more, in order to keep offering consumers the same service. I suspect studios will walk away — see HBO and their No Streaming For You policy, for example — or put awkward and frustrating restrictions on content — see HarperCollins and the 26 checkout rule, for example — and instead create their own independent solutions to content access for consumers. And so Netflix’s costs will go up. Input costs go up… consumer prices, thusly, also go up.

Why is anyone surprised by this? Or outraged? If you’re an information professional paying attention to the information economy, why did you  not see this coming? Why are we doomed to repeat our shock and horror over and over and over again? What is with this naivety we have that somehow The Next Big Corporation won’t actually act like A Big Corporation about their information commodities? This is our world. This is the information economy. Elsevier, Wexis, the American Chemical Society, HarperCollins, Amazon, the RIAA, the movie studios — they don’t love libraries (or the consumer) the way we think that we should be loved. And they sure as hell aren’t looking out for our best interests. No one is. Only us.

Which brings me to my last point.  More important than my personal frustration, I think that libraries have a moment in the next 48 to 72 hours in which someone in our community could draw the line publicly connecting our information brokering challenges and The Netflix Thing. The public is furious about this, and there’s an advocacy moment that we should leap on. “Libraries are in trouble and suffering — just like you are.  This is part of a bigger problem, and we’re feeling the pain, too. Think Netflix and the studios suck? Check out THESE stories about ebooks!” It’s a moment that could be leveraged to turn attention to the issues we think the public should be considering, hinging on something that the public is actually legitimately interested in. The ALA EQUACC. Library Renewal. Someone should be leaping on this chance.

And I’ll bet we are going to miss the boat. Again. We should be better at this. And we should stop being surprised.

Leadership and ALA

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I got back from #ALA11 tonight. I had a good five days — a great preconference, two successful talks, and wonderful conversations with friends, colleagues, and vendors. And a whole lot of amazing food.  But I’m left with a bad taste in my mouth, largely because I cannot make sense out of the ALA.

No one has ever been able to convince me that I should contribute my time and energy to the work of the ALA. Several very good friends are giving their all to build on the ALA’s successes and do good things for the profession, but they can’t seem to sell me on joining up and jumping in.

I try to figure out how committee work could be satisfying.  People I respect tell me it’s worth it, that I should use my voice to make the organization better.  I’m an idealist, so I listen.  And I got an email that said that the volunteer form was on the website.  Awesome.  I clicked through.  And was paralyzed by the nine zillion arcane options, none of which tells what the committee is, does, or who’s on it. And it has a four-page help document that doesn’t really help much. And I guess you can only volunteer once a year? So I promptly gave up. I don’t have time to waste on figuring out a path in and through, not when I have other places that could use my skills and not treat me like a valueless number.

But I’m a good speaker, so if committee work isn’t going to be my thing, I can try to present. Colleen and Mary and I propose a preconference for ACRL, and it’s rejected, but we try again. Leadership in LLAMA says, “Oh, that’s right in our wheelhouse.  We want you to do that.”  So we gave them an application for ALA.  They accepted it.  And it turned up on the ALA conference registration form before anyone notified us that it had been accepted. So we initiate communication.  They say, “Oh, yes, right, you’re accepted, but we need to talk to you first.”  Mary went to Midwinter to have a meeting.  They told her we were only provisionally approved for the precon, because we failed to get a committee to sponsor us.  Even though they solicited the precon from us, and people were already paying for it.  So, at their request, we went to LLAMA-SASS, and they not-at-all-graciously agreed to sponsor the preconference “in name only.”  And then we were told we had to find vendor support if we wanted any supplies like markers or paper, and if we wanted anything more than coffee on the coffee breaks. We tried, but decided in the end that it wasn’t worth the effort.  As it turned out, the preconference sold out. We showed up early to prepare for the day, and discovered that there mysteriously were muffins and coffee and cookies and soda, despite what we were told, but that our supplies — which we double-checked and confirmed — were not available, nor was anyone in attendance from LLAMA (as promised and expected) to greet and check in our participants or to introduce the day, speak about LLAMA, or introduce us as speakers.

Regardless of the complications, we did our thing (nicely summarized by Colleen in this post; a post with my own slides and commentary to follow), and at the end, out of 20+ positive evaluations from the 50 participants, there was one negative one. The one negative response was based on my approach of blunt honesty and use of the phrases “basically, don’t be an asshole” and “know which things you suck at” and thus my “unprofessional” behavior.  It also seems to have been written by someone on the LLAMA planning committee. As a result, it appears that I have been blacklisted for presenting for LLAMA, despite my generally solid reputation, my accomplishments, and the positive evaluations from most of the attendees.

That’s the state of leadership  in the management arm of ALA.

Someone tell me: Given the explicit attitudes of the powers that be within the organization in question, the heavy responsibilities of work for my home institution, and the many other organizations that I could contribute to, why should I give my time and energy to the American Library Association?

on being gracious and owning your shit

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“Own your shit.”

I say that a lot. Usually not in my workplace, but in my professional community.

Every now and then someone will ask me to define it. Catchphrases need that from time to time.  Life has presented me with some good examples recently, and so I’ll use them.

Real Life Version:

Scenario A: You’re organizing a professional development event. You solicit speakers. You accept the speakers. You tell the speakers only a few days before the presentation what the tech setup will be, and it’s non-standard. When the speakers express concern, you apologize for failing to communicate, lacing the email with explanations of how expensive technology is at conferences.

Scenario B: You are a self-proclaimed leader in your field, and are marketing yourself as a professional speaker on new media topics. You post slides to your presentations on a social networking site. Another professional comments on the ill-advisability of one of your slides. Rather than respond, you delete the comment, and then several hours later delete the slide, then scold the commenter for calling you out on it.

Owning Your Shit Version:

Scenario A: You apologize for failing to communicate. Full stop. If applicable, you explain your reasons, but as reasons, not excuses.

Scenario B: You respond to the comment, explaining your position one way or the other, and acting from there, either by agreeing with the criticism and removing the slide, or by sticking by it.

Owning your shit means taking responsibility for your actions, acknowledging their impact on others, and  moving forward without trying to cover your ass.  The fact that the people in each of those scenarios can easily identify themselves will probably mean that this post makes me some enemies, or at least gets me branded a bully or something of that sort. But I think that integrity, civility, and professionalism matter, so I’m not going to hide from true things done by real people.

And I’m not innocent or perfect, either.  Owning your shit, in my world, means that I once sent an email to my direct supervisor apologizing for something I wrote here, revised the post in question, and apologized in person to the colleague I had offended with ill-advised writing.  Without making excuses, because I could see where I was wrong. Did I want to cover my ass, make myself look better? Of course. Did I have reasons for why I wrote what I did? Of course. But they weren’t relevant. I was at fault, and I was as gracious as I knew how to be when I apologized for it, because that was the right thing to do. Owning your shit also means that I was told recently that some librarians find it hard to share my writing with some of their colleagues because those librarians are offended by my use of explicit language. In return I said that I was sorry to hear that, but given my very intentional writing and speaking style, I was then probably not the best person for those people to read. Again, no excuses, but as much grace as I could muster, because I didn’t think I was wrong.

There’s power in acknowledging your mistakes, accepting that you were at fault, and being frank about it. There’s also power in taking a stand because you believe in something.  People respect courage. People do not respect weasels.

the torment of terrible cover letters

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I have been compiling this post for a while. I think about cover letters when we have an open search, and moments when we have an open search are precisely the wrong time for the Director of Libraries to talk about how to write a good cover letter. So I write a few sentences to get some of the firey rage out of my brain, and then I hit Save Draft.

Well, no one here is reviewing applications right now, so I feel like I can safely speak without compromising any integrity. So here’s my take on how to write a good cover letter, or, more specifically, how to not write a bad one. I write this on behalf of all those who are currently searching, and tearing their hair out over bad letters, and all of those of you who are looking for a new gig and really deserve a chance to shine.

*steps up on her soapbox*

So, we get between 40 and 120 applicants for every search. That means that you, Applicant Q, are one of many, and we are looking for ways to distinguish the excellent from the mediocre from the poor. We’re looking for a great new colleague, so we’re optimistic. We want to love you. And then. We read all of your materials — every cover letter, every CV, every reference sheet. Those are, in fact, the only materials we can consult as we work to distinguish the excellent from the mediocre from the poor. And our ad instructions say “applicants must submit a cover letter that addresses details of both the required and preferred qualifications”. So that’s step one.

First, read the instructions. We wrote that ad thoughtfully. Read the ad. Particularly note the specific instructions you are given. “applicants must submit a cover letter that addresses details of both the required and preferred qualifications”. Do that.  Do not begin your application by failing to read the instructions.  We will notice.

Second, stop talking about yourself in your cover letter.  Yes, you’re trying to sell your skills and personality in this letter, but I mean it: Stop talking about yourself.  Talk about us instead.  Think about it with me:  We have your CV, which, if it’s good, tells us a lot.  Therefore, we don’t need a paragraph that tells us what you did at your last job.  You’re just repeating yourself in your limited communication space.  What we need is a paragraph that tells us how you intend to apply what you know to the job we described in our carefully worded ad.  Tell us how you’re gonna help us and contribute to our insitution. And do it well, so that you stand out from the dozens of other applicants, whose CVs and cover letters we also have. Ask yourself: how does this letter make my application stand out as a potential member of their team?

Third, go back, and read the ad again. All of it.  Including details like who the search committee chair is, what the required qualifications are, and what kind of work we’re describing in the Responsibilities section. That ad is not rote, or careless, or irrelevant. We wrote that ad carefully, intentionally, and with great thought and care.  Read it. Make a list of its key points. Read it again, and check for nuances — descriptive words, active verbs, and things that look like “filler” to you.  Consider that every word was chosen, so they all matter.  Now, go back to your cover letter. Do you talk usefully about all the things we talk about in our ad? Have you made thoughtful reference to our required qualifications? Have you highlighted experience that you will bring to our relevant preferred qualifications? Have you indicated why you are excited about doing the things listed in our description of responsibilities, or why our description of our ideal candidate matches your skills? If the answer to any of these is “no”, rewrite your letter.

Fourth, seriously, just stop with the cut-and-paste jobs, already.  We can tell. We’re more experienced at this than you are, we’ve just read 75 cover letters, and you’re not fooling us.  We know that you’re tired of applying for jobs and eating ramen and suffering under your terrible current boss, but the fact that your cover letter is a cut-and-paste job from the fourteen jobs you applied for last month shows. And we hate you. If you can’t be bothered to match your fonts, get the name of our institution right, list our job position title correctly, and write something that indicates you read the ad… Just no. You just wasted our time, and you’re out of the running.

Fifth, whatever else you do, whatever advice you take or don’t take, don’t do this:

[this is representative, though several sentences were harvested from varied actual applications received here.]

Hello,
I am interested in the [job title redacted] position would like to learn more about your available opportunity. I am currently working  [redacted]. Along with my work experience, I am finishing my last course online [name of course redacted] by May. (Although I will be available, to begin work by the the end of February. [unadorned statement of previous work experience redacted]. I believe my skills would be a good match for your organization and would  appreciate to opportunity to discuss my qualifications.  Feel free to contact me any time with questions or concerns. My transcripts can be faxed from my School upon request.

Don’t do this. Let me tell you why this is wrong.

1.  “Hello” is not the opening of a business letter, and you failed to sign it. I am unimpressed by your professionalism.
2.  Odds are, the job has “strong communication skills” somewhere in its requirements.  If you present poor written communication skills (or cut and paste badly) in your letter, you just failed.
3.  Commas and parentheses are not decorative; use them right.
4.  The job says it starts in some other month which comes after February. Don’t talk to me about February. You are not reading the ad, or you are not respecting our institutional needs and expressed desires.
5.  Too short. You had my attention available for one to two pages, and you wrote a (boring) paragraph. What a waste of an opportunity.
6.  No one asked for your transcripts. Therefore, we don’t care. Don’t waste the words on that.
7.  Overall, this letter is useless.  It tells me nothing additive to what will be in the accompanying CV.  It tells me nothing about why I should consider you over the dozens of other applicants.  You are treating the cover letter like a hoop to be jumped through rather than a crucial part of your application package.

Fail.

tl;dr: The cover letter is not a formality. Use it to present yourself really well. I already have your CV; I don’t need a repeat. Read the job ad very carefully, and use your letter to say something about yourself and the job.  And spell everything correctly and learn to punctuate.

*steps off the soapbox*

See also: Open Cover Letters and Cover Letters as Narrative and Arc