I was texting with a friend when they shared an article from the NYT. They told me it reminded them of how I blogged. I asked in what sense. They said with the first person point of view and emotion and thoughtfulness. I thanked them. In turn they replied, You could write for the New York Times! I quipped back, I’d rather not.
There’s nothing wrong with being a writer. There is nothing wrong with contributing to the NYT or any other online or printed conglomerate. And even if I thought there were, it wouldn’t matter.
There are two parts to my quip — I’d rather not.
The first part is I write nothing like that writer. Her thoughts were well-formed, her piece constructed logically and sensical.
The article was dry. And it was boring. That’s just my opinion obviously, my friend seemed to have enjoyed it.
The second part is — bear with me as this is going to be childish — I hate when people tell me what to do in either what career I should pursue or how to handle some aspect of my life. Keywords? My life.
Technically what was said was, “You could,” but that phrase is subtle. Sounds light-hearted and simply suggestive. But I heard, because of my opinion on the article, if they can write this dribble and get paid, you could too!
Writing to get paid is a tough gig. And I highly respect ALL writers who are able to do so even if I don’t care for what they put out. Writing is fucking difficult simply put. And it’s sad that the majority of the non-writing population is ignorant to that.
Last year HuffPo was fucking fed to the wolves for not paying its writers. A lot of bloggers, writers, authors, novelists, essayists, people of putting words together like a fucking art went in uproar. I just tried to
research Google the outcome and all I can find are pages of reactions to that information from last year. So, I don’t know what came of it and if the thing blew over and the contributors to HuffPo settled on being paid in exposure.
I’d rather not.