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Decent People Have Real Jobs…The Rest of Us Write

WordPress appears to have this new, odd feature of adding links to the bottom of posts. These links are supposed to be relevant, related, or in some way of interest to anyone reading the post. That remains to be seen. In theory it ought to do that improve-traffic thing, but that is a mixed blessing.

I don’t know how these other bloggers will feel about being linked to me (surprise!), but at least I’ve read a few things I wouldn’t have otherwise. Take, for instance, this. This blogger writes that a decent person wouldn’t want to be a writer or artist…well, go read it in context before you jump to any conclusions (lest you get too wet swimming back). But there’s a point–shouldn’t decent people get a real job?

I don’t know. Maybe being decent is overrated. And what exactly is a real job? I don’t know, but this blogger may well be spot on. What is decent about spending your life making stuff up when real people out there need real things like food, medicine, and shelter? Now, I happen to have a “real” job. I don’t get paid to spend my days wrapped blissfully in my own world. Oh well.

But I would if I could.

Maybe this means I’m as selfish and self-centered as my dad’s second wife always said.

It would help if I knew what a real job was. Feel free to let me know.

5 thoughts on “Decent People Have Real Jobs…The Rest of Us Write

  1. hah! i for one despise this new feature and its attempts at forcing me to take an interest in what other people are thinking. and i spit on any and all traffic i get through this distracting and despicable method. *ptui*

    anyone who blogs about wanting to be a writer is a whiny pathetic adolescent who should try actually having a few real jobs before they go and write about writing about wanting to be writing. oh wait, that was my own post. see how confusing this new feature is??? it’s got me insulting my own self now!

  2. I’m not a decent person either. i’ve held real jobs in the past but never for very long. I have family members who thought I wasted time going to Japan and working at the airport (the stories on my blog you’ve read). They thought I should stick to my secretarial jobs at the university. I felt trapped in a prison when I was working those jobs – and yeah, I know that’s selfish considering there are people out there who need and would love those jobs.

    I have redeemed myself in my family’s eyes by getting married and being a stay-at-home-mom. I know I shouldn’t care, but that burns me up too. Gives me the wrong reason to want to get published.

  3. Just the other day, I went to hear Russell Banks speak on the role of the novelist on the world stage. His initial remarks made me want to slit my wrists….

    To paraphrase, he said that the days of the novelist bringing about social change with a protest novel (as in Uncle Tom’s Cabin or The Jungle), are dead. He went on to say that the days where novelists are considered intellectuals, persons who might be heard in the greater context of public interest, (or even, on rare occasions heard by those who are responsible for making public policy) are also dead.

    In speaking to the audience (which was largely Canadian), he admitted that he had become completely pessimistic about the place of writers in America. Yes, he still has things to say – but he feels gagged by a government and media unwilling to participate in a truly open dialogue. (He said that he rarely is asked to speak to his opinions in a public way any more and when he is, he’s characterized as the crazy leftie set in contrast to someone on the far right who is looking for a fight.)

    Luckily, before I ran to get a rusty kitchen knife for myself, he said the following.
    “The true novelist writes only for him/herself.”

    Amen, Mr. Banks.

    Here’s my two cents…
    A true novelist sits alone day after day trying to make sense of the world, trying to connect one life with humanity.
    In short, the role of the novelist is simple…
    A novelist reminds the world, one person at a time, what it means to be human.

    If that’s not a real job, I don’t know what is.

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