It is indeed SO lame.
You know, sometimes, when I read over the things I’ve written, I want to kill myself.
A seeming non sequitur, I know. I’m not talking about the blah-og. The blah-og isn’t so important. And I'm not talking about magazine articles (unless they contain a mistake I didn’t fix). And I’m not talking about newspaper stories (unless they contain a mistake a so-called editor inserted). It’s the other writing that bothers me. The real writing. The scary kind.
And when I say that reading over that sort of writing sometimes makes me want to kill myself, that’s not really what I mean. What I mean is that I want to kill everybody else, destroy my hard drive and start a big fire with balled up pages from my notebooks.
Apparently, I have issues.
But at least I care about my work, you know?
I get a lot of emails from kids who want to be writers. They always start out sounding super keen. They beg for a chance to write for ION. They say they’ll be happy to hang out in the office as unpaid interns. They kiss my ass, in other words.
And because I’m nice, and because you never know, I always say the same thing in response. I say, ‘Sure! Why not? Show me what you’ve got!’
I let them know that I can’t pay them, that they need to come up with their own ideas, that they shouldn’t expect to dive right into the world of comped tickets and free CDs, and most importantly, that I can’t wait to read their ideas.
9 times out of 10, I never hear from them again.
Why, I wonder, are people who supposedly want something so darn LAZY about it? What’s that all about? I mean, one day they’re offering to bring me coffee and rub my belly just for a chance to hang at my office (because it’s THAT important to them to fulfil their professional destiny) and the next minute, destiny turns on the radio and they’re … gone.
My favourite thing is when we get as far as setting a deadline and THEN they flake out. Over the summer, this one girl pitched a few ideas, we settled on one, she got her deadline and then, literally a day before her copy was due, she emailed me to say that Oops! She got too busy and wasn’t going to be able to do the story. Okay, fine. I did the story for her. We have deadlines, you know. Seeing as how I’d never laid eyes on this girl I suppose I shouldn’t have trusted her in the first place, but she’d already written for a few other publications and I wanted to give her a chance.
It’s gets better.
A few weeks later, little miss last-minute-oops actually emails me to ask if A) I have any assignments for her, and B) She can get a free pass to Little Miss Sunshine (because if so, she’d be happy to do me a favour and review it for us).
Um… can you say "Ewwww?"
I didn’t reply right away and when I did, I tried not to be too harsh. But really, what is WRONG with these people? They sell me on the fact that they want this. They sell me on that idea. Are they liars? Are they crazy? Lazy? What’s the deal?
More importantly, what is the point of this ranty post? There isn’t one, really. If you’re an observant type, you may have noticed that the navigation bar has changed a little. Enjoy the little thrill this gives you.
Always thrilling (in my mind),