Twitter  Ken Doctor on the newsonomics of how and why nie.mn/WHcDmB http://t.co/BRj43cGM21  
Nieman Journalism Lab
Pushing to the future of journalism — A project of the Nieman Foundation at Harvard

Is it just 8,000-word epics that make people hit “Read Later”?

Or are tools like Instapaper and Read It Later really just scratching an itch for time-shifted reading, whether those pieces are long or short?

In this week’s Monday Note, Frédéric Filloux wrote a piece on the ecosystem of “smart people curat[ing] long form journalism,” which he described as including Longreads, Longform, and Instapaper.

Which, if you think about it, is an interesting grouping. Longform and Longreads are both curators of excellent, long works of journalism and nonfiction; they identify long stories and link to them. They’re fundamentally editorial products. Instapaper (along with its competitor Read It Later) is a tool, a method for saying, “I don’t want to read this now — so save this article in a pleasing format offline, in a place where I can come back to it later.” It’s a technical product; it deals with raw gibberish and finely honed prose equally well.

Instapaper-like tools and Longreads-like services get lumped together a lot because, I’d argue, of a story we like to tell ourselves about long-form journalism, something I like to call the Long-Form Longing. People who care about journalism — particularly those of us who’ve shifted 95-percent-plus of our reading online — love to valorize long-form journalism. We root for efforts that seem to promote the kind of work we fear might be getting lost in a blizzard of tweets. Here’s one of my favorite short pieces by Internet superstar and ex-Harper’s editor Paul Ford:

I was out for a drink with a friend who works for a womens’ magazine. She does not love her job, mostly because she is in charge of compiling yoga recipes and candle news (a column called Candletips) for the front of the book. “I just commissioned a 2,200-word piece,” she said, “with the provisional title Hollywood’s Neti Nuts: Star Sinus Secrets.” She took a long draught of red wine and closed her eyes for a moment. “So, that. But if you look in the back of the book, we are still publishing long-form journalism.”

That was not the first time I’ve heard this argument. Long-form journalism can be an excuse for just about anything. You might work for Teen Violence Week, and your job might require compiling a photo collage of the week’s best dick punches, but you can still feel proud that your magazine publishes 5,000 words about a Los Angeles clinic that performs free abortions for tapirs, or a serious investigation into America’s declining sandpaper standards (True Grit: The death of smooth).

The popularity of tools like Instapaper and Read It Later give us comfort — because if people are using them to read things later, it stands to reason that those things must be the kind of long-form work that we admire.

The thing is: that comforting vision doesn’t seem to be particularly true.

Remember last week when Read It Later released that great dataset on which publications and authors were saved the most often in its system? We wrote about it and, like others, noted that the most-saved authors often worked at blogs like Lifehacker, Gizmodo, Mashable, and Techcrunch. Fine publications all, but John McPhee they ain’t. This seemed to surprise Filloux:

Great writers indeed, but hardly long form journalism. We would have expected a predominance of long feature stories, we get columnists and tech writers instead.

“We would have expected” is the Long-Form Longing in a nutshell — the idea that, now that we have the tools to shift reading from length-averse environments (sitting at your desk at 10:30 a.m., avoiding an Excel spreadsheet) to length-friendly environments (on your couch, sipping merlot, iPad in hand), people will want 8,000 words on the history of grains. Or at least a long New Yorker feature. But the data doesn’t, at first glance, seem to back that up.

Here’s another, more thorough dataset that illustrates the point even better. Back in September, I moderated a panel on new platforms for long-form journalism. I wanted to have some new data for the introduction, so I emailed the nice folks at Read It Later to see if they could share with me the range of word counts of articles saved using its tool. How many were short quick blog posts, and how many were Vollmanesque epics?

First, some details about the data they sent me. (Thanks again to Nate Weiner and Matt Koidin for their help with it.) This is data from articles saved using Read It Later from March to May of this year. It only includes articles — that is, YouTube videos and other non-article URLs are scrubbed out of the data. And it ignores articles that are either shorter than 100 words or longer than 10,000. Here’s the chart:

(Here’s that same chart, much bigger.)

The x-axis is word count — how long the articles were. The y-axis is the number of articles. The blue area represents how many articles were saved; the red area represents how many articles were actually read after they were saved. (And here “read” means “opened at some later point marked as read within Read It Later,” not “read all the way to the end.”)1

What you can see here is that, by far, the largest number of articles that are being saved are short — under 500 words. The number of articles saved drops off quickly at word counts higher than that.

(The jagged green line represents the ratio of read to saved — that is, at a given word length, how many of the saved articles later get read. As you can see, it’s lower for longer articles, but not remarkably so. The green line is the only one on the chart for which the percentages on the right side of the chart apply.)

Now, do more people read longer pieces because of tools like Instapaper and Read It Later than they would without them? Sure! I know I do. And while this chart seems heavily weighted toward shorter pieces, a chart showing the entire universe of save-able online content would no doubt be far more skewed toward brevity.

But the evidence seems to be that people find time-shifting useful regardless of length, and that using these tools for really long work is more of an edge case than common usage. It appears the user’s thought process is closer to “Let me read this later” than “Let me read this later because it’s really long and worthy.”

And that, to me, means that journalists should learn to separate the promotion of long-form from the promotion of time-shifting. Both are useful ideas, but the Venn diagram of the two is far from a perfect overlap.

Notes
  1. Update, 1:34 p.m.: I misspoke. “Read” on this chart doesn’t mean “opened at some later point,” as I originally had it. It means “marked as read within Read It Later,” which essentially means a user pressed a button saying “I read this.” In any event, it doesn’t mean that the article actually got read, in the sense that RIL tracks to make sure you got to the last paragraph. Thanks to RIL’s Nate Weiner for the correction.
                                   
What to read next
how-why-explainer-explanatory-cc
Ken Doctor    July 25, 2014
When people talk about explanatory journalism, the focus is on new players like Vox and FiveThirtyEight, or on giants like the Times and the Post. But can connecting the dots trickle down to the local level?
  • http://twitter.com/FetchingMegan Megan K. VanRysdam

    You have to wonder, though, how many articles in this data set were actually longer than, say, 1500 words.  Are Read It Later users less likely to go to sites with long form articles?

  • http://www.niemanlab.org/ Joshua Benton

    Well, the dataset that’s in the chart is all articles saved using Read It Later that were longer than 100 words and shorter than 10,000 words. The chart makes it pretty clear that the number in this data set longer than 1,500 words is not huge, as a percentage.

    As I said in the piece, the %age of articles saved that are long is no doubt a lot higher than the %age of all articles on the Internet that are long, at any given definition of “long.” But the vast majority of saving activity happens with shorter articles.

  • http://twitter.com/FetchingMegan Megan K. VanRysdam

    Ok, yes, clear that the long form ones they saved were few.  But I suppose I mean the articles that these users even ventured to in the first place, without clicking Read it Later.  Are the Read it Later users representative of all users who read online.

    Regardless, interesting data for journalists.

  • http://twitter.com/markarms Mark Armstrong

    I have two biases here: 1.) I’m an editorial advisor for Read It Later, 2.) I’m the founder of Longreads. 

    Having dug into the data (and still digging), I think the most fascinating metric for the growth of longform content is looking at the “Return Rates” vs. the pure amount of short or long content being saved. The Internet is awash in short content, so you’re not likely to see a clear embrace of longform in overall Read It Later numbers. 

    Measuring the return rate though, you can look at actual loyalty to a piece and its longevity. And what we see is, despite articles being 1,500, 3,000, or even 10,000 words long, many pieces can have the same or better return rate as short content. That’s a complete reversal of the idea that people do not read long content anymore. 

    There’s still a lot more to explore on this front, but it’s a good sign that people will embrace depth when given the opportunity. 

  • http://www.niemanlab.org/ Joshua Benton

    My issue is that, for people coming at this from a journalism frame-of-mind, it’s very easy to view Read It Later and Instapaper primarily as saviors of long-form. “The death of long-form” and “the rebirth of long-form” are emotional issues for journalists, and it’s led them to take a really great idea — time-shifting reading — and harness it rhetorically to the protection/promotion of long-form content. Examples:

    BusinessWeek: “But don’t write the obituary for long-attention-span journalism quite yet. Go to instapaper.com and download the plug-in for your Web browser.”

    NYT: “The economics of the Web favor sites that aggregate those nuggets. That is why so many writers and publishers wring their hands and lament that long-form journalism, meaty articles that are at least two or three times as long as the trifle you are currently reading, is dying in the Internet age…Instapaper is an answer for anyone who stumbles upon a long article on the Web but does not want to read it immediately…You can save painfully long e-mails or newsletters as well.”

    Poynter: “How Technology Is Renewing Attention to Long-form Journalism…In the past, [Nate] said, he would come across magazine-length stories that he wanted to read, but never had a good way to save them for later.

    Independent: “Just over three years old, Instapaper is now used by 1.6m people to read long features at their leisure, on or offline, and maintain a self-curated repository of interesting articles.”

    That’s why it’s interesting that the vast majority of saved articles aren’t long, or anywhere close to long. We’re talking 200-word-long articles here! By my rough eyeballing of that chart, the number of articles saved between 100 and 500 words in length is about 12 times the number of articles between 2,000 and 3,000 words in length.

    Again, I’m sure that ratio is still better than the ratio of short-to-long of the broader web. But tying a really great idea to length — by doing things like saying the use case for these tools is a 5,000-word New Yorker piece — limits that idea’s capacity for broader adoption.

    For instance, if I run a news site and I’m debating whether to add a Read It Later button or an Instapaper button to my stories, I might decide one thing if I think the users of the service are just people coming across 5,000-word pieces. If I find out that most people are using it just to time-shift shorter content, I might be more likely to think that I should put those buttons on all my stories. For instance, I bet Nick Denton wasn’t really aware his 300-words-a-pop empire was getting time-shifted anywhere near as much as it is until he saw your post the other day.

    I have to say I was stunned when I saw the RIL data — precisely because I was under the mistaken impression, informed by a zillion feature articles about Marco and Nate, that long-form really was the blood of the segment. I don’t want it to get lost in that ghetto — like good narrative writing was in some newspapers a decade ago when narrative techniques were only okay to use on 80-inch Sunday stories. They’re good to use on 12-inch daily copy too!

  • Anonymous

    Interesting. I’m a rabid Instapaper-er, and I get lots of my reading material from Longform/Longreads. I almost never save any articles less than 2,000 words — at that length, I find it easier to read on the screen. I’d guess my average is around 3,000-5,000, with a few longer articles in the 8,000-10,000 range each week. So like you, I’m shocked by that data, but not because it’s at odds with the coverage of those sites/tools. I’m shocked because I didn’t realize my behavior was so atypical.

  • Anonymous

    I use Read It Later because i am too poor to have my own internet connection and when i can access the internet, it’s brief and bad, so i download EVERYTHING i want to read, then read at my leisure. Genuine longform, in my life, has to be books. I’m not enjoying 750 pages of biochem or 1200 of molecular biology, god help me, but anything hard to read has to be convenient to read, which with my eyesight (v. bad & myopic) means books.

  • http://www.postlinearity.com gregorylent

    browser bookmarks used to serve this purpose .. i have thousands that i would never miss if they were lost.

    “read later” is like buying books that one never reads ..

    it is an action in the present time that ignores that “the future” will also be a present time.