Why Are Writers Such Jackasses?
I guess to be fair I should indicate that not all writers are jackasses. You already know that of course, just like you know most of them totally are jackasses.
I should also clarify, when I say jackass I don’t mean stupid, as per the outdated dictionary definition. I think it’s fair to say the term in post-modern context can also refer to a person who is “acting out”, being obnoxiously contrarian, or just tends to be difficult and wishes to be recognized as such.
If the latter isn’t a fair surmisal in your opinion forget about the word jackass (I’ll be leaving it behind now anyway.) and replace it with your preferred term for aligning with my above complaints.
That’s enough of a preamble, let’s get on with it.
I could have made two sentences from that last sentence.
I didn’t, because I’m doing that cool Medium thing all the chic writers do.
I’m dropping sentences and passing them off as paragraphs because it makes me feel cool.
By cool I mean all pissy and angst.
I can’t do that anymore. It’s ridiculous and little more than a cheap move to make my content look larger than it actually is with the added bonus of satisfying some weird passive-aggressive need emerging from my past trials and tribulations as a nerd or social outcast.
Or maybe I had a great social life but knew deep down I didn’t deserve it.
Dammit sorry I had to do one more. Not because it’s good writing just because of my unmedicated OCD.
If you complained because I didn’t use a comma above (or just now) you’re being a jackass. I guess I lied to you when I said I was leaving that term behind. I hope you can forgive me I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt you. Seriously. I only lied because I wanted to sleep with other girls without you finding out. Wait. Wrong document. My bad. Back to the comma thing below.
I don’t like the way commas are “supposed to be” used. It’s excessive. I don’t pause that much when I talk, especially since I started using amphetamines four years ago (six years ago?).
I guess I should get back to bashing writers since that’s what you’re here to read. After all, the cool kids (who are also writers) tell me I should “respect my reader”.
If I ‘m honest I don’t even know you so how am I supposed to respect you? Let’s start with something realistic like wishing you no ill.
Dear reader, I hope nothing bad happens to you today. Honest and for true.
I’ve read at least six times now how the battle for readers is brutal, or something along those lines. (Oh, God.) F*****g writers.
A jiu-jitsu match in the gravel, with broken glass everywhere, in the favela is brutal.
A day in the life of an infantryman in Bakhmut is brutal.
What my Bully did to the last coyote she caught on the property was brutal.
Hell I’d even grant zipping up too fast when you’re going commando could be brutal.
Competing for the views of bored web surfers and the kind of pretentious, sedentary individual who actually wants to be called “a reader” is pretty far removed from any theater where brutal might be appropriately applied. It’s tedious, and discouraging, but it comes with no real risk or potential tragedy.
Sidenote that’s actually travelling right down the center of the main point: Ever noticed how so many writers around here are writing about how to write, or how to write better?
WTF?
Is that like an Internet business where you sell stuff to an Internet marketer so he or she can sell more stuff? Picks and shovels (and horseshit) and whatnot, so “they” say.
Anyway…
Writers remind me very much of those damn goth kid goobers who aren’t yet old enough to drive and get into real trouble so they stand outside the mall and smoke cigarettes in plain view of everyone. They want you and I to see them in all their awesome, misunderstood coolness and feel bad that we are who we are instead of being them.
What kind of person craves a crowd of strangers soaking up their words in the first place? Please come and find me amusing or informative, as I have no real friends nor any substance of being whereby I might tolerate my own presence sans positive, external feedback. Come and adore all the “deep thoughts” I hurriedly slapped together before hitting the bar or doing whatever it is I really want to be doing.
Nobody actually wants to write. It’s an easy copout of real work and if you win that popularity lottery it’s like a welfare check, meaning a modest income requiring only a small amount of paperwork.
I just heard the shrill whine of a thousand writers insisting that I don’t get it. They love to write. In fact, they must write because [reader insert nauseating, virtue-signaling, brooding rhetoric here].
All righty. My beer buzz is nearly gone and the prostitute should be along any minute now. Time to slap this crap up on my Medium profile and mosey along. (That’s called “free writing” where I don’t edit and just express whatever. I learned all about it today from a damn ad that popped up in my Word app.)
Later taters. I’ll see all three of you readers next time, and by then I’ll surely know you well enough to respect you. (I’m just saying that to be nice.)
P.S. You may be tempted to call me a hypocrite for using some of the very methods I criticized within this article. What do you want from me? I said they’re jackasses, but I never told you I wasn’t one of them.
