What my now-chastened troll army often laments is that I am a terrible voice for the academically marginalized, because all I write about is me (and I’ve been guilty of this since the third grade, during which I elected to write my own illustrated autobiography as part of a long-form language arts project, entitled Me, Me and More Me).
On this blog, that is certainly the case, because the very genre of the blog calls for self-obsession. Why else would someone self-publish hundreds of thousands of words with no regard to quality, if she did not believe in her very heart that her story was worth hearing? I realize that this is ridiculous, and I do feel somewhat embarrassed sometimes about the Secular Schumanism of this space in particular. However, in my actual paid journalism, the Schoeuvre is actually quite small, a miniature sub-minority of the Body of Work I’ve spent the past half-year cultivating as I rebirth my writing “career.” The thing is, though, often the only thing people want to read are raw, screedy tales of my failure. Here’s a cataloging of the published fruits of 2013’s labor, in order from least popular to most.
Well-researched and pluckily upbeat articles about German literature, philosophy and culture:
90s-nostalgia personal essay:
- My Summer of Before Sunrise (Slate)
Pointed critique of academic labor system:
- Tom Friedman’s Vision of Online Oligarchy (CHE)
- Adjuncts and the Free Market (CHE)
- Bargain Basement BAs (Slate)
- Horrible Platitudes (Vitae)
- Dossiers With Dignity (Vitae)
- I Quit Academia! (Slate)
Me, Me and More Me:
Hilariously juvenile butt pranks!!!!!!
As you can see, I’m trying to make a living here (though if you add my payment for all these up, it comes out to about $2400 total–$2300 if you count the -$100 for #ButtScan. I am incredibly grateful, but it’s hardly enough to support someone for 6 months).
It is quite obvious that if I want to begin surviving as a freelance writer, I will have to give the people what they want. And what they want–for better or worse–are stories of my failure/general shit-fits, and butts. I hope that this changes as I write more, honestly I do–butt for now, I am destined to be known for my solipsistic work only. I do hope, very much, that even my most self-obsessed work as at its root an institutional critique, and in the coming months I will attempt to make that clearer.
OH, also, because there’s no other place to put it: read the latest from Werner Herzog’s Bear, a priceless takedown of the latest lifeboater claptrap.