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Is Exposure the New Black for Bloggers?

I nominate anyone out there in cyberspace to become the president of the bloggers’ union we’re all going to start. Do I have a second for this nomination? Or a name for either the candidate or the union? How about BOOB ... Best Official Outraged Bloggers as the name of our union? Think of all the male members we would get.

Why start a bloggers union?

We were just too desperate to be able to use the word “published” after our names! As blogs sprouted up all over the Internet, writers started coming out of their closets. We could still be in our jammies and “officially” write to our heart’s content ... pish posh that we weren’t getting paid for our efforts. We were getting EXPOSURE! That’s what all the sites were offering and still are offering ... exposure, which, as we know, can lead to hypothermia and death. No shit ... add poverty to that.

Before all the large sites caught on that their bloggers would work for nothing but exposure, they actually compensated us. Then, ka-whammy! They took the money away, still assuring us that the exposure was worth its weight in gold. And, sometimes they lied because they maybe had a LOT fewer hits on their sites than we had suspected. I’m sure there are many bloggers who are making good money. I’m also sure that some of them are working eighty-hour weeks. And, the other thing I’m sure of is that those of us who are languishing in the purgatorial “exposure” goo are just as good at writing as those who are being handsomely rewarded with actual cash.

So, our candidate for president of BOOB needs to have balls (or boobs) like a big brass monkey. He or she needs to set our rules in such a way that we get what we give ... or we don’t give. And, just think of how much fun our annual conventions will be. We can all attend in our jammies ... and drink martinis (because martinis compliment any setting with large groups of people). Our signage at the swanky hotel for the convention will garner attention as well … “BOOB(s) are gathering in the Hawthorne suite—9 a.m. to 4 p.m. No need to BYOB!”

Let’s band together for BOOB!



I’ll second that proposition! BOOB lives! Let’s face it; we have paid our dues already to this union. Hell, we even wrote for a major magazine online, only to find that their thirty hits a week didn’t give us the exposure that we got passing out our cards at the Congress Bridge Bat Festival. Oh, but we were to count ourselves lucky to be affiliated with such a high profile publication … who doesn’t pay its bloggers. ?? Fuck that. We even got hate mail from Corn Belt religious hypocrites who couldn’t find a joke if God stood in front of them and delivered it while holding a rubber chicken.

Do I sound bitter? I think I was, but now I look back and see that I contributed to the problem by writing my guts out in the hope that it would lead to compensation in the future. All of that output did lead to a posted body of work that I’m pretty proud of. BUT! From now on I’m not writing for anybody else’s site unless they pay me for my talent or at least buy me two martinis and dinner at The Four Seasons.

“Sorry, young sir, I’m a member of BOOB, and we don’t work for exposure on your site that twenty-five people subscribe to because they are members of your mother’s book club. I’m really honored that you love our blog and want to feature it on the cover page of your three-page site. No pay? Buh bye.”

We need to have more pride in what we do. We need to stand up for ourselves and say, “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!” That’s a straight quote from the movie, Network, and that character went crazy and threatened to kill himself on national television if people didn’t take note. Of course, I would never kill myself. I might go down to the capitol building and stand in front of it nekked with a sign that says, “BOOB UNION!” ala Sally Field in Norma Rae. That’ll show ‘em.

We should write a scathing blog about this. Wait a minute. This blog is already posted and anybody can steal it for free.



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