On my Twitter, I saw someone retweet this:
If You Wish To Be A Writer, Have Sex With Someone Who Works In Publishing onion.com/11g2pnk via @TheOnion—
Ellis Carrington (@MMbyEllis) June 13, 2013
Being a writer, I had to go look so that I could see how I’d been doing it all wrong according to Joyce Carol Oates. But, of course, it’s The Onion. It’s the comedies, not an advice column.
But as I was reading, I started to have the sads because just the other night I read a post from a comic book writer lady who had been accused of that very thing to have her awesome career. People actually believe it.
The brilliance of making a joke of it is, of course, anyone with any sense laughs. Because Joyce Carole Oates is a very talented writer and obviously you’d have to sleep with a lot of readers too to get so famous. She’s very prolific with the writing, so I doubt she’d have the time.
Plus, she’s never so much as flirted with me. So it’s not happening.
Anyway. That’s for me. One of the people on the inside, hip to that sarcasm. But it’s sad-making because people really believe that. Usually bitter people who aren’t very good writers. But those usually count as people, too.
It’s sad being someone with lady parts who works as hard as others do only to have her accomplishments undermined by such shitty speculation, but even I find myself engaged in it. That gives me the sads, too.
Anyway. Good parody. It got me thinking. Mostly about how being a lady isn’t worth the cost, but also about my perceptions of things.
