| Rats!
They threw a writers' strike and didn't invite me
By Jen
Beasley
Four weeks ago, when I heard there was going to be a
writer's strike, you should have seen the bloodlust.
I didn't recall joining a union, per se, but figured
because writing is pretty much all paperwork, my Jen
Hancock was sure to have found its way to the bottom
of some paper promising I wouldn't be a scab so long
as it ensured me higher wages and the respect I deserved.
I was keen.
Like any good proletariat hunched from hours of toil
at the news conveyor, I sounded the alarm, put on my
best shuffle-and-chant sneakers, and practiced making
up pithy and aggressive rhymes. I began with "It's
not right! We won't write!" and ended with more
melodious "I'll never be your Beast of Wordin."
I snapped my Bics clean in half out of raw defiance,
blue ink dripping onto my shuffle-and-chants like the
birthing blood of the First Amendment.
I polished all my fiercest verbs, preparing to heave
them in gleaming threat form at my savage oppressors.
So you can imagine my disappointment when I discovered
I wasn't actually invited to the party.
Apparently, hack newspaper reporters weren't striking
at all! It was a red carpet picket! It was those fancy
schmance screenwriters, with their gilded and acronymed
organizations and Beautiful People protestors. It was
the elbow-rubbing, sequin-wearing, Emmy-awarded, gets-to-write-about-people-in-comas-that-aren't-Terry-Schiavo
set.
And all the threats prepared and nurtured, the blunt-object
impalings and butter-knife castrations just shriveled
dormant and unused to my ink-smeared sneakers, and the
distant cousin species of Hollywood scribes mocked me
and my ink-smeared fingers.
I should have known better. Losing episodes of "Lost,"
after all, will rile up the public to the point that
they begin to phone their congressmen, and found "Save
our Scripts" charities. But no such love is lost
for the journalist. "Save our Scripps Howard"
is something entirely different and un-germane. What
is one less feature about a florist? What is one less
story tracking census trends? Fewer stories in the morning
paper just leave more time to devote to the stories
on daytime TV, to the late night monologue.
If a typewriter stopped clacking in a crowded den, would
anyone stop to listen? If I refused to write my articles,
would anyone but my mother notice? Would my mother notice?
No.
It is impossible to strike without weaponry. The pen
is only mightier than the sword when it's Sean Penn,
and even then, ironically, no words are used. (Check
out his silent plea for the abused L.A. darlings here).
I however, having no entertainment collateral to offer
the hordes, had nothing to withdraw, had no demands
to make, had nothing to say. Some wordsmith.
Wishing my cousins luck, I trudged back to the factory
to assemble letters.
NW
JJ
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