It’s a bit macabre, right? The idea that while a world-famous actor or a former president is sitting down for dinner, a journalist somewhere is already writing their life story in the past tense. They’re polishing sentences about a legacy that hasn't quite ended yet. Most people don’t realize how much of what we read the moment a public figure passes away was actually written months, or even decades, before the person took their last breath.
This is the world of news and advance obituaries. It’s a high-stakes, slightly eerie, and technically demanding corner of the media industry.
Think about it. When a massive figure like Queen Elizabeth II passed, the BBC and The New York Times didn't just scramble to find a writer. They had a "bridge" ready. In the newsroom, we call these "advances" or "canned" stories. They aren't just cold lists of dates and awards. They are deeply researched, cinematic narratives held in a digital vault, waiting for a single "publish" click. It feels a little like cheating, but in the 24-hour news cycle, it’s survival.
The "Death Files" and the Art of Preparation
Most major news organizations maintain a "morgue." That’s the old-school term for the library of files kept on people who are still very much alive. The New York Times, for instance, is famous for having an inventory of roughly 1,500 to 1,800 advance obituaries at any given time.
It’s a logistical necessity. If a major world leader dies at 3:00 AM, a publication can't afford to spend six hours researching their childhood in a small village or their controversial policy shift in 1994. The reader wants the "why they mattered" immediately.
What’s fascinating is how these files are maintained. They aren't static. Every time a celebrity gets a new award, goes to rehab, or wins an election, a staffer—or sometimes a dedicated obit writer—has to go back into the file and update it. It’s a living document for a future dead person. Weird? Definitely. Necessary? Absolutely.
When the System Breaks: The Infamous Premature Post
You’ve probably seen it happen. A news site accidentally pushes a notification: "Legendary Actor [Name] Dies at [Age]." It’s every editor’s worst nightmare.
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Bloomberg News famously published the obituary of Steve Jobs in 2008, three years before he actually passed away. It was an 17-page draft that accidentally hit the wire. It even had placeholder text like "TK" (journalist shorthand for "to come") for the cause of death. Then there was the 2003 CNN incident where draft obituaries for Nelson Mandela, Pope John Paul II, and Ronald Reagan were leaked online because of a server vulnerability.
These mistakes happen because the workflow for news and advance obituaries is built on speed. The moment a rumor hits Twitter—now X—the finger is on the trigger. Sometimes, the finger slips.
The Ethical Tightrope of the "Death Watch"
There is a specific, often unspoken tension in newsrooms regarding who gets an advance and who doesn't.
It’s basically a math equation involving age, health, and "relevance." If a 90-year-old Oscar winner is hospitalized with pneumonia, their advance obituary is moved to the top of the "active" pile. Journalists call this being on "death watch." It sounds heartless. Honestly, it kind of is. But from a business perspective, being the second or third outlet to post a deep-dive biography means you lose millions of clicks to the person who was first.
How writers handle the "Still Alive" problem
How do you write about someone's "final years" when they are still living them? Most writers use specific linguistic tricks. They focus on the "legacy" blocks—the childhood, the rise to power, the major scandals. These things won't change. The final paragraph is usually left as a "fill-in-the-blank" section for the date, location, and cause of death.
Some subjects even participate in their own advance obituaries. It's rare, but it happens. A reporter might call a subject's publicist and say, "We are updating our files for [Name] and want to ensure we have the correct details about their early career." Everyone knows what that means. It’s a polite way of saying, "We’re getting your eulogy ready."
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The Digital Shift: SEO and the Search for the Dead
In 2026, the way we consume news has changed the structure of the obituary itself. It’s no longer just a beautiful piece of prose. It’s an SEO battleground.
Google Discover and "Top Stories" carousels prioritize speed and specific keywords. This has led to a bit of a "template" feel in some lower-tier newsrooms. You’ll see the same structure:
- The "Breaking" lead.
- The "How did they die?" section (because that's what everyone types into Google).
- The "Legacy" section.
- The "Social Media Tributes."
However, the "prestige" obit is still a thing of beauty. Writers like Margalit Fox, who spent years at The New York Times, treated advance obituaries like literature. To her, it wasn't about the death; it was about the life. She once noted that an obituary is the last word on a person, and getting that wrong is a journalistic sin.
The "Morgue" is Getting More Complex
It’s not just about politicians anymore. The rise of "internet famous" individuals and niche celebrities has made the "advance" list explode.
Newsrooms now have to decide: Do we have an advance for a YouTuber with 20 million subscribers? Probably. Do we have one for a tech CEO who just went public? Definitely. The criteria for who "merits" a prepared obituary is shifting toward digital footprint and cultural impact rather than just traditional power.
Also, video is now a huge part of this. Video editors spend weeks cutting "tribute" packages—those somber montages with slow piano music—years before the subject is even sick. They have multiple versions: a 30-second clip for TikTok/Reels, a 3-minute YouTube bio, and a full-length broadcast special.
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Key differences in types of advance content
- The Standard Advance: A 800-1,200 word biography focused on facts.
- The Analysis Piece: An essay on how the person changed their industry.
- The "Reaction" Shell: A list of pre-written quotes from peers (often gathered from previous interviews) to be used as "tributes."
- The Multimedia Package: Pre-edited photo galleries with captions already written.
Why You Should Care About This Process
You might think this is all a bit "inside baseball" for journalists. But the way news and advance obituaries are handled affects how we remember history.
When a story is written in advance, it is often more objective. It’s written without the haze of immediate grief or the "hagiography" (writing someone as a saint) that happens right after death. If a journalist writes a profile of a controversial figure while they are still healthy, they are more likely to include the "darker" chapters. Once the person dies, there is often pressure to be "respectful," which can lead to a whitewashing of history.
The "advance" preserves the unfiltered truth of how a person was perceived during their life.
Practical Insights into the World of "Death News"
If you're interested in how this affects the media you consume, or if you're a writer looking to understand the niche, here are a few realities:
- The "Ready" List is Secret: Newsrooms rarely admit who is on their "immediate" list to avoid looking ghoulish.
- Speed vs. Accuracy: The biggest errors happen in the first 10 minutes after a death. Always wait for a second source before believing a "breaking" death report on social media.
- The "Second Day" Story: While the advance obit covers the life, the "second day" story—written after the death—is where the real contemporary analysis happens.
- Verify the "Source": Many "advance" leaks happen on staging servers. If you see a URL that looks like
dev.news-site.com/obituary-name, it’s likely a draft that wasn't meant for public eyes.
The industry of news and advance obituaries isn't going anywhere. As long as people want to know the "who, what, and why" of a celebrity's life the second they pass, journalists will be sitting in dark offices, writing about the end before it even begins. It’s a strange way to make a living, but it’s the only way to ensure that when the time comes, the story is told right.
To see this in action, pay attention the next time a major public figure passes away. Look at the timestamp of the 2,000-word biography that appears two minutes after the news breaks. Now you know the secret: that story was likely started years ago, tucked away in a digital "morgue," waiting for its moment.