Garbage Sells

I didn’t realize how many writers proudly profess to live in New York City. Everywhere I look, so many of them proudly proclaim they live in NYC. I understand it’s THE place to be but I guess I never looked at it that way for writers.

On second thought, it’s not that surprising…

I just have a hard time believing that the city is the creative hub they are making it seem to be. I just don’t see how they can’t get caught up in everything else that is going on…the noise, the madness, the fog…unless of course their main objective isn’t to really write anything that matters. Then of course NYC is perfect.

They are free to make love to their iPhones while they schmooze at the Martini Bar, laugh at each other’s stupid jokes and flirt with each other until the wee hours of the morning. Then the next day they can call mom and dad back home in Sheboygan and ask for some rent money.

Some writers bare their souls in the words they put down. Others produce self-indulgent garbage.

Garbage sells.

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