Episode: 560
Title: HPR0560: Old soldiers
Source: https://hub.hackerpublicradio.org/ccdn.php?filename=/eps/hpr0560/hpr0560.mp3
Transcribed: 2025-10-07 23:05:45

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Music
Hello, this is Lost in Bronx.
It's been a while since my last episode of HPR.
Fact is, I haven't had a whole lot to say, or at least I haven't felt like I have.
But it occurs to me that this, on its own, is a point worth a little consideration.
What are the causes of that dreaded scourge of our collective edification and entertainment,
namely, pod fading?
You likely know the term, but just in case, what I'm referring to here is that tendency
for podcasters to slowly, over the course of time, or maybe not so slowly, stop releasing
episodes of their respective shows, all the while intending to continue with it, you
know, later, sometime when they're not so busy.
Said shows sometimes return and fits and starts over time, or come back with both barrels
blazing, often only to peter out again.
Or indeed, they become ghosts and just fade away.
This is a marked difference from those few shows, like Chess Griffin's Linux reality,
that hit a certain mark and then call it officially quits.
It was sad to see that show go, but it was nice to have a final word on this subject.
It certainly be waiting nebulously for a next episode that would never come.
A class act starts to finish and one we could all stand to emulate, myself included.
Which I'm not doing right now, because I was just, you know, busy, I'll get back to
it.
Yet, what if I don't?
What if this is my swan song?
What if you never hear from me again?
What the hell are you gonna do about it?
Sorry, my combative nature reveals itself.
And therein lies the rub, or it is a combative nature that causes pod fading to begin with.
It is the very tenacity and good intentions of the average fading podcaster that makes
them want to hold on, that makes it nearly impossible for them to look at the situation
at hand and say, that's it, I'm done, it's over.
There certainly must be some who have what appears to be a temporary impediment to producing
a show, which turns out to be a long term or permanent one.
But more often, it strikes me that few people stop recording solely due to outside pressures.
Internally, we, and by who, I mean, they, because like I said, I'm not fading here.
I say, internally, we are fighting the good fight.
Are they listening?
Do they care?
Is anything I'm saying actually worth anybody's time?
We overcome that when we can, and we say what we want to say, and when we can't, we
don't.
So simple.
A voice ringing in a vacuum, or nearly so, is hard enough, but add to it the pressures
and drains of daily life, of full-time work and family and personal troubles, and it
rapidly seems amazing that anyone can do this at all.
And let us not forget the personality clashes and politics inherent in even small shows.
Now I'm not talking about the Leo LePortz out there who make a living at it.
They're just DJs by any other name.
The vast majority of podcasters do not have those enviable production resources available.
The inner and outer worlds intrude, and their shows sometimes grow thin and disappear.
That's my view anyway.
There are so many exceptions, it's hardly worthwhile to count them, but there are even more
tombstones in the podcasting graveyard.
My focus here is on the root causes of podfating.
Why do people stop?
What makes a person go through the trouble of creating a show covering a topic that inspires
them only to let it pass away?
Understanding some common causes might add strength to those currently producing shows, or
at the very least, it might prove of some value to those yet to start up this odd hobby.
Yes, hobby.
Some people have had a great deal of success at it, true, but that is not most podcasters
circumstance.
And even so, the luck may have had a hand in the popularity of some people and their shows.
It was certainly said people's hard work that brought such success into being.
Even beyond that, or maybe before that, I'm not sure just how best to express such successes.
The measure of them, the descriptor we should use.
In the, shall we say non-fiction arena of tech podcasting, where money doesn't really
change too many hands, what kind of success can you say a show has gained?
Commercial?
Certainly not.
Well, not usually.
Artistic?
Maybe, to some degree, but it's not exactly art that we're talking about here, at least
I don't think so.
Maybe popular success is the term I'm after.
The shows are popular.
The people involved are well-known in their niches.
Okay, so a show gains a measure of popular success.
It has a core audience.
The people look forward to downloading it each week, or fortnight, or whatever.
That's one end of the spectrum.
The other end is that graveyard I spoke of.
And the goal is to strive for the former and stay out of the ladder.
To my mind, the first order of business, therefore, is to see what works and avoid what doesn't.
Popularly, successful shows will have at least several reasons why they are so well-liked.
And the priority of any of these is somewhat subjective, so you may well disagree here,
and I would not argue.
But for me, the success or failure of any endeavor can be summed up by the three letters
AIC, meaning ass-in-chair.
Every successful project starts with an idea, but if it never goes farther than that, then
all you have are someone's thoughts locked in their head.
The philosophy of AIC has about one tenant.
Put your ass in the chair and get the job done.
Don't just think about doing it.
Don't just intend to do it.
We're not talking about paid work here.
That's too easy.
No money involved.
No addition to your bottom line.
In fact, it steals away your moments.
Your time.
Still, it's ass-in-chair.
You do whatever you have to do to make the work a priority in your life.
Not just a desire, certainly not just a dream.
There are likely as many ways to approach this as there are people who want to, and those
journeys on their own are difficult.
But the basic underlying motivation of AIC is to work.
There are more dreamers than doers, and I will stay here and now that good ideas are
a dime, a dozen.
Good projects are not.
Mating your dreams with your actions and maintaining the resulting momentum is the demon to be faced.
The empty chair is the enemy.
It seems like it's a personal battle, but the chair in fact represents your world and
every good reason in it not to do the work.
Every valid excuse not to put your ass in your chair and realize your dreams.
Now this may seem like motivational drivel from the 90s and far afield from the subject
at hand, but bear with me a moment longer.
Whether your project is a podcast or a knitted sweater is immaterial if you aren't able
to get yourself back to it over and over.
Neither one is done in a single day since as avocations both should be ongoing.
A steady stream of sweaters keeps everybody warm.
A steady stream of podcasts gets your voice out there, gets your thoughts heard.
It's damnably easy to be ignored in this world, especially by yourself.
So you're motivated, you start your show, you do a bunch of them, you get some feedback
and everything is gold, it's fun, it's educational and you get an awesome feeling of accomplishment.
In fact, it starts to fall into a routine.
In fact, it starts to feel like an obligation.
Yes, this is the crisis point.
This is when the show starts to fade, when the newness has worn off.
And mostly what you see is the work.
The idea of it is still so attractive, it still seems like so much fun.
But the reality of it is, you've got a lot on your mind, your free time is limited
and your energy is flagging.
And when these things aren't so pressing, so immediate, well, you'll get right back
on it, because it's fun, it is fun, but it's a lot of work too, and you just can't
right now.
But soon, honest, honest, it's yourself you're lying to, of course, other people aren't fooled
for long.
They've seen the pattern, held you've seen it yourself plenty of times, and if it wasn't
coming from such an impeccable source, you wouldn't fall for it either.
But you do, because you do intend to keep going.
But you end up doing so, more like you don't.
Either way, it's a poor place to find yourself in, especially if you really do like podcasting.
See, now you feel guilty about not doing shows and you're robbing yourself of something
you enjoy, to say nothing of stifling your own voice.
So we're clear that this is usually a bad thing, and I say usually because exceptions
about AIC, it is the reason for much success, it is also the reason for much failure because
the do battle with the chair means to sometimes lose.
The world takes precedence because it must, because you have a career or just a job, whatever,
and you have family and money problems and personal issues to numerous or private
to publicize, and because what the hell podcasting is just a hobby anyway, then maybe not even,
I mean, how long has it been since the last one?
And so you fade.
A thought can go through one's mind when considering the status of their fading show, namely,
am I any damn good at it?
There's so many better people out there, funnier people with better voices, better writing
maybe, better audio skills, equipment, information, whatever.
These seem like valid concerns, but they're not.
Of course, there are better podcasters out there.
Some people have talent, plain and simple.
They all wish we could count ourselves among them, they just have a knack for it.
They're good talkers, good hosts, by nature it seems.
Certainly, by inclination, perhaps a nature and inclination we mere mortals don't properly
share, and you know what, that's okay.
Because what you say, what you have to share matters, oh, maybe not a couple thousand
downloads per episode worth, but it matters to somebody.
And that somebody, first and foremost, is you, or it ought to be.
Because damn it, it mattered enough to start the ball rolling in the first place.
And oddly, weirdly enough in this disconnected age, people whom you have never met, people
you will never meet, will miss you when you're gone.
Think not.
They ask about the show, don't they?
When's the next one coming out?
What's it going to be about?
Will there be a format change or whatever?
Even one odd email is someone who cares enough to write, who likes what you have to say,
and wants to hear more of it.
And what if no one writes, so what if no one noticed the show, let alone it's fade?
You do, that's enough, that's plenty of reason to keep fighting that good fight without
and within.
Ah, but you say it's really the cost issues, the hosting, especially, it's unreliable,
it's expensive, you just can't do it anymore.
Well, that's a crack of shit, and you know it because this is exactly what archive.org
is for.
No, it's not the fastest thing out there, but it works, and it's free, and they host
whatever format you want to throw up there, unless you aren't releasing your work under
the commons, or in the public domain, now that's your choice, obviously.
But if you aren't making any money with it anyway, and you don't realistically believe
you ever will, not that creative commons, and making a buck or incompatible at all,
but if you restrict your redistribution opportunities, you're only hurting your potential listeners.
Fewer listeners means less feedback, less feedback means less AIC motivation when the going,
or should I say the sitting gets tough.
Archive.org isn't the only option either, you're listening to one right now, hacker
public radio.
It welcomes everyone with something vaguely tacky to say, and not even good lord, if
they'll release my rambling nonsense, sharp characters like yourselves, with real points
to speak on, real information and opinions, are not just welcomed, but encouraged to participate.
Whether you're up to your own show, or not, this one has room for you, whenever you have
room for it.
Oh, now that sounds like a commercial, sorry, wasn't meant to be.
What I'm really saying is it's an option, and not a poor second class one either.
And neither is your own show, the one you don't think you can do, or do anymore.
But you know in advance that popular success is elusive and not worth serious consideration,
right?
That it's only for those few talented heroes of ours, while relative obscurity and the
fandom of the few is our lot in podcasting life, I'm being deliberately insulting, partly
due to my combative nature, but also because a healthy dose of humility goes a long way.
As does a thick skin.
In the very few things I've done, I've gotten mostly kind responses, but there have been
a few who have expressed disagreement or dislike.
Hey, at least they responded.
Most of the time it's silence.
And that right there can be the hardest burden of all.
It can be a blamed source of pod fading.
No one's listening anyway.
You might justify it to yourself.
That may be true, but more likely you do yourself an injustice.
In fact, whether they listen or not, you're definitely doing yourself a bad turn believing
that, because it matters to you.
If you do indeed have a liberal license associated with your work, you have no idea how far
your show is going to travel.
HPR gets linked to and even republished by various audio services around the world.
That's in keeping with its license.
Mostly I've seen a few things that seem a little shady, but anyway, your show can and
most likely will do the same.
There's no way, in fact, of knowing who your real audience is, or will be going into
the future.
I can tell you for a fact that Charles Dickens never expected people to read his works 150
years into the future on portable media players they carry in their pockets.
The eventual impact of your show will be a mystery, perhaps, but you'll have one almost
guaranteed.
See, your thoughts matter.
Your show matters to you, to others, but what if it really doesn't?
To you anymore?
What if you're well and truly sick of it or well and truly cannot do it anymore?
Well, everything has an end.
The key here is to announce it, admit it to yourself, and then to your listeners.
They deserve it.
You deserve it.
All things end, but not all endings are graceful.
This one, though, is within your power to control.
You can terminate your show, you can revive it, or you can finesse it under those circumstances,
and by that, I mean something like, I'm taking a six months sabbatical, or I'll be gone
for a while, but when I return, the show will have a slightly new format, stuff like that.
Waffling by any other name?
Well, only if you don't really mean what you say.
If you announce that you'll be back in six months, then damn it, be back in six months.
And we're not really talking about the details, anyway, are we?
You're really talking about making the show a priority.
Your hobby, your fun time, make it a part of your life.
You have family, work, social, or religious obligations, problems galore, maybe.
And you podcast.
I will bet you, if you looked very carefully at your schedule, you could probably find
a few things each week which you do that you neither have to do, nor want to do.
Is there a show on TV you watch that, honestly, you're ambivalent about?
That's time, your precious time that you will never, ever get back, which could be spent
getting your voice and thoughts out there for others to hear and enjoy.
So what if you only have a handful of listeners that you know of?
It's not about them, anyway, it's your damn show.
It's about you, and what you enjoy or think is important.
That beats the idiot box any day of the week, and you know that.
It beats letting your show fade away when you've still got things to say.
But if it's true that you cannot or do not want to continue your show, at the very least
admit that to yourself and have a final episode, say your goodbyes.
Close your baby, it's not just for romance anymore.
Give people a chance to take it out of their RSS feeds or let them know they don't have
to check your site anymore for new content.
It makes the best of impressions, it shows respect for your listeners and yourself, and
they'll respect your show all the more.
That starts you off with a very good impression for your next project, assuming you have one,
and if not, well a good reputation hurts no one.
They'll remember you for that, if nothing else.
If you never get a second chance to make a first impression, you never get a chance
to make another one at all after your last.
So make it a good one.
You gave them your time and your thoughts and feelings.
Give them a fond, fairly well, and call it a day.
And I fully believe that if you're at that point, you yourself will feel relief.
You won't have that nagging little voice in the back of your head telling you to podcast
urging you to do something you used to love, which has now mostly become a chore, pushing
you to get a show out there because people are expecting it.
Because it's been too long now because your show is fading.
No, you don't need that, a clean getaway.
You did your show, you can't seem to anymore, thanks for listening, goodbye.
And you can always bring it back, and people will be gladdened by the news.
So why not go out on top, go out when you choose to.
Not when outside pressures and lethargy and maybe fear, choose it for you.
If your podcast is fading or in danger of fading, do something about it.
Bring it back or put it down.
Don't just let it slide, it's your show, a piece of your life.
It deserves the best treatment you can give it under your particular circumstances.
And by giving it that attention and respect, you are in fact giving those things to your
listeners and to yourself.
That's not for you or for me, because I've just been busy, see ya, I'm on it, I'm on it.
This has been Lost in Bronx.
You can contact me at Lost in Bronx at gmail.com, that's L-O-S-T-N-B-R-O-N-X at Gmail.
You can find a transcript of this episode at my gopher space that's gofer, colon, slash
slash gofer.info-underground.net, slash one, the number one, slash Lost in Bronx, slash.
There'll be a link in the show notes for that.
Don't let your feedback fade away before it's even begun.
Write me, read me, never leave me.
Take care.
Thank you for listening to H.P.R. Responsed by Carol.net, so head on over to C-A-R-O-DOT-E-T for
all of us in need.
Thank you for listening to H.P.R. Responsed by Carol.
Thank you.
