I just had my first case of writer snobbery. I'm on the beach taking pictures for an upcoming article with my photographer, Derek. A guy walks up and asks Derek if he takes pictures for writers.
"Yeah," Derek says. "Ollie's a writer for The Reader."
"The Reader," goofy-ass guy says. "It's funny. I try to get published in local papers and they turn me down, but Popular Science asks me to write for them."
"Yeah," I say. "Weird how exclusive The Reader is."
Guy says, "How'd you get published there?"
"I kept an online journal when I was in Europe, and Jim (publisher) found me."
"Oh," dickweed says. "You're a blogger."
"Not really. It was technically a web log, but it wasn't like I was sitting around picking my nose. I was in Europe, traveling, and writing down what I did."
"Yeah," dickhead says. "I figure I can't get published at The Reader because it's cheaper to pay a blogger a little money to write some crap than it is to pay a real writer."
I wanted to say, "Actually, The Reader pays more than any paper in town. I probably get twice the money for a story that you get from Popular Science," but I just smiled and nodded like, oh yeah, you're right, you're so cool and I'm just a dweeb. I wanted to say, "Funny, you probably didn't get published at The Reader because you churn out the same pablum as every othe dickhead with a degree in English, and I write about what a dumbass, lame, druggy, tattooed loser I am. And, you probably just regurgitate everything you see and hear from the news and write in that same fucking style they teach at every assembly-line University." But, I just nodded my head and smiled. I'll let him put me down to make himself feel superior. Why? Because I know he's doing it out of fear, and that he's threatened by me.
"Yeah," Derek says. "Ollie's a writer for The Reader."
"The Reader," goofy-ass guy says. "It's funny. I try to get published in local papers and they turn me down, but Popular Science asks me to write for them."
"Yeah," I say. "Weird how exclusive The Reader is."
Guy says, "How'd you get published there?"
"I kept an online journal when I was in Europe, and Jim (publisher) found me."
"Oh," dickweed says. "You're a blogger."
"Not really. It was technically a web log, but it wasn't like I was sitting around picking my nose. I was in Europe, traveling, and writing down what I did."
"Yeah," dickhead says. "I figure I can't get published at The Reader because it's cheaper to pay a blogger a little money to write some crap than it is to pay a real writer."
I wanted to say, "Actually, The Reader pays more than any paper in town. I probably get twice the money for a story that you get from Popular Science," but I just smiled and nodded like, oh yeah, you're right, you're so cool and I'm just a dweeb. I wanted to say, "Funny, you probably didn't get published at The Reader because you churn out the same pablum as every othe dickhead with a degree in English, and I write about what a dumbass, lame, druggy, tattooed loser I am. And, you probably just regurgitate everything you see and hear from the news and write in that same fucking style they teach at every assembly-line University." But, I just nodded my head and smiled. I'll let him put me down to make himself feel superior. Why? Because I know he's doing it out of fear, and that he's threatened by me.