When Black Friday comes,
I’ll stand down by the door
And catch the grey men when they dive
From the 14th floor.
                 —Steely Dan, “Black Friday”

It hit me today—minutes ago, in fact—while reading with disdain yet another story about lunatic behavior by Black Friday shoppers:

I might be part of the problem.

To clarify, I am not one of those brave (or foolhardy, take your pick) souls who venture onto the retail battlefield the day after Thanksgiving. While I appreciate a good deal as much as anyone, no discount is worth the stress of heavy traffic, frantic crowds and ill tempers. My family needs no gift so badly that I must risk life, limb and/or pride to get it.

And then, speaking of pride….

I was perusing various online news and social media sites, deliberately looking for stories of Black Friday chaos, growing comfortably smug. As I tsk-tsk’d a piece on two women whose clash involved a Taser, suddenly I realized that I was feeding this misguided feast.

The more that people like me seek out these things, the more it will be highlighted on social media as in-store stampedes are documented on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.

One could argue, I suppose, that using social media to lay bare these appalling examples of human behavior serves a noble purpose—awareness can spawn positive action. And make no mistake, there are countless examples of this happening.

But for every politician caught behaving badly on Facebook, there are thousands of instances where the worst behaviors are displayed merely for the amusement of, and ridicule by, those who aren’t interested in participating in positive change.

Every form of communication, including social media, places a level of responsibility upon those involved. The interactive nature of the online world is still sorting this out. The lesson I learned today is to be more discerning of what I consume in cyberspace—and humbly remember that there, but for the grace of God, go I.

I don’t expect these learnings will change the Internet. But I hope they change me.

The guy was talking about Shakespeare, and he had my attention.

Neil MacGregor, director of the British Museum, was on NPR to discuss his new book, Shakespeare’s Restless World: A Portrait of an Era in Twenty Objects. I happen to enjoy history and respect William Shakespeare’s work, though I wouldn’t call myself an expert on either.

But what drew me into the interview was MacGregor’s passion as an author. The energy he channeled while describing the events that influenced Shakespeare reminded me of a delighted child.

“Henry V is where this book began,” he enthused. “We the public work with Shakespeare the writer to imagine a new world.”

Within 24 hours, I encountered two other interviews with authors mirroring MacGregor’s joy.

One was another NPR interview, this one with best-selling author John Grisham, whose latest, Sycamore Row, currently resides at #2 on the New York Times list. Grisham clearly enjoyed discussing his work—not in a prideful way, but as a child sharing a special treat with a best friend.

“Every book goes back to story. You can’t write anything without a story,” Grisham said, as if revealing a closely guarded secret.

The other interview was an online piece featuring Steven Moffat, a BBC television writer and producer. Moffat struck me as almost giddy.

“It's everything you ask for,” said Moffat. “They say be careful what you wish for. No. Don't be careful what you wish for. Absolutely wish for stuff.”

As a published author, I understand their excitement. I’ve never forgotten the rush I felt the first time I landed an article in a magazine, or saw my byline on a newspaper story, or beheld my first novel on a bookshelf. Make the mistake of asking me about my latest short story, and you’ll be subjected to a rapid-fire dissertation delivered with a broad grin.

So it’s both amusing and puzzling to me when I hear about (and at times encounter) the deplorable state of writing in business—and, I’m sad to say, in the communications field. Some reports have estimated the cost to business of following up on poor writing by employees as much as $3.1 billion per year.

A portion of the blame lies with our education system. As instructors are pressured to “teach to the test,” good writing doesn’t get the attention it should.

But I think there’s another element at play: the corporate world’s misguided vision of quality prose. In short, never settle for a simple word when a six-syllable one will do.

My corporate career began after a few years as a journalist. Reporters learn how to convey complex ideas in clear, simple language. When I tried to do the same in a company setting, the red ink flowed freely. It took awhile for me to realize that many corporate leaders prefer ambiguity; it gives them room to waffle.

Fortunately, I had colleagues who fought that mindset, and I gladly joined the fight. Sure, sometimes I had to succumb to “corporatespeak” to satisfy a superior. But as I look back, I believe sanity prevailed more often than not.

And best of all, the joy of writing—and writing well—wasn’t beaten out of me.

So if I dare take Steven Moffat at his word, I’ll hazard a wish: that the new generation of professional communicators embrace that joy and be true champions of great writing.

Reporter: Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?
The Doctor: What are you, a journalist?
Reporter: Yes!
The Doctor: Then make it up.
           —“Partners in Crime,” Doctor Who (2008)

The debate continues over the reliability of the news media as a source of accurate, objective and impartial information.

It’s an old debate, of course, one that I’ve opined on before (or invited others to do). And I have no illusion that it will be resolved soon.

What’s disturbing, however, is the public’s presumption of guilt among today’s journalists. Sadly, some of that reputation is earned, a la Jonah Lehrer, Janet Cooke and Jayson Blair. And as I’ve said previously, the steady stream of errors and weak reporting that flow from newsrooms devastated by years of downsizings adds fuel to the fire.

But as a former journalist, it rattled me to hear this line from the aforementioned episode of Doctor Who, in which a reporter infiltrates a pharmaceutical company that, stereotypically, is involved in nefarious activities.

(For the sake of transparency: I worked in that industry for 25 years. While it has a vast number of issues, attitudes and practices that need to be addressed, the “evil” moniker constantly slapped upon it is, in my view, unfair to the thousands of workers who strive each day to deliver life-saving medicines to patients.)

The long-lived BBC television series played this moment for laughs—the reporter is tied to a chair, and the Doctor is too busy fighting an alien conspiracy to help her out. Yet it’s clear the accusation has more than a little intentional bite.

True, the British press has a somewhat vicious reputation; impartiality isn’t a given, and questionable practices—such as alleged phone hacking by the defunct News of the World, now the subject of a high-profile court trial—aren’t unknown. But stalwart defender of press freedom within me trembles a bit each time these toss-off comments occur.

Interestingly, there’s a debate going on in journalism over the measure of objectivity that was once the commitment of the news media. Some suggest that objectivity is impossible, and that accuracy, fairness and impartiality are the standards to which they should aspire.

I agree on the first two, though I’m not convinced that objectivity vs. impartiality isn’t just splitting hairs. Still, the debate is worthy of our attention. The credibility of the Fourth Estate might rest upon the outcome.