Words of Wisdom From A Bud

I was bitching to Jon Bonne about requests from magazines --you know the Hachette's, G&J's, the NYT's of the world--who ask me to contribute to their site for the 'exposure' instead of pay. He wrote, "As I've been saying for a while now: blogs didn't kill journalism. blogs killed writing. The art of writing is now essentially fully devalued. It's a hobby." Think of it before you jump all over us. The popularity of the blog has reduced writing to a 500-word postage stamp norm, and usually given away for free. For free. Free, the industry standard. While a digest of words can be a fun exercise in craft, the indulgence the 2000- to 5000 word article was nirvana. Yes, the fee was great, but the process was the thrill and one that we exercised our chops for. And often took a pledge of borderline poverty before, because it was worth it. But now borderline is the real thing. Words and writers are no longer valued. Is it because of the blog? Oh no. For sure. But now the expectation is words are free.. I get a few requests a week for categories and topics readers would like to see here. I ask them, that's great, but would you be willing to pay, $30 a year for it? Invariably the answer is, oh no. Not willing to go there yet. You see, once upon a time, writers were respected and paid for content wrung from days, weeks and months of research, interviews and five-ten drafts. Once upon a time, you had to pitch stories, craft them, structure them and develop them on something more than soundbyte and gossip. Oh, to once again be paid to fret and angst over the specific word and nuance. To work with an editor, to banter back and forth and develop and like a dancer stretch for that point on the stage with utter conviction. (full disclosure, my editor at the Wall Street Journal magazine IS one of these fabulous editors, so all is not lost). I long for the days when there was craft, there was grammar and there was poetry and it was respected and someone who themselves were pulling down 100k, didn't ask me to give it away for free--because it would be good for my exposure. Frankly, I have plenty of exposure. And so bloggers who have jobs that pay the bills other than writing, please take no offense. No offense is meant. But this is a lament, from those of us who have bet our lives on the written word, for those of us who have no fall back plan (actually, journalism is my fall back for fiction) whether the subject is art, music, politics, literature or wine, our lives are changing. No one goes into writing to make pots of dough. If I could have done something else I would have. Right now raising goats seems much more meaningful, if I could only find some rocky hills and someone who could help me with this dream. And so this particular blog might be close to retirement. But yes, if I do, I will clean up business, I'll spill you about Austria, and there are a few words about Muscadet and a few more points to hammer before shutting the store. And then? Who knows. Related article in today's NYT