It has come to my attention – and undoubtedly the attention of those who frequent W&S – that I lack an ability to write proper, journalistic articles.
This isn’t so much a shock. I routinely scoff at my own postings, especially those from some time ago, and question what I was thinking when I pressed the ‘publish’ button. I can easily foresee that I will be removing a number of articles once I transplant, migrate, run for the border with the newest incarnation that I have yet to reveal – not because I’m keeping you on your toes, but because I’m still choosing theme colors like Martha Stewart at Linens N Things.
But I like to think that this fortifies, or even verifies, my chosen path toward fiction writing more so than non-fiction. I’m not saying that I will be successful, or that my fiction is better than my non-fiction, but I sure as hell have a much more fun time writing it.
I tried my hand at journalism once.
In an effort to generate more revenue streams – not that I make any revenue from this site – so really, in an effort to generate one revenue stream, I tried-out for a social media company free lance position in which I would publish articles on trending issues. Given 24 hours and told to discuss Google’s newest algorithms, I locked myself away and wrote it all the way up the flagpole and waited to see who’d salute.
Not a single hoot, holler, or “go fuck yourself”.
Altogether disappointing, but when I reread what I delivered, I now notice that I most probably bent or damn near broke every proper writing law when it comes to journalism. I was proud of the piece, but my writing style is not always celebrated – see my plethora of rejected submissions. All of this added to the fact that I’m not cut out for following the status quo; never was, probably never will be.
And that doesn’t bother me. Not one bit, not at all.