Or you could, you know, get “good at this” by setting up your own blog for free, build up a body of work, establish a network of contacts, and then patiently wait for monkeys to fly out of your ass. I’m assuming “the compensation will come” by making inquiries and pitches that refer to his…
it was just that nobody wanted to be without a knife
He saw a man coming from the direction of Seventh Avenue. As the man came nearer Sugar saw that he was big, and wearing an old cap and clean starched overalls. But Sugar’s eyes lit on the lunch pail the man was carrying. If he had had a knife, he would have tried to mug the man for his lunch. But he hadn’t been able to borrow a knife. No one had been willing to lend him a knife. It wasn’t what he might have done with it; it was just that nobody wanted to be without a knife. It wasn’t that people wanted to use their knives on other people; it was just that they wanted to have their knives in case other people started cutting on them. The big workman passed, keeping at a distance, his free hand in his pocked gripping his knife. Not that he suspected Sugar of any bad intentions; he just wanted to be prepared.
“I know, I know. We’re talking tonight about people who think out of the box and why it’s important to think out of the box. George Orwell — he was a socialist, but he said, “Uh-oh, scary stuff coming our way.” There’s somebody who is crazily anti-socialist communist. Ayn Rand — this thing is — it reads like a newspaper. Vince Flynn, this is from 1995 when it was finally published?”—Glenn Beck, champion of fiction writers and eluder of sentence construction
“After a time I discarded the bullet-proof vest I had bought in London. I had worn it because I was I aware that it was easy to die in those streets—especially as a stranger new to the rules of fighting—and realized that life was not something to be treated flippantly there. Yet I soon found it more of a barrier, in my own mind at least, between myself and those who befriended me than between my body and bullets. Its heavy weight ceased to be reassuring and instead brought only shame to me in the presence of people I knew, people who had no avenue of escape. I began to leave it in the room in which I slept, where it finally gathered dust.”—Anthony Loyd, My War Gone By, I Miss It So
“Listen, you write the way you do because you have to, and because it’s who you are. But nice things happen too, reputation or no. Just recently, for example, a letter from someone here in town, whom I don’t know at all, wanting nothing, simply telling me that if I need anything — if I want to say “lift this” or “move that” — I should give him a call.”—the late David Markson, in a 2005 interview with Bookslut