The news has reached their much-dreaded lull. The pace of hair-raising reports has abated, and over at Haaretz we are at a loss. What's happened to the adrenaline rush of the Disengagement? The bloodless faces of shifts during the second Lebanon War? The President facing grave accusations of sexual misconduct?

And, I might add, this despair spreads at a time when the head of the Tax Authority is in custody on suspicion of very shady dealings; the Prime Minister, Defense Minister and IDF Chief are awaiting the conclusions of the Winograd Commission on the Second Lebanon War; and the list can go on and on.

But what troubles me about this lull is the befuddlement with which it leaves us, newsmakers. We have no blood to deliver in our pipelines. The edge of the razor we hold at the public's throats has blunted, and we face an unknown future that may hold a full week bereft of a petrified audience.

We know not what to do as "mere" watchdogs; we feel that colorful feature stories spread along six pages rather than one are not News but puny entertainment. And not entertainers are we, oh no.

I know. It's naïve to think the media is engined by a genuine concern for the general good. We need a marketable product, and the scarier it is the easier it is to sell. All the same, could it be that the reason for the marketable ease of high drama and tragedy are also the result of a consistent, unrelenting indoctrination by the media?

This respite offers a splendid opportunity to reassess what we, newsmakers, seek to achieve in our reportage; where we want to turn our spotlights; what we want our audiences to know about the life that's taking place around them. Bottom line is that money needn't be the only bottom line.

Perpetrators of nationalistic violence are encouraged by vast coverage and the hysterics that inevitably ensues; the black-and-red headlines are the best reward the media can offer them. The grief of those who lost their loved-ones in the course of life (road accidents, illnesses, and crime) is no less overwhelming or acute. Why must their grievance weigh any less on the media's scales?

Life furnishes us with countless events every second. Theoretically, anything can become a news item. What distinguishes a bland incident from a media report is the criterion of news-worthiness. By reassessing our news-worthy stories we can establish a more consistent flow of reports instead of riding the rollercoaster of 'hard' and 'soft' news.

My model is financial news: The mere fact that something has happened warrants its becoming a news item. Certainly, at times the headlines will scream Crisis or Mega Deal Signed, but these will not disrupt the confident flow of news every day. A daily newspaper can therefore become more civil/ian: Take issue with social injustice and environmental hazards; integrate the arts into the fabric of the publication rather than sending it to exile in specialist supplements; follow more closely the routine work of parliamentarians and government agencies.

Our revolution can be velvetted in a gradual process of integration. No need for banners raised high or fists brandished with scythes and hammers. They will simply generate a new black-and-red headline.