The risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things

January 18, 2013

Get excited and <strike>make</strike>do things

I once worked in a Parisian office where the walls were emblazoned with encouraging slogans in English, “share ideas!” “create!” “go!” But my favourite was always the half metre-high vinyl entreaty to:

“do it simple!”

In my more cynical moments I would claim this word art spoke volumes about the culture of multi-national business, more I think than its writer knew or intended. But this is not one of those moments, and in any case who am I to criticise people who spend their working lives operating in a second language while I, through accident of birth, get to open my mouth without a moment’s thought?

No, the mangled motto always reminded that while English has two verbs – “to do” and “to make” – French has only one – “faire”.

This is important because something’s been troubling me about this whole thing for making things. What exactly are the relationships inside that trinity of Barack Obama’s 2009 inauguration speech the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things”?

In my long-drawn-out drift from product manager to service designer, I’ve come to subscribe to the tenets of Steve Vargo and Robert Lusch’s Service Dominant Logic:

“that all firms are service firms; all markets are centered on the exchange of service, and all economies and societies are service based.”

But if I Don’t Believe In Products, why my excitement about making, about the prospect of artisan manufacturing, print-on-demand, Arduinos and laser cutters and 3d printers?

Makey Makey carrot keyboard

What would it mean for a service designer to live in the UK’s Maker Belt?

I don’t have all the answers, but I do have three avenues that might be worth exploring further.

1. That makers are motivated by the process, not the product.

David Gauntlett’s ‘Making is Connecting‘ is good on this front:

Making is connecting because acts of creativity usually involve, at some point, a social dimension and connect us with other people; And making is connecting because through making things and sharing them in the world, we increase our engagement and connection with our social and physical environments.

Of course the thing matters, but only because it is filled with meaning by the people who make and use it. Its intangible value is far greater than the sum of its atoms.

2. That the products of making are frequently service avatars.

As Mike Kuniavsky says:

We are entering a new phase of the internet, one in which connected devices will be the new end points for services. This represents a seismic shift, one where the service is represented as a dedicated hardware device.

Berg’s Little Printer or the Good Night Lamp certainly fall into this category – lovely things that only come to life thanks to the services people make for them.

3. That paradoxically, the maker movement sits on top of a massive stack of enabling services.

  • Oomlaut is a service importing components and parcelling them up into starter kits for hardware hackers.
  • Folksy is a service enabling modern British crafters to network, communicate and sell their stuff.
  • Kickstarter is a service helping makers connect with and gain commitments from funders.
  • Shapeways is just one example of companies gearing up to offer 3d printing as a service.

So for me, the exciting stuff about the making movement is not the output, it’s the activity – the service ecosystem burgeoning around people’s desire and new-found ability to be makers.

Time to get excited and make do things.


“Please join me in a drive for better letters”

May 23, 2012

As a follow-up to the 1951 ‘No Idle Words’ booklet, comes this gem of a letter about writing letters. Its author was Charles Hill, a doctor turned broadcaster and politician who briefly held the office of Postmaster General.

Note also the lovely simplification of the royal coat of arms – just remove all the fussy heraldry from the middle, leaving only the supporters, crown and ribbon – and the brilliant phone number.

Transcript below.

G.P.O. HEADQUARTERS,

ST. MARTIN’S LE GRAND,

LONDON, E.C.1.

TELEPHONE:

HEAdquarters 1234.

11th June, 1956

Dear Colleague,

I am sending this letter to all in the Post Office whose job includes the writing of letters to the public. As a rule Post Office letters are very good. Sometimes they are so good as to make one feel proud. But it does happen that now and again Post Office letters come back to me because they have made members of the public very cross.

Unlike the customers of many private businesses, our customers cannot go elsewhere. Since we are a monopoly, our obligations to the public are all the greater.

A letter which is not clear and polite is just as serious a failure as is a wrong number or a misdelivered parcel. And it is bad in another way. We in the Post Office need the closest co-operation from the public if we are to provide efficient service. Unless the public think of us as a body of friendly, helpful and efficient men and women, we shall not get that co-operation. Bad letters are bad business – and we are in business.

Will you join me in and experiment? Will you re-read your own letters as though they had been sent to you? It can be a useful check to ask oneself as a private citizen what one would think of the writer. Would he seem to be a friendly, understanding, human being anxious to help, or a remote, cold, aloof bureaucrat? If you knew nothing about the Post Office and wanted to know only why you cannot get a telephone or why your letter or parcel went astray or was damaged, would the letter you have written seem clear and polite?

As ordinary individuals writing to a friend, we write simply and clearly. Or most of us do. Only when they pick up their pens in the office do some people sometimes write stiff, long-winded, and obscure letters.

Of course clarity is not all. Sometimes a letter is very clear – all too clear – but not very polite. But the people to whom we write are our customers. We cannot always do what our customers want; but we can, and should, always be polite. If the Post Office has made a mistake, we should apologise.

May I make some other suggestions? Write as nearly as you can as if you were talking to your correspondent. Keep your sentences short and use the simplest and most natural words. User your own words but avoid technical terms and abbreviations. Your correspondent may know little about the Post Office.

If your letter is to promise action of some kind, think out who will do what and say so. If you do not know, find out. If you cannot find out, the chances are that nobody is going to do anything and it’s high time somebody did.

If your letter is clear, polite, and as helpful as possible, you will be making a friend for the Post Office and doing a first-class job.

If for you this advice is unnecessary – as it is for the great majority of our Post Office colleagues – please forgive me for offering it. If not, please join me in a drive for better letters.

Yours sincerely,

Charles Hill


No Idle Words: a style guide for the age of austerity

February 10, 2012

No Idle Words - a photo set on Flickr

Russell Davies’ lovely post on the writing style of the GOV.UK beta inspired me to scan this 1951 Post Office writing guide.

We inherited it from my wife’s grandfather who taught telecommunications at the Post Office’s training college, in the days before BT. If anyone knows more about the booklet I’d love to hear from them.

The author of ‘No Idle Words’ is uncredited, but their  sound advice still holds more than 60 years later. Compare their watchwords with those of GOV.UK:

GPO 1951    GOV.UK 2012 
  • Clear
  • Polite
  • Brief
  • Simpler
  • Clearer
  • Faster

Much of it is timeless good sense, but more than that, the tone seems to chime with the specific spirit of our own age. The GOV.UK people already have a sense of that aesthetic, noting the pioneering influences of the Festival of Britain and Margaret Calvert’s road signage system.

I reckon the Post Office booklet shines a different light on the period, though.

The year of publication marked the fag-end of George VI’s reign and the start of Winston Churchill’s disappointing second term.

From the first word of the title onwards, much of ‘No Idle Words’ is devoted to the negative. Despite the superficial appeal of the call to clarity, the writer’s overriding objective is to save time and cost by fobbing off and ticking off staff and the general public more quickly and directly.

For example from page 15:

I am sorry we cannot at present give you the telephone service you have asked for. The Post Office is alive to the difficulties and incovenience caused by the present shortage of telephones, and is doing what it can to improve the situation. You will be advised as soon as there is a definite prospect of giving you service and in the meantime, it would be a great help to know if you change your address or if you wish to cancel your order.

These are the words of a post-”KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON” society. However you put it, there is no glory in telling someone they cannot have a telephone. In an austerity administration all ambition is gone. What remains is for the civil servant to deliver bad news with good grace.


Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party

July 13, 2011

I have been using the word “machine” in this connection, because it was the only name by which it was designated at that time. The adoption of a suitable name, however, was being discussed at this time by Mr. Sholes and his associates. “Printing machine” was first suggested, but the name did not meet with favor as describing the work it was designed to accomplish. “Writing machine” was also suggested, but as the work would be in printed letters the word “writing” seemed inapplicable. At length Mr. Sholes suggested the name “typewriter.” This was subject to the same objection, and there was some discussion as to whether the name “printing machine’* was not a better name after all, but “typewriter” was an unusual name and had a unique sound, and so it was finally adopted, and then for the first time was heard a name, sounding oddly enough at that time, but which has now become so common throughout the civilized world that we wonder that any other name was thought of.

Our interest in the work became more and more absorbing as it progressed, and the various parts completed and assembled. The keys were of black walnut, about three inches long and a quarter of an inch wide, with the letter of the alphabet to which it was attached painted in white on each key while between each key was a space sufficient to insert shorter keys similar to the black keys of the piano, which were used for the figures and punctuation marks. The figures ran from 2 to 9, the letter “I” being used for the first figure and “O” was used for the cypher. Added to these were the semi-colon, the dollar mark, the hyphen, the period, the comma and interrogation point, and a diagonal stroke which was used for the parenthesis. The keys being attached to the type bars and working in unison with the carriage movement enabled us for the first time to test the work of printing words and sentences. We were then in the midst of an exciting political campaign, and it was then for the first time that the well known sentence was inaugurated, — “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party;” also the opening sentence of the Declaration of Independence, “When in the course of human events,” etc., which sentences were repeated many times in order to test the speed of the machine.

Charles E. Weller, “The early history of the typewriter“, 1918


Small pieces loosely joined: on the way home from the Story

February 18, 2011

Cornelia Parker got the army to blow up a shed full of stuff and then hung the shards from an art gallery ceiling.

It felt like a metaphor for almost all the talks at Matt Locke‘s brilliant event, The Story: everywhere narratives are fragmenting, and no one seems certain how to put them back together.

  • Adam Curtis‘ experiments with archive video footage demonstrated persuasively how we’ve lost confidence in the veracity and validity of smoothly packaged news bulletins.
  • Mark Stevenson berated us for losing faith in a bright human future.
  • Martin Parr documented the vanished minutiae of a Northern English mill town and analogue studio photography.
  • Karl James gave voice to families thrown off balance, one by childhood leukemia, another by rape; and to children who felt written off by their teachers.
  • Lucy Kimbell dissected her own sense of worth and wellbeing to create ‘Audit’ and the LIX Index.
  • Players armed with toy guns blew apart Mary Hamilton‘s carefully constructed live action role play set pieces (though she didn’t seem to mind so much).
  • Matt Adams reduced teen pregnancy to 100 or so text messages scattered across seven days, while Phil Gyford is dicing 10 years worth of Samuel Pepys’ diaries into Twitter-ready chunks.
  • And with all those cats just a click away it’s no wonder Graham Linehan‘s attention span is so shot through that he hasn’t read a book in six months.

These things are not stories but snapshots, vignettes from, as Curtis put it, our age of “emotional realism”.

If there was one disappointment today it was that we were denied any straightforward, spellbinding storytelling performances, as delivered by Tim Etchells, Cory Doctorow and David Hepworth at last year’s The Story.

Fortunately, while none had the full prescription, some of the speakers did offer tantalizing hints of how the frayed and shredded fragments of stories that surround us might be woven back together into a genuinely new genre for our age.

I’m not sure what it looks like but I think these are some promising elements:

From our repertoire of emotional realism, I think we can keep and work with the heightened sensations:

  • the arresting visual image of the Maldives Cabinet meeting underwater
  • the excruciating 19 seconds of silence while the father of a sick child composes his thoughts
  • the details you only spot when you study the news from Helmand uncut.

Add to that the data exhaust of a billion mobile phones taking readings and measurements for a super-charged, real time LIX Index. And as for adding a soundtrack to e-books, whatever next, talking pictures?

Adam Curtis’ diagnosis of the need for a frame, for a less starry-eyed appreciation of power in the Internet age is spot on. One can detect this re-framing implicitly in Cornelia Parker’s work too.

But with this frame in place, we can safely build on the wonderful things that happen when storytellers open up the process and let their “audiences” in on the shaping of the story:

  • At least half the wordcount in Blast Theory’s ivy4Evr came from recipients of her texts responding and talking her through the issues as they themselves might experience them.
  • Mary Hamilton’s Zombie LARP “story machine” solidifies stories by institutionalising “froth”, the over-excited re-telling of events that follows inevitably from a successful live action role play happening.
  • Pepys Diary on Twitter has attracted a 14-strong menagerie of other characters spontaneously responding to his tweets.

And now @glinner uses project management software to co-write the IT Crowd with a small group of hand-picked Twitter followers. I loved the idea that he could go away for a week and return to find that “the stories accrete like coral” around the provocations he has sewn on Basecamp.

When I made ‘1794: A Small Story‘, I got an inkling of what happens when you put fragments out there, unfinished, joined to the web. Now I’m inspired to make it more sensation-al, more social and more savvy about the undercurrents of the sea in which it swims.

Also, Monsters! Made of people!

More discussion of The Story 2011 on Twitter.


The Hyperjoy of Hypertext

September 7, 2009

In my ramble through the possibilities of Mobile Gothic, Ruskin’s fifth quality of Gothic – Rigidity or Obstinacy – was the hardest to express. It may not be all of Christopher Alexander’s qwan, but it’s certainly an important part of it.

At the time I wrote:

“The articulation of the parts of the mobile user experience is a key to its success, which is why we talk a lot about flow, about seamless user experience, but it often sounds vapid. Ruskin reminds us that there should be angles, there should be tension and change as we move from one mode to another.”

The angles, the angles, it’s all in the angles. It’s all in the angle brackets. Because at the heart of Mobile Gothic is hypertext.

And at the heart of hypertext is, well, text.

Let’s pause for a moment to remember just how amazing text is. Read the rest of this entry »


Ten years on, can we stop worrying now?

August 27, 2009

Ten years ago this month the Sunday Times published an article by Douglas Adams called “How to Stop Worrying and Learn to Love the Internet”. You can read it here.

Some starting observations:

  1. It’s a tragedy that Adams died, aged 49, in 2001, depriving us of more great literature in the vein of the Hitchhiker’s Guide, of genuinely innovative new media projects such as H2G2, and of the witty, insightful commentary we find in the Sunday Times column.
  2. Adams’ insights have stood the test of time.  Everything he wrote at the end of the Nineties stands true as we near the start of the Tens.
  3. We still haven’t stopped worrying.

Adams from 1999:

… there’s the peculiar way in which certain BBC presenters and journalists (yes, Humphrys Snr., I’m looking at you) pronounce internet addresses. It goes ‘wwwDOT … bbc DOT… co DOT… uk SLASH… today SLASH…’ etc., and carries the implication that they have no idea what any of this new-fangled stuff is about, but that you lot out there will probably know what it means.

I suppose earlier generations had to sit through all this huffing and puffing with the invention of television, the phone, cinema, radio, the car, the bicycle, printing, the wheel and so on…

2009: John Humphrys is still huffing and puffing [Update 3/9/09 - further proof provided!], and…

you would think we would learn the way these things work, which is this:

1) everything that’s already in the world when you’re born is just normal;

2) anything that gets invented between then and before you turn thirty is incredibly exciting and creative and with any luck you can make a career out of it;

3) anything that gets invented after you’re thirty is against the natural order of things and the beginning of the end of civilisation as we know it until it’s been around for about ten years when it gradually turns out to be alright really.

Apply this list to movies, rock music, word processors and mobile phones to work out how old you are.

The moral panic continues, now transferred to social networking and camera phones.

And Douglas Adams hit the nail of the head in his taking to task of the term “interactive”:

the reason we suddenly need such a word is that during this century we have for the first time been dominated by non-interactive forms of entertainment: cinema, radio, recorded music and television. Before they came along all entertainment was interactive: theatre, music, sport – the performers and audience were there together, and even a respectfully silent audience exerted a powerful shaping presence on the unfolding of whatever drama they were there for. We didn’t need a special word for interactivity in the same way that we don’t (yet) need a special word for people with only one head.

The same fallacy persists, now transferred from the term “interactive” to “social“.

Ten years ago, Douglas Adams identifed a few problems.

  • “Only a minute proportion of the world’s population is so far connected” – this one’s well on the way to being fixed, as much by the spread of internet-capable mobile devices as by desktop or laptop PCs.
  • It was still “technology,” defined as “‘stuff that doesn’t work yet.’ We no longer think of chairs as technology, we just think of them as chairs.” – has the internet in 2009 reached the same level of  everyday acceptance as chairs? Almost, I think, though the legs still fall off with disappointing regularity.

The biggest problem, wrote Adams, is that “we are still the first generation of users, and for all that we may have invented the net, we still don’t really get it”. Invoking Steve Pinker’s The Language Instinct (read this too, if you haven’t already), he argued that it would take the next generation of children born into the world of the web to become really fluent. And for me that’s been the most amazing part. Reflecting the other day on Tom Armitage’s augmented reality post to the Schulze and Webb blog, I realised that I see that development in my own children’s engagement with technology.

  • At birth a child may assume that anything is possible: a handheld projector holds no special amazement for my three-year-old.
  • Through childhood we are trained, with toys among other things, to limit our expectations about how objects should behave. My six-year-old, who has been trained by the Wii, waves other remote controls about in a vain attempt to use gestures.
  • My nine-year-old, more worldliwise, mocks him for it.

We arrive in the world Internet-enabled and AR-ready, it’s just that present-day technology beats it out of us. I work for the day when this is no longer the case.

Last words to Douglas Adams, as true today as in 1999:

Interactivity. Many-to-many communications. Pervasive networking. These are cumbersome new terms for elements in our lives so fundamental that, before we lost them, we didn’t even know to have names for them.

Update 3/9/09: Debate about Twitter on the Today programme, and Kevin Anderson takes up the theme.


Lock up your marbles! Here come the curators

July 21, 2009

I love museums and art galleries. I love the web. So why is it I feel so uneasy about the use of the word “curate” in connection with online content?

It certainly seems to be a hot term in the media industry, as seasoned hacks struggle to reinvent themselves in the face of impending old media extinction:

Curation is the new role of media professionals.

Separating the wheat from the chaff, assigning editorial weight, and — most importantly – giving folks who don’t want to spend their lives looking for an editorial needle in a haystack a high-quality collection of content that is contextual and coherent. It’s what we always expected from our media, and now they’ve got the tools to do it better.

Apparently a piece of paper with news on was so century-before-last. Now your newspaper must be transformed into an online hub with copious links to events, organisations, comments and blog posts about your locality or specialist topic.

Creating original content was a thankless task. I know from the hours spent as a young reporter in drafty village halls, smelly magistrates’ courts, and wading through the wreckage of the latest chip-pan fire. [Tip: if you ever come home  from the pub late at night and feel like making chips, don't. Just don't.]

How much better, some seem to be saying, to make a living organising and displaying other peoples’ work instead. How innocent it sounds when “curation” is the borrowed name for this new business model. I don’t like it and I’m not alone in my unease.

To homage a joke from a recent I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue, that’ll be curate as in Ronnie Biggs the Great Train Curator.

Read the rest of this entry »


ШITH TШЗИTУ-FIVЗ SФLDIЗЯS ФF LЗДD HЗ HДS CФИQЦЗЯЗD THЗ ШФЯLD

November 15, 2007

Thus somebody – and nobody quite seems to know whom – said of Johannes Gutenberg. But even with the belated arrival of the “w” to make up the Latin alphabet to 26, this once mighty army now seems barely enough to log into Bebo.

Cyrillic? on FLickr, by fil himself

There are forces at work.

  1. Web-based services demand that users have globally unique ids. You know the score – you enter your favoured username on the Web Too Point Oh site du jour only to find that some random namesake got there first.
  2. … but people’s names are not globally unique. I guess I could change my name by deed poll to mattedgar63 but society seems unsympathetic to such innovation.
  3. Fortunately many of the new breed of global web services support Unicode as standard. To force the majority of the World’s population to use only Latin characters would be bad for business, as well as deeply un-PC.
  4. Kids like codes. No sooner could my son write than he was finding ways to write messages in secret. Language can be used as a tool to obfuscate as well as communicate.
  5. Kids (in UK at least) are increasingly exposed to cultures with non-Latin character sets. The Iron Curtain has gone and with it the cosy certainty of Gutenberg’s lead soldiers…

Flickr - Cyrillic in the heart of London - by Happy Dave

And before you know it, it’s come to this. And this. And this…

Bebo Sayings

25 soldiers? Make that 95,221.


Sous les pavés, la plage

February 21, 2007

The payphone has bluescreened…

Payphone, London King's Cross

… the departure board has 404ed…

Departure board at Edgware Road Tube Station

… the giant TV screen is somebody’s Windows desktop…

Big screen, Millennium Square, Leeds

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!

Since posting my three broken technology pictures, I’ve been suffering the blogger’s equivalent of what the French call “l’esprit de l’escalier,” and for which German has the deeply satisfying word “Treppenwitz”.

If I’d paused just a little longer before hitting the publish button, I’d have added a discussion of the optimistic message contained in every one of those man-behind-the-curtain snapshots.

I’d have waxed lyrical on how in every case the authorities’ intentions to constrain processing power to a single task – the kiosk, the departure board, the TV screen – were subverted by its very malfunctioning, revealing the endless possibilities implicit in this most malleable and interconnected technology.

If only I’d waited a while, I’d have told the story of how my seven-year-old son, on seeing an unattended till terminal in Ikea, grabs the mouse and tries to log on to Adventure Quest.

I’d have invoked the situationist May 68 slogansous les pavés, la plage” – “beneath the paving stones, the beach” – which speaks of the unconstrained liberty that lurks just below the locked-down surface of our civilisation.

And I’d have ended in an overblown flourish and a bold font: beneath the pixels, the silicon!

Probably just as well I didn’t.


By Their Words You Shall Know Them

January 29, 2007

Recently I’ve been spending time around online advertising people and I’m starting to wonder: if they’re so smart at communicating, do they ever listen to themselves? For some reason this industry has adopted the most aggressive and unattractive jargon – targeting, eyeballs, cut-through, impressions, and so on.

It doesn’t have to be this way. The parallel world of CRM does roughly the same thing but in much softer terms. CRM talks of customers, engagement, response, a lifetime. Yes, the CRM guys may be after only one thing (see Clue #80), but at least they have the decency to tell us they want a relationship.

Why does this matter?

  1. because the words we use about people behind their backs shape the way we act towards their faces
  2. because they might be listening.

Update 20/04/2008: Similar sentiments expressed by Russell Buckley on Mobhappy: The Language of Advertising

Update 05/11/2010: John Dodds has targeting in his sights



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