Home Pop Culture Should a writer just give up and become a socialite instead?

Should a writer just give up and become a socialite instead?

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Being a writer means both having the capacity to vent existential woe and look hopelessly moribund in the most perfect three quarter angle they can affect at any paparazzo's notice.

Thankfully I appreciate troves of misery because it keeps me angst ridden and able to lash out and be trigger happy at anyone who pisses me off that day. Thank gawd ‘Lilo and Parasite Hilton exist to keep me relatively busy. That said I couldn’t resist sharing this little gem (see email letter on the final page, yes that’s right kids- more email letters) with you wenches after one emotional tirade that left me existentially exasperated (yes kids one of them publicists got on my nerves again and I had to read write her the riot act- repeat do not send me round of event tip sheets for publication from last night’s party unless you bribe me handsomely especially if our journal wasn’t invited in the first hand- it’s tre gauche you know) and exhausted and how it could possibly be that despite all my best efforts and integrity (yes kids I am not a sell out yet) prodding poverty is still my best friend never mind the nice healthy bump in web traffic and all you bitches smiling at me at all them fun parties. But really I’m probably a masochist who enjoys pontificating on life’s gossip absurdities in the hopes that I may inspire myself you in between your my blood orange margarita and tomorrow morning’s hangover.

So in the event you too have momentarily found yourself caving in and becoming a sell out or worse a faux socialite (yes kids I’m releasing my top ten list of wanna be socialites of NYC come Monday morning, please pre order your tear proof tissues) let me share a letter that a very popular publicist sent to me in lieu of me complaining to him about some finger happy bitch who stole my I phone the other day on the train (never catch the JMZ kids- all thieves) and me being too broke to buy a new one ’cause I spent all my loose coins on a big jar of peanut butter instead).

All I can say I started laughing before resuming my existential angst and tending to dinner- a whole wheat peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Two of them. Back to back.  Tre delicious kids in times of poverty.

Then again maybe the real talent as my friend below implies isn’t what you are born with but having the ability to get yourself in front of the people who can help your journey, even if it is as a socialite or becoming one (concubine).

The email as it appeared on the final page

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