I Don't Give Blow Jobs For Free

Young Girl Writing at Her Desk by Henriette Browne

Yesterday, I spoke to undergrad students at a local college. A wonderfully talented new friend of mine, who works full time in PR and teaches on the side, asked me to stop by her class so students could test pitches on me. I very much enjoyed their fresh enthusiasm -- questions from young adults waiting for careers to bloom. I also loved telling them how I got to this point in my career by way of this blog. But in some ways, I felt like a newbie myself, as I never in a million years dreamed that I would be professing anything again on the subject of writing and communications since I left academia years ago.

Last night's experience has inspired me to sit down and pour my heart out about something that has been bugging me for a long time. It is this: I would like every writer, every communicator who is worth their weight in gold, to boycott their jobs and stop wordsmithing for a day. I am not talking about those writers with full-time paychecks. No. You know who you are. The other writers, the mistresses of the midnight oil. The little girl sitting at the desk looking over her shoulder at an uncaged bird. What would the world be like if sluts like us who are paid to write stopped writing? What does silence sound like?

You see, I am extremely frustrated by the fact that I, as well as many writers like myself, are expected to pen beautiful, well-researched and compelling prose for less than a hooker makes giving blow jobs on Biscayne Boulevard. The gift of gab, the knack of storytelling, the rhetorical turn needed to make people get off their asses and do things -- all this is in fact a talent and a practice, people -- it's a craft that should be upheld and dignified by all.

Has the age of blogging made it harder for experienced storytellers to make a living? Ironically, I think it has. I think that any asshole who can put a noun together with a verb fancies him or herself a Hemingway without any of the brain bleeding it takes for years to write great stuff without even thinking twice about it. Great writing is second nature. Great writing is a flash in the synapse before you even put your grubby fingers on the keyboard. Great writing is something that you breathe, sleep and eat. Great writing is a story you want to tell all the time, because you are the soul making that story come alive. Twenty four seven, three sixty five. You are a writer through and through.

Blogging does not make you a good writer; writing does. I have said this a million times and I will never tire of saying it until my last breath: a blog is simply an empty vessel for content and if you don't put in the time to perfect that craft, you aint a writer.

I have recently resigned from a column that I was writing for a major local newspaper -- not because I hated my beat or had a bad working relationship with my editors -- but because I could simply not justify the amount of time and work involved in producing great content for the meager financial compensation. For months, the newspaper company got great content for next to nothing. Yeah, I know, I accepted it. And yeah the economy is what is, bla bla bla ... but at the end of the day, I have to eat, people. I also have to fall asleep with a little dignity, too.

And it does break my heart, because I really love the publication and respect the people I worked with, but seriously, these days, devoted wordsmiths are probably better off monetizing their own blogs or finding other ways of making a living than depending on the byline of a newspaper.

So what if newspapers are dying? Shit still needs to written, right? Who the fuck is writing it, then? Just because writing is online doesn't make it any less valuable of a commodity!

And I am also sick and tired of nickel-and-dime negotiations with potential writing clients. Go write that fucking copy yourself. I'd rather flip burgers and I'll make more. And you, those other writers who are whoring themselves out for nothing, you make the rest of us look bad because you are giving that blow job practically for free when you know it's worth more than your pimp's fake Rolex.

I'm not sure what the answer is, folks. But I do know this -- it's a good thing I'm no longer a writing instructor -- you know, the teacher who actually teaches students who want to make a living at writing. I'd tell students to go enroll in law school, get an MBA or if they have vaginas, go the way of the MRS degree and push out a couple of puppies if that's what makes your life meaningful. For me, it has been writing and save for my beloved and the family and friends in my life, it's all I got.

And for those would be die-hard students, the ones following in the cavalry, well, welcome to our hell.