Do we still need storytellers?

For its 30th anniversary, CBS Sunday Morning invited its original media critic, Jeff Greenfield, to speak about how convergence has affected the media.  He began his segment by noting that he'd been invited back at the 25th anniversary to reflect on how the media landscape had changed since he began, and remarked that in the past five years (from the 25th to 30th anniversaries, or from 2004 - 2009)  "can't even be captured by the word change."

It is, Greenfield said, "as if the most fundamental laws of the media universe have been utterly overthrown."  He discussed the changes in media, which are almost difficult to remember. We once had different forms for different types of media (print, TV, radio, recorded music, movies, etc.).  We as consumers took this media how and when it was delivered to us.  In just a few short years we have the ability to consume only the media we want, no matter the format in which it was originally published, on a computer or smartphone.  We can share it instantly using email, text, YouTube, or Facebook.  (The clip, recorded in 2009, also listed the then-ubiquitous, now severely uncool Myspace.)

Despite the changes, Greenfield states that some things should remain, that media users should still have, "a love for storytelling, a love of clear, vivid language, and a respect for history." 

This thought struck me at first as somewhat quaint: 

Storytelling, in a Twitter world?  (140 characters or less!) 

Clear, vivid language in a society where text-speak is slowly encroaching into our everyday lexicon?  ("OMG, my BFF's LBD is totes adorbs!!!!") 

A respect for history, when traditional age college students don't remember a world without the Internet?  (Just Google it!)

However, as I think more about this, I agree.  We can capture the headlines and the updates, but does news become reality to us without the storytelling, without the vivid language and a context in history?  I think we're programmed to need these things in order to internalize news and information.

Ten years ago, cell phones were in their infancy, texting was just beginning, and while the Internet was a fairly rapid-fire source of news, we still tuned into the TV stations and watched.  Watched, in horror and disbelief, as the two towers of the World Trade Center fell.  We bought newspapers and magazines and read the articles and accompanying photographs as we tried to understand, tried to wrap our heads around the enormity of the destruction and what it meant for the country and the world. 

As we mark the ten year anniversary of the terrorist attacks our reactions have faded.  The facts of that day are something that everyone knows and can recite with some form of detachment.  But as the retrospectives come on, we hear survivors and loved ones of those who didn't survive tell their stories.  We see photos and read firsthand accounts of what the scenes were like, how people were and still are physically and emotionally scarred from that day.  We're reminded of how the politics of the world changed; of the fear, fury and demand for justice that drove a war.  We're drawn in, moved in a visceral way, reminded that this day was part of our own personal history. 


I imagine many of our grandparents would feel the same way viewing this.  Although Cronkite's words were straight reporting, his emotion was rare and unmistakable:

 


Our parents, (and some of us nontraditional students), will never forget the day President Reagan delivered this eloquently simple speech about seven astronauts who "slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God."

I believe something in our psyches needs this storytelling, this language, and this connection to our past to make these things real and not just another sensation.  The words of our storytellers bring a humanity to events that are nearly unfathomable, prompting us to shock, grief and healing.

The first step is admitting you have a problem

My name is Briony, and I'm a media junkie.

Most of my waking hours are spent connected to one form of technology or another.  I wake up to the alarm on my iPhone, and as I'm coming to, check my email.  Somewhere between bed and the bathroom my morning app routine starts.  As I brush my teeth, I open one of my favorite Hollywood gossip apps (no judgement!), then check the Wichita Eagle for the morning news.  On my way back to the bedroom post-shower I check the Accuweather forecast so I can choose something resembling a seasonal ensemble.  I tell myself this is the modern-day equivalent to reading the morning newspaper before work.

I work an office job, so I'm in front of the computer all day.  As I eat breakfast at my desk I check my work and personal email, and then cruise over to Facebook to peruse the latest in posts and status updates.  My friends have come to expect my morning updates, which are usually themes: Question of the Day, Mispronounced Word of the Day, etc.  Throughout, my iPhone sits next to me, sometimes buzzing with texts and always alerting me to my replies.  I tell myself this is my virtual water cooler.

From 8-5 I'm tied to my work email and on breaks or while I'm on hold (or, when just plain goofing off...you do it too!) check some favorite websites.  News sites, Facebook, fashion blogs, Facebook, stores I like and Facebook.  I don't like to check my bank balance on my work computer to see if I have enough "fun money" for something I want, but I have an app for that!  I tell myself this saves much time and gas.

I do attempt to disconnect after coming home.  Some days are more successful than others.  The iPhone usually stays in my bag in the bedroom while I let the dogs out and spend time outside with other animals.  The insulation in the barn doesn't allow me to receive texts or most calls, which I enjoy.  There are, however, people who make me feel guilty about this, particularly my grandma.  Grandma believes that anyone who owns a cell phone has it permanently attached to their hip and worries if I don't answer.  When I call her back, I also hear again that I need to set up my voicemail.  Failing to have voicemail on my iPhone is my favorite act of techno-rebellion.  I know most people who call me and despise voicemails that consist of either, "Hi, this is ____________, call me back!" or a long, drawn-out story that I'd rather hear in real time.  I tell myself that this time is what keeps me from being too tied down to technology.

I've just started a full-time, online bachelor's degree program, so my evenings are usually spent working on my laptop.  I listen to lectures, respond to message board questions, research for assignments, type papers, and compose blog posts.  Compared to this activity, time spent reading textbooks seems rather serene and quaint.  Through this all, I'll usually have a text conversation running.  I tell myself that texting allows me to multitask, and that if I were to do it old-school and actually talk on the phone, I would have to choose between maintaining friendships and schoolwork.

When I total up and consider the time I spend on media daily, it's a bit surprising and quite conflicting for me.  I don't like being expected to always be "there," but I do like always having technology and media there for me.  I'm proud of the fact that I don't play online games or own a video game system.  I use Facebook only to socialize with people I know, as I have no interest in having contact with someone I don't know in real life or need to interact with for work or school.  I resisted owning a smartphone until my travel schedule finally made it too inconvenient for me not to have one.  Now, it is a large part of my day.  The ability to multitask saves me a lot of time that I can use to work harder, study harder, or play harder.  At least, I tell myself this.