How lucky
are some writers? Take Time Magazine’s Joel Stein, for example. Here’s a
skilled, observant, very funny scribe who was at the right place at the right
time when Time decided they wanted a humor column called “Joel Stein.” What are
the odds? It’s actually called “The Awesome Column,” but every time I’ve seen
it Mr. Stein’s byline is in dark bold letters and “The Awesome Column” is grayed
out underneath and not nearly as noticeable. It’s almost as if he’s embarrassed
to let people know his column is awesome.
Anyway, if
Newsweek, which just brought back their print edition after going all-digital
last year, ever decides to have humor column called “Joel Samberg,” or, let’s say, “The
Awe-Inspiring Essay,” I’ll probably miss the announcement because I’ll be
sleeping on a Metro North train on my way to the corporate communications job
that I have only because I’m not lucky enough to have a column called “Joel
Samberg” or “The Awe-Inspiring Essay.”
Would I
like a column like that? What do you
think?
On the
other hand, I’d also like a classic 1957 Seeburg jukebox and an authentic 1963
Gottleib ‘Slick Chick’ pinball machine, but with me being me and all, I’ll
probably have to settle for Pandora.com for my oldies music and a ‘which-Beatle-am-I?’
game on Facebook. (I won’t enjoy either one too much, I’m afraid, because
Pandora, no matter how many times I tell it not to, gives me Neil Diamond, and I dislike Facebook almost as much as I dislike
Neil Diamond.)
In addition
to lucky writers like Joel Stein there are those who get to publish what they
want to publish because they have the connections to do so. Like personal
recollections, for instance. I wrote a piece on the legacy of the late singer
Karen Carpenter that I tried to sell to a major newspaper. It discussed, among
many other things, how I was slammed against a locker in junior high school by
two pimply morons who heard that I had been listening to the Carpenters. In
some schools that was a crime, and those morons were self-appointed members of the culture
police. But the newspaper to which I had submitted the story wasn’t interested
in it. Nevertheless, a year later a piece appeared in that same newspaper with
a story remarkably similar to mine—the writer being taunted when as a child he
expressed admiration for Richard and Karen’s music—but it was written by one of
the newspaper’s own editorial staff members.
I have no
such connections. (Though I bet I have more bully stories! Hell, I had red hair
and freckles, wore my pants too high and was always whistling the theme song
from “The Dick Van Dyke Show.” If I weren’t me, even I’d slam me into a locker!)
Finally,
there are those writers whose attraction to publishers is more or less built on
the literary power of their personal demons. They’ve been addicted to drugs or
alcohol, were shot by their wives or mistresses, spent time in jail, were
investigated by the FBI, had been caught in uncompromising positions... Many of
them actually end up writing self-profiles in national magazines that earn them
even greater paychecks than if they had profiled someone really important! I have none of those
skeletons in my closet. Wearing exposed socks and knowing the words to “Rainy Days and Mondays” is as bad as I ever got. So where’s the attraction?
Hmmm... now
that I think about it, if that’s what’s required, maybe I’d just better count
my blessings, kiss my wife, sleep on the train, and listen to the Carpenters. It
may not get me an awe-inspiring column in a national magazine, but at least I’ll
never have to write about myself.
_________________________________________
JoeltheWriter@comcast.net
http://JoeltheWriter.com
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