As long as "writing for the internet" means "2k in side money," my desire to sell and publish a book remains low because I don't hang out with people who give a crap about that
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I suppose the twenty or so years I spent educating myself to "paint my masterpiece" (in Bobdylan-ese) left me like the young lawyer in Chekhov's The Bet, but I'm cool with that
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I doubt you would. Not in your nature. When I published NYPress, I strongly recommended to our writers not to hang out with other journalists, lest they become friends and warp their critical judgment.
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You are correct. I've gone to a few of these and I wish they had provided a barf bag as a party favor
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