I have been looking for a job for five years.

Now I have one. It’s a part-time job, but still.

I’ll be working for the French.

Not Pierre Peladeau. The real French.

In France.

That means that I am benefiting from globalization.

I think it’s ironic that I couldn’t get work as an English writer in Canada, so I had to wait for an offer from France.

It’s the same with many people I know in journalism.

One guy I know on Parliament Hill is working for the Chinese. Many others are working for newspapers in Britain.

Lots of Canadians work in Hollywood. Except for Ken Finkleman, and that’s because nobody in Hollywood wants him.

This country is going to batshit. Media outlets in this country are forcing freelance writers to sign these horrific contracts that allow the companies to squeeze every last byte from their work. It means that if you write a story for the Ottawa Citizen, they can use your work in unlimited ways. Your story may appear in the Edmonton Journal or on; it can be resold and repackaged.

You, the writer, gets nothing. You loose your rights altogether for a measly $200.

Musicians used to get treated this way. That’s why so many famous songwriters and artists lived on the edge of poverty. They had to be buried in welfare plots, unless they were lucky enough to have friends who would throw them a benefit to pay for their funeral expenses.

Today’s musicians have rights — and so should journalists.

I write in this place for free. That’s because I got sick and tired of writing for the Globe and Mail for free.

I’m not uploading my pictures and video on CTV Ottawa, either.

I am a professional and I expect to be paid.

People say, that was a great blog. You should sell it to a newspaper.

For the pittance I receive for my work, I’d rather give it away.

The French are paying me to produce their magazine.

In Euros.

They wire me the money.

They seem surprised when I tell them about our archaic media here.

They can’t believe that French writers get more than English writers because they’re French.

I suggested that our magazine enlist the help of an advisory board. I tell them our experts expect to be paid in cash.

The French pay their experts in wine.

Maybe throw in a hunk of Brie and some crusty bagette, I expect.

I love the French.

I hate the fact our country treats its writers like so much garbage.

I’m not afraid of Rosalization.

I’m jiggy with it.

Makes me feel like a real writer.

Not an intern.


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