You can't quit, I'm fired

Writing is tough. Especially when you have an audience of zero and a salary to match. And of course my God-given lack of talent and inspiration play a role as well. Today I was wondering what it would be like to quit. But I don't just mean just quietly give up like an old man's kidneys. I'm talking NBA-superstar let's-hold-a-press-conference brand of quitting. I'd like to go out big:

"Hi, thank you. Hello Evelyn. Daniel. Yes, thank you. I'd like to thank everyone for being here today, and on such short notice. I know Mr. Coley informed you that I have a statement to make. I'll get right to it.

Flashbulbs, murmurs.

"I have called this press conference to announce that I am formally retiring from the world of amateur weblog journalism.

Gasps. More flashbulbs. Quiet din.

"Yes, I know that this must come as quite a shock to my readership and other members of the online community, but the time has come. I have done a lot of soul-searching, introspection and cold-hard research recently -- this morning actually -- and I have come to the inescapable conclusion that I no longer belong in the fast-paced world of amateur web authorship.

"Our marketing department has done some research and the numbers don't look good. If I could just direct your attention to this slide.

Because Harvey Kornbluth does not do presentations without visual aids:



"In the past three quarters interest in slomosu has waned. And not just exponentially, but in a way that is more mathematically dramatic than "exponentially". Like say, mega-hyperbolically. The data clearly show it. So does this graph.

"Here are a few reasons why. First, my web log has no pictures. I mean, that is dry. According to a recent study, apparently 103% of web log content is pictographic. Our team was shocked and confused by this statistic.

"Because of a new trend toward pictures, video and other trifles, I feel slowmotionsuicides simply cannot compete with the modern web logs that cater to a younger and hipper demographic. Frankly, I don't get it anymore. Not only am I "out of touch" with the youth of today, I'm at risk of "bad touching" them.

The audience and journalists are confused by this. I'd awkwardly brush aside the subject and move on.

"Also, the colour scheme. Pink is a tad hard on the eyes. Several surveys conducted by our staff showed that readers associate pink with babies, homosexuals, metrosexuals and watermelons. Sadly, I don't understand my computer enough to do anything about it. I had always intended on changing it to green or something. Doesn't look like it's going to happen.

"Oh, and the market. Christ. Don't even get me started. The "bubble" is set to burst and I'm getting out while the getting is good. I have zero advertisers, and that number is dropping by the second. Have you seen petroleum prices? Holy shit, I don't want to even get into it.

"So, in conclusion, there is no way --no way ever-- that I could possibly consider going on as an amateur bloggio in this cruel modern world. Though I will miss the friends I have made along the way, it would no longer be true to my art to continue. I'd be faking it in a way that -- yes, miss, do you have a question?"

Then a woman would rise from the crowd with a piece of paper in her hand.

"Harvey, Janet Jepson, New York Post. Are you not concerned about the many people you will be disappointing with your decision?"

And I'd lean into my my mic and say,

"No, I am not Janet. I think that's about 2 people tops."

"Well, Harvey, you say you are "out of touch" and unimportant, but maybe this letter will change your mind,"

And she would read the letter, right after I deny ever claiming I was unimportant.

Dear Harvey,

My name is Emerald. You are the best. Everything you write is so funny, that sometimes when I'm at my computer drinking milk and reading your site, the milk comes out my nose! Holy super-funniestness! Here is a picture I drew of you and me playing on a water slide:



Someday I want to be just like you Harvey. My husband says I should quit spending so much time on the computer and get back to raising our two kids, but he's just a meanie! I love you Harvey Kornbluth! Please keep writing forever!

Love, Emerald

And perhaps at this moment, a single tear would slide down the side of my face, and I'd stare right into the nearest camera and say,

"You got it, Emerald."

And I'd stand up and walk away without a word, God damn it, and continue to write -- for her, and for her alone.

But that's if I felt like quitting, and let's face it: I've barely scratched the surface of my catchpenny anecdotes nor reached the bounds of my auto-psychiatry.