Tag: ephemera

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Understanding Ephemerality

Over the past couple of months, I’ve been catching up on the When It Hits the Fan podcast on BBC Sounds. It’s advertised as an insider’s view of how critical stories are managed from a public relations point of view. David Yelland, a former editor of The Sun, presents alongside former Royal communications advisor Simon Lewis.

Considering their backgrounds, the two sometimes bring differing or even opposite perspectives, yet there is a surprising crossover of agreement. Where is a debate, these are always respectful. Many other podcasts could learn from this.

Episodes tend to centre around how a communications lead will shape a message to influence the perception of its subject while staying within legal and ethical boundaries. There are also mini-episodes in how to manage what they describe as your ‘own personal PR’, from negotiating a salary to dealing with mismanagement from bosses.

Having heard so many episodes spread over the last years, I’ve found it interesting how language, timing and framing determine whether a story escalates or fizzles out in the short-term. In the long-term, almost every story becomes forgettable to a greater or lesser extent.

One example discussed was an incident from Normandy in June 2024 when Rishi Sunak, who left a D-Day commemoration early This was a hot topic at the time, especially as it happened during an election campaign, but has not become a defining moment in his political career.

Then there was the rebranding of Jaguar in November 2024. This attracted a lot of discussion on release, possibly in the hope of generating buzz and therefore free advertising. In the last 12 months, however, this has generally been met by public indifference.

As I write this, I’m reminded of this what a senior manager told my team a few years back: “Look back through your old emails. What was the meaning of life a month ago is probably irrelevant today.’ It’s the same with going through old blog entries. Who remembers when I talked about the Sheree Mack plagiarism scandal or the list of forgotten Booker Prize winners?

In short, When It Hits the Fan is a offers an insight into the power of persuasive language when it matters, yet it’s a useful reminder that many stories burn brightly before quickly becoming ephemera. A new episode is currently being posted every week.

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Indefinite Ephemera

This week, I received a direct message on Twitter. It’s unusual for me to have one of these, so I wondered what was going on. It turned out to be from someone called Hayley.

Some background here: I’d met her six years ago at a feminist poetry evening in Dundee, and I’d performed a new poem that directly referenced my bisexuality for the first time. She’d enjoyed it and asked for a copy. However, the piece was so new that I had only one handwritten version in my notebook, so I copied out the piece and gave it to her, adding the date and place.

In the message, Hayley told me she had been 19 at the time, and had kept that paper for the last six years, adding that she found it just as validating and comforting at the age of 25.

The poem in question was then included in an anthology by the first publisher I sent it to, but it means more to me that someone has kept it for such a long time, and I hope it continues to bring such validation.

It’s not the first time someone has kept a piece of mine. A few years ago, I owed £1 to my pal Jen Robson, so I placed a coin in an envelope with a silly four-line verse on the front, expecting it to be discarded. To my knowledge, she still has it.

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Ephemera

When I first started performing my work in public, I used to make sure my performances were caught on camera. I could then review the footage and discover how I appeared to the audience. I still have many of these videos, the earliest dating from 2014, although I’ve now undergone enough stage experience to gauge for myself.

With extreme movement restrictions worldwide at the moment, many writers and poets are turning to video to deliver performances and workshops. I’ve signed up for a workshop with Imogen Stirling via Zoom starting on Thursday, while Luke Wright is performing poetry on Twitter every evening at 8pm.

However, there’s one important difference between my camcorder videos and live-streaming, and that difference is that streams are not necessarily recorded for posterity.

In 2015, the vice president of Google warned of a ‘digital dark age’ where data saved in the present day might not survive the upgrade from one piece of handware to the next. I found this – and still find it – a little odd, considering we’re also told that whatever is posted to the Internet stays there indefinitely.

I’ve found that the video retention policy varies from platform to platform. On Zoom, a participant can record the feed by pressing a button, while Facebook Live allows viewers to access a recording of the content long after the event.

Then I came into Wright’s performances at episode 22, and I thought I could catch up with the rest by simply scrolling back. Unfortunately, their live streams are available only for a matter of hours after broadcast then permanently deleted.

On Saturday, I took part in a fundraiser with local artists using yet another platform: Instagram Live. I delivered an hour of prose and poetry via the host’s account; like Twitter, my set disappeared from Stories after a certain length of time.

Thinking about it now, I could have filmed myself with my own camcorder or used third party software to capture the screen and audio output. On the other hand, I also rather enjoy that my set was done only for the people who were there to witness it at the time.