I have to admit it.  I lose it every once and awhile.  Okay, maybe a little more than that, but not all the time.  Okay, maybe...

     I used to write for money, not much, but enough to make a living for three years as a freelance, until I had more than my own mouth to feed.  I used to keep copies of the checks to show my father and say, "See dad, it wasn't such a bad choice to become a writer.  I'm making money."

     There was an outfit that didn't pay me.  I had to go over and beg for the money.  So I started to solicit adds from my friends, submit them, and keep the proceeds.  Then they had to come begging to me.

       I wouldn't be blogging at all if I had a paying gig.  I admit it.  Why give it away for free when you can get money for it?  It's a legitimate business--I think.  I have other sources of income, thank you, and live quite well, so what's the rub?

     I remember a workshop I took with Robert Bly, the poet.  It was decided we needed some supplies, nothing much, but rather than pay for it himself Robert asked us to chip in.  He went around the room with his hat in his hand seeking donations--proud to be paid for what he does--a poet but not a pauper.

     If you notice, I don't advertise on my blog.  I wonder if it disturbs the management because maybe they get a piece, but I don't know for sure.  It isn't what matters.  I simply don't have much trust for "commerce" when it comes to my writing.  Maybe I've been out on the street too long like a stray dog and don't know enough not to bite the hand that feeds me.    I definitely have a hard time compromising or being put into a compromising position.  In that case, the money isn't worth it.

     Last week the Atlantic had an interview with Nick Denton the owner of the site Gawker, (Gizmodo, Jezebel, Lifehacker, Deadspin) which has a gung ho paid staff--not like the old days when journalists were a bunch of guys with Lucky Strikes dangling from their lips and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the drawer.  He basically said he don't care about the comments any more and all that matters are the clicks.  His writers get a bonus for the number of new visitors they bring to the site.  

      It would make the old-timers go mad if they knew they were in a popularity contest measured by each and every viewing, and the idea of "ratings" make them roll over in their graves.  I know it does me.  My god, if that's the only criteria--it's no wonder the lowest common denominator usually wins.  Nobody knows any better and if they do they're being paid to keep it a secret.  I haven't seen anybody call Denton the new Rupert Murdoch yet, but don't know why.

     I'm afraid the golden age of innocence on the internet is over--especially for writers--the developers have rolled in.  Now that Huffington made her millions the meat is in the water and the sharks are starting to circle.  It's an old, old story, and nothing that anybody says or does is going to change it.  Call me cynical but don't call me late for supper.  A little recognition is better than no recognition at all, and some of us live for our moments in the sun.  I'm one of them.  An entire media is now based upon it.

     The traffic on Salon and OS is increasing exponentially.  For those who've been around awhile, we've seen the pond turn into a lake, an ocean, and the tsunami could be on the way.  The prototypes have proven they work, and while it isn't posting a profit yet the executives are being nicely compensated.  It has a "niche" and a purpose--though my OS is not everybodies.  When I burn out, as so many have, I'm sure I'll be replaced, maybe by you.

     There is a recourse.   Salon Media Corp. (SLNM) is a publicly traded company.  It's a penny stock I can believe in.  There's already been a suitor who made the news.  Last week I bought a thousand shares at .49 a share and I'm thinking about buying a lot more.  Maybe Kerry, Emily, and Joan (the editors) will one day call me Sir Ben Sen.  (It has a ring, no?)

     It's not the same as showing dad that check, but I think he'd be proud of me anyway.  Now where the hell is that shark?