Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Buh-bye, then!

Wow. From a self-proclaimed journalist I don't believe I've ever heard of before today, an emo-y rant about how s/he had been sullying him/herself among the ink- and pixel-stained wretches all this time. Click on over for a heaping helping of twattiness, or take your dose here in concentrated form:

This isn't really my industry. I never liked journalists -- I thought they ignored all of the things I felt were really important about subjects I cared about. To me, journalists were the lowest form of life for writers. Oddly, even throughout my career as a journalist, I have maintained that low opinion. I've always thought of myself as a writer in exile; someone who is only participating in this field for a brief time to make some money and improve my sense of concision and brevity. When I told people what I did for a living, it was always half-apologetically.

Confidential to Jem, who apparently was in the IPG with me and made no impression whatesoever: Glad you're free of it, my dear -- and to answer your next question, yes I would like fries with that. (If, BTW, you entered journalism to improve your "concision and brevity," you have failed. Badly. Not least by emitting the words "sense of concision and brevity.") Burnout is one thing; I'm crispy on my feet myself. But whining that you've been in the wrong profession all along? As Quentin Crisp said many times, if you've been a pig farmer for 25 years, pig farming is your style. Deal.


MC said...

Hey, if he doesn't want to be a journalist, can I get a job in that field... I mean, clearly there is an opening for someone now.

AG said...

There really should be an opening for you, friend Matthew -- you're definitely a better writer than most of what crosses my sorry desk. But aren't you glad you don't have to be *that* guy for the rest of your life? What a tool.

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