Recently, I've been reading a lot about the harsh realities of being a published children's author; the low pay, the long nights, and the empty stomachs. And frankly, I don't know what these people are talking about. I'm rich.
Some of these complainers would have you believe that they've never burned a million dollar bill in a crystal urn just to know what it smells like, or fed their dog bald eagle wings. I'm not like that. I'll tell you the truth, because I believe what they don't: you can fly to Jakarta to party with Diddy on Saturday and be back in time to read at a children's hospital on Monday. Being a good person and role model to today's youth and owning a gold hovercraft are not mutually exclusive.
A life of luxury is nothing to be ashamed of, so, dear colleagues, I urge you to lift the veil. Keep making books that inspire, but don't pretend you clip your own toenails when your robot servants do it for you. It's insulting.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
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March
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1 comment:
You're right! I often use fifty dollar bills to wipe down my kitchen table and, darn it, I won't be ashamed of that anymore!
does this mean I'm not eligible for the free shrinky dinks?
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