[Project Name] Goes Here
Or… The Power Of Starting Over
I’ve never been good at naming things. So I suppose it’s not a surprise that more than a month after I launched my new business, it doesn’t really have a name.
But wait…I’m getting ahead of myself.
A little more than 100 days ago, at the end of September 2020, I climbed into my closet to record the very last episode of Only A Game, the public radio sports storytelling show I helped produce for more than two decades.
I had worked on the show for so long, it had become part of my identity. I was “Karen from Only A Game.” That’s how others knew me. That’s how I knew myself.
And now the show had ended.
I had long feared this day would come. Even before the pandemic, sports was a tough sell on public radio. And we had survived for 27 years. By my estimation that was, roughly, 26 1/2 years longer than anyone expected the show to last.
But still, it wasn’t supposed to end like this, with me — alone — in my pandemic closet recording booth. There should have been cake.
(Note to self: be careful about saying things like “there should have been cake.” Because moments after the show ended, cake…and cupcakes…and wine…and champagne started showing up at my door! I was overrun with cake!)
I took a selfie to mark the occasion. And I managed to smile.
But the truth is, I was terrified.
Still…there was a part of me — a big part of me — that didn’t believe this was the end. In just a couple weeks, I was going to enter CUNY’s 100-day Journalism Creators Program. And I knew what I was going to create. I was going to bring back my beloved sports storytelling show…as a podcast.
As I logged onto Zoom for that first day of class, I felt good. After all, I already had a proven concept. Thousands of very loyal listeners begging me to bring the show back. And the confidence that comes with decades of experience.
And boy, was I wrong…
Who are you, again?
One of the first lessons we learned was the importance of connecting with your audience. Not just providing them with content you expect them to consume. Really connecting.
We don’t do this nearly enough in public radio. We assume we know who our audience is. We assume we know what they want. More to the point, we assume we know what they NEED.
But I knew that to “save” the show, I was going to have to do things differently. So I sent a survey to Only A Game listeners. Within a few hours, I had 100 responses. Within a few days, 200. And the number kept growing.
But as it turns out, I didn’t know these people at all.
For 20+ years, almost every email sent to the Only A Game inbox began with, “I don’t like sports, but I love your show.” So I thought I was making a sports show for people who don’t actually like sports.
Whenever I went to events, I’d always meet other women who loved the show. And when I took over as Executive Producer and host, many of those women reached out to me, proud to be fans of a sports show led by a woman. So, I figured our audience probably skewed female.
And, well, let’s face it. The public radio audience is aging. Our ratings bore this out. So I figured our most loyal listeners were well into their mid-60s.
Yeah, so. Survey says…
Average age of the survey respondents = 52.
67% of respondents identify as male.
And a whopping 89.9% of respondents call themselves sports fans.
So much for making a show for older women who don’t really like sports.
And here’s the thing, podcasting is all about finding an underserved niche. And there’s nothing “niche” or “underserved” about middle aged men who like sports. In fact — and I’m just going with my gut here — they might be the most overserved demographic in the U.S.
Still, I’m an optimist. And I’m stubborn. So I forged ahead.
Show Me the Money
I could take you through the twists and turns of my journey, but let’s just sum it up.
The math didn’t work.
I spent weeks trying to balance the columns, find alternate funding sources, and maximize potential crowdfunding dollars. I made cuts from the budget, compromises in staffing and changes to the format.
And I finally realized, to “save” the show, I was going to have to work for free.
I’d have to step into an oversaturated market without any money to spend on marketing.
And I’d have to compete with big-budget sports podcasting networks from the recording booth in my closet.
The math just didn’t work.
(Like I said, I’m stubborn. And optimistic. It took nearly 50 days for me to figure this out.)
Finally, as we reached the halfway point of our 100-day journey, I came to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to “save” Only A Game. And I was sad. Truly sad.
For about 15 minutes.
And then… I was free.
There’s something incredibly liberating about asking yourself, “If I am going to create a place for myself in this world, what do I want that place to look like? Who do I want to serve? What am I good at? What do I love?”
After 20+ years with a sports storytelling show, I realized the answer wasn’t sports.
It was storytelling.
And I came to realize that I was much more than just “Karen from Only A Game.”
I had tons of experience creating award-winning stories. I led sold-out workshops and conference sessions and newsroom trainings on narrative journalism. And after everything I had learned from the CUNY program, I felt like I had a pretty good handle on the business side of podcasting as well.
So, what if I became a consultant?
Early on in my attempts to find an alternate funding source for my sports storytelling show, I began to think about the idea of a consultancy. I thought I could spend half my time consulting and half my time producing the podcast.
I tried to convince myself that my podcast would promote my consultancy. That listeners to the sports show would hear about my podcast consulting work and hire me.
But who listens to a sports show when they’re looking for a podcast consultant?
So I just took sports out of it.
And suddenly, everything fell into place.
The math worked.
Now, instead of producing a sports show that “promotes” my podcast consultancy, I’m producing Narrative Beat, a newsletter (and eventually, hopefully, a podcast) for journalists and podcast makers who want to tell better stories.
Instead of trying to break into the overserved sports market, I’m working in my own community of storytellers and podcasters, a place where my knowledge and experience has value.
As Dan Oshinsky said in class — and again when I talked to him about this idea — no child grows up and dreams of becoming a consultant. But when there’s a need, and when you’re a person who can fill that need, why wouldn’t you?
So, in the end, I didn’t come up with a fancy name for my consultancy. I just named it after myself.
But after decades of hiding behind a brand that was not my own, maybe that’s the way it should be?
