INTERVIEW WITH A YOUNG MANHATTANITE WITH NOTHING TO LOSE
It may seem odd to conduct an interview with a man who has never once been paid for anything he's ever written. But perhaps that is what makes this guy an interesting subject. His droll (at least some might use that word; I find incoherent or idiot to work better) ramblings and . . . competent production work, all of which he has executed for others free, have helped him climb one rung up on the ladder of the literary elite. Unfortunately, that still puts him only one rung from the ground. He was kind enough to not charge for the following interview, which was conducted on a rare day off, one where he wasn't working for someone else and not getting paid.
I frequently see your name in very small print in the frontmatter of diverse small-press publishing ventures. Tell me about yourself.
I am known to haunt the fringes of polite, hip literary society like a disfigured George Plimpton (as if that's not an oxymoron) relying on my stunning wits and passable imitations of David Carson designs. If the literary darlings were a Friendster entry, beginning with Eggers and the Baffler kids and ending with a vegetarian-recipe proofreader in Duluth, Minnesota, I would be somewhere in the bottom fifth, just below Sarah Vowel's limo driver and right above the intern who polishes Ira Glass' silverware.
In what capacity do you freelance? It seems from my research that you do a multitude of things.
Though having just the other day handed in my resignation in through a veil of tears, I laid out four issues of the impenetrable Fence magazine, which is, judging from the injury the English language sustains in its pages on a quarterly basis, is a literary journal for those suffering from Tourrette's Syndrome.
I also pen frequent correspondences for mediabistro.com, an online site that affords me no fame, glory, or pay, though I have received one marriage proposal from a headhunter in Decator, Illinois (whose e-mail signature contained the aphorism "Your job shouldn't make you feel like Job"), and a stress ball from a vice president of HR at an IBM branch office, who believed my frequent use of four-letter words could be deterred if I squeezed the shit out of some stupid Nerf construct.
Additionally, and only very recently, I was contacted by Small Beer Press to design a series of "chapbooks," a term I am unfamiliar with, though I assume it to refer to gay porn.
And all those jobs you do for free? Correct?
Yes. There's a reason "free" makes up the first four letters of "freedom"; see liberation, absolved, and not guilty. Also, I crave attention, but only the equivalent of fourth from left, back row, in a Little League group photo that runs in your hometown newspaper.
Of your writing, what work are you the most proud of?
I am most proud of any of my work that helps others. Specifically, my customer comments on Amazon.com, which are written with a certain Joseph Conrad word flair, although with more exclamation points and smiley faces. Currently, I am collecting and putting them into book form to be self-published through CaféPress.com's print-on-demand service.
Other than those, I would have to say the interviews I have conducted with mid-tier authors. Because I have no use for no-names and because I lack the panache, insider knowledge, and appropriately waspy hairstyle, I am unable to speak with even the handlers of top-tier folks. I find interviewing mid-tier authors just right: you should hear them struggle to pontificate on even the most banal subjects. Once I polish their prose, they are more indebted to me than George Foreman is to fat Americans who love to indoor grill. I just hate the "you misquoted me, you uneducated prick" 3 a.m. phone messages and the attacks on my dog.
Why do you continue to freelance for free? Doesn't that hurt your brand? And does it not, also, degrade those freelancers who work for pay?
My brand was forever set in stone when an interview I conducted with Neal Pollock received attention in an e-mail newsletter sent by USA Today. An honor such as that only comes once in a lifetime and only to those of us who have worked long and hard. How I received this honor, I have no idea. However, it did set off a chain of events benefiting me personally that, like Vonnegut's old-man afro, has yet to completely die down. In one click of the Send button, my thought-provoking questions were brought to the attention of a million illiterates staying in a cheap hotels, where said paper is placed outside their room doors for free like it was an unwanted child left in a basket at the doorstep of the Magdelene sisters' convent.
As for taking work from—or degrading, as you say—freelancers who charge for services rendered, I can only hope that one day they learn the meaning of "I am a solipsistic monster, a Grendel of greed, a Nessie of narcissism. I truly don't care." I also hope they learn the meaning of "Please don't kill me." And "lay off my dog."
Out of necessity, you also hold a day job, do you not?
Of course. The rent must get paid, or the landlord, a frumpy gentleman with no discernable age or moral spine, comes after me with the ire of a famished Ignatius Reilly. Naturally, my cable is siphoned from the neighbor's line and my electricity, from a wind and solar farm I cultivate on my building's roof in the P.M. My food is pilfered from a food co-op where it's easy to steal from stoned 26-year-olds wearing "bandizis." Thus I am able to sustain an existence from working in publishing.
That said, it is what one does in the afterhours, when the evening light spreads quietly across the city's street like a pillow laid over a sleeping child's head, that I come alive and fulfill my promises I made to myself and mankind to make the world a tougher place for bad design and poor grammar. Not on my watch, chumps, will these atrocities be allowed. I am the Paul Michael Glaser and David Soul of accuracy and proper aesthetics.
Isn't it true that you work for free because you couldn't get paid for your work?
One more punch below the belt like that, Mr., and I'm going to . . . oh heck. Thank God for the Internet and literary journals. Their standards are lower than Herve Villiches winning a limbo contest.
Don't you think this interview oneself is a bit more than just a tad self-serving?
Yes. Certainly. And it will get more eyeballs than if I just posted it on my blog.
It may seem odd to conduct an interview with a man who has never once been paid for anything he's ever written. But perhaps that is what makes this guy an interesting subject. His droll (at least some might use that word; I find incoherent or idiot to work better) ramblings and . . . competent production work, all of which he has executed for others free, have helped him climb one rung up on the ladder of the literary elite. Unfortunately, that still puts him only one rung from the ground. He was kind enough to not charge for the following interview, which was conducted on a rare day off, one where he wasn't working for someone else and not getting paid.
I frequently see your name in very small print in the frontmatter of diverse small-press publishing ventures. Tell me about yourself.
I am known to haunt the fringes of polite, hip literary society like a disfigured George Plimpton (as if that's not an oxymoron) relying on my stunning wits and passable imitations of David Carson designs. If the literary darlings were a Friendster entry, beginning with Eggers and the Baffler kids and ending with a vegetarian-recipe proofreader in Duluth, Minnesota, I would be somewhere in the bottom fifth, just below Sarah Vowel's limo driver and right above the intern who polishes Ira Glass' silverware.
In what capacity do you freelance? It seems from my research that you do a multitude of things.
Though having just the other day handed in my resignation in through a veil of tears, I laid out four issues of the impenetrable Fence magazine, which is, judging from the injury the English language sustains in its pages on a quarterly basis, is a literary journal for those suffering from Tourrette's Syndrome.
I also pen frequent correspondences for mediabistro.com, an online site that affords me no fame, glory, or pay, though I have received one marriage proposal from a headhunter in Decator, Illinois (whose e-mail signature contained the aphorism "Your job shouldn't make you feel like Job"), and a stress ball from a vice president of HR at an IBM branch office, who believed my frequent use of four-letter words could be deterred if I squeezed the shit out of some stupid Nerf construct.
Additionally, and only very recently, I was contacted by Small Beer Press to design a series of "chapbooks," a term I am unfamiliar with, though I assume it to refer to gay porn.
And all those jobs you do for free? Correct?
Yes. There's a reason "free" makes up the first four letters of "freedom"; see liberation, absolved, and not guilty. Also, I crave attention, but only the equivalent of fourth from left, back row, in a Little League group photo that runs in your hometown newspaper.
Of your writing, what work are you the most proud of?
I am most proud of any of my work that helps others. Specifically, my customer comments on Amazon.com, which are written with a certain Joseph Conrad word flair, although with more exclamation points and smiley faces. Currently, I am collecting and putting them into book form to be self-published through CaféPress.com's print-on-demand service.
Other than those, I would have to say the interviews I have conducted with mid-tier authors. Because I have no use for no-names and because I lack the panache, insider knowledge, and appropriately waspy hairstyle, I am unable to speak with even the handlers of top-tier folks. I find interviewing mid-tier authors just right: you should hear them struggle to pontificate on even the most banal subjects. Once I polish their prose, they are more indebted to me than George Foreman is to fat Americans who love to indoor grill. I just hate the "you misquoted me, you uneducated prick" 3 a.m. phone messages and the attacks on my dog.
Why do you continue to freelance for free? Doesn't that hurt your brand? And does it not, also, degrade those freelancers who work for pay?
My brand was forever set in stone when an interview I conducted with Neal Pollock received attention in an e-mail newsletter sent by USA Today. An honor such as that only comes once in a lifetime and only to those of us who have worked long and hard. How I received this honor, I have no idea. However, it did set off a chain of events benefiting me personally that, like Vonnegut's old-man afro, has yet to completely die down. In one click of the Send button, my thought-provoking questions were brought to the attention of a million illiterates staying in a cheap hotels, where said paper is placed outside their room doors for free like it was an unwanted child left in a basket at the doorstep of the Magdelene sisters' convent.
As for taking work from—or degrading, as you say—freelancers who charge for services rendered, I can only hope that one day they learn the meaning of "I am a solipsistic monster, a Grendel of greed, a Nessie of narcissism. I truly don't care." I also hope they learn the meaning of "Please don't kill me." And "lay off my dog."
Out of necessity, you also hold a day job, do you not?
Of course. The rent must get paid, or the landlord, a frumpy gentleman with no discernable age or moral spine, comes after me with the ire of a famished Ignatius Reilly. Naturally, my cable is siphoned from the neighbor's line and my electricity, from a wind and solar farm I cultivate on my building's roof in the P.M. My food is pilfered from a food co-op where it's easy to steal from stoned 26-year-olds wearing "bandizis." Thus I am able to sustain an existence from working in publishing.
That said, it is what one does in the afterhours, when the evening light spreads quietly across the city's street like a pillow laid over a sleeping child's head, that I come alive and fulfill my promises I made to myself and mankind to make the world a tougher place for bad design and poor grammar. Not on my watch, chumps, will these atrocities be allowed. I am the Paul Michael Glaser and David Soul of accuracy and proper aesthetics.
Isn't it true that you work for free because you couldn't get paid for your work?
One more punch below the belt like that, Mr., and I'm going to . . . oh heck. Thank God for the Internet and literary journals. Their standards are lower than Herve Villiches winning a limbo contest.
Don't you think this interview oneself is a bit more than just a tad self-serving?
Yes. Certainly. And it will get more eyeballs than if I just posted it on my blog.
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