So after taking a good look at the results in Friday’s poll, it looks like the majority of you are soulless sell-outs with no artistic integrity. Why am I not surprised.
Kidding. You’re just a bunch of greedy bastards.
Personally, I chose the hidden gem option, but that’s because I’ve never understood how to make myself popular, and therefore carry a deeply seated, reactionary adolescent grudge against everything the cool kids are doing. Yeah, some of us never grow up.
But really. As many of us who keep one eye on history and the other on the future (and a third eye on the #RIP hashtag on Twitter), I sometimes think about what it means to leave a legacy. We’ve been losing a lot of brilliant, amazing famous people lately, known for acts of extraordinary human achievement or immeasurable contributions to comedy, culture, and literature.
And honestly? I mean really, truly honestly? I think I’d rather have the tiniest, remotest, most infinitesimal shot of being remembered as someone who left a positive mark on my chosen field; someone who entertained, fascinated, and maybe even got people to think a little differently about their life than as someone who made ten million dollars peddling soapy nonsense to an already addled generation of young people.
Sigh. Okay, maybe the pigeon has a point. I’ve been living on a shoestring budget for about a year now, and I can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to spend a few weeks throwing together a piece of zombie and vampire infested, post-apocalyptic BDSM young adult romance and reap the assured rewards. It doesn’t appear to be too hard.
So here’s the compromise: let’s just all agree to write our best-selling toilet paper novels under a pseudonym, buy our beach houses and BMW’s through an anonymous third party, and never speak of it again. Deal? Deal.