When suddenly being fired causes you to have an existential crisis.
As we know by now Conde Naste (Cunty Nasty) has been on a purging mission lately, the recent fall out being the felling of 200 journos who have suddenly had to contend with their miserable lives instead of writing about other people’s miserable lives.
What we’re all of course wondering is- what will become of all these people? As print media is taking a big hiding and with online media barely surviving and essentially offering only non paying opportunities, (I know sharing $63 amongst 5 writers has never been a fun way to reward talent but we are hopeful the ad man will puff and blow one day again) the publishing world has been turned inside out.
It’s a serious issue as most Americans are more illiterate than ever, have shorter attention spans and zero desire to be entertained by anything that doesn’t include a naked celebrity sniffing gasoline by the house of her ex lover. That said what can we expect of the disenfranchised writers?
Perhaps they’ll all leave America and become hobos in Canada, seek fulfilling careers as plumbers, or accept the inevitable that they will one day have their progressive novel in motion be discovered only after they have slashed themselves to death. Watch it become a best seller (from hell we imagine…)
The moral of the lesson- life as a writer is full of irony even when you’re no longer writing about it.