A Gent's Outlook

A Literary Agent Divulges the TRUTH about Publishing

Saturday, October 29, 2005

How Journalists Ruin the World

And heeeeere's Marley...SK

Jesus fucking Christ, people! For the last goddamn time—being a journalist does NOT qualify you to write fiction, genre or otherwise! Do I have to explain this again? I don’t care how many fucking awards you win bringing down the mayor for dipping his pen into his city controller’s ink. Or for photographing the local dog catcher fondling Fido. You still need to get some training to write fucking novels.

Writing isn’t writing isn’t writing. It’s all different, you dumbfucks, or did you miss that day in Journalism 101? You know what I hate about journalists who want to write fiction? These are the same nitwits who have screwed up everyday news reporting because they can’t write based on the facts. Ooooh, no! Their muse convinces them to jazz it up a bit, because most of them are frustrated wannabes anyway, and so now when I read Newsweek, I get gobbledy-gook with biased language and mistakes instead of THE FACTS. Someone told you that no one wants to read plain old news—they need a little sensationalism. And you went, “Eureka!”

Great. Just fucking great.

Figure out what the hell you want to do as a writer, and if you want to be a novelist, deal with the fact you will be starving, but happy as a pig in shit. Borrow some balls, for God’s sake, and head on down your pre-destined life path. Don’t go to journalism school hoping to make the leap into fiction someday—you fuckers are ruining the print media and trade publishing. Hey, being a literary agent isn’t the easiest job in the world, but it’s who I goddamn am.

I can always tell a book by a journalist. Instead of maintaining the sparse quality of news writing and integrating it into their novels, these yo-yo’s just let the flood gates open wide, and out pours miles and miles of verbal garbage (usually in the form of similes, metaphors, metatags, whatever) that should have been dealt with in 7th grade. Scene setting, descriptive narrative, exposition out the ass, overuse of “be” and on and on. See below:

Patrick was surprised at the condition of the door. It was warped, and the paint was peeling like a snake shedding its skin, lending the same animal-like quality to the antique that Patrick was feeling inside himself. The cool November breeze was blowing ever so gently against the faded curtains that were making a frame around its lonely little porthole-like window. Leaves were dancing across the red brick, newly renovated, rectangular-shaped patio, and Patrick couldn’t help but wonder, and the breeze was tickling his nose hairs, why his mother named him after the next door neighbor.

Shakespeare may have written, “To be or not to be,” but Marley says, “Fuck “to be”, just goddamn use strong verbs and cut the shit, Eddie R.!” If there were a journalist who could switch over to writing tight, lean prose of any kind, that writer would stand a fair chance of getting published for more than goddamn name recognition and the world would be a better place. At least my world would be. I could pay my goddamn rent.

Fuck you, Journalists,


  • At 10:18 AM, Blogger Omar said…

    Damn Marley!
    You sound like an angry little cracker! You need "big" Omar to straighten it out for you?
    You're gonna give yourself a yeast infection.


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