As happens more and more frequently, a recent blog post here led to a conversation on Facebook. Increasingly, people seem to prefer to converse in that comparatively snuggly place rather than grandstand in this public space. I, of course, prefer the grandstanding, but I'll take good conversation anywhere I can get it.
Anyway—the Facebook conversation went down a worn path: I said you can't love your kids too much, someone else said yes you can, because today's employees are a bunch of coddled, self-loving brats. He told me to read a book about it and I said I would, but I probably won't.
And we would have left it at that. Except, I am a formerly coddled onetime brat who still loves himself a shit-ton and credits the fact that his mommy called him a genius over and over when he was six.
I haven't missed a deadline in two decades of editing a dozen publications and writing thousands of articles and millions of words, satisfying editors and readers of magazines and newspapers around the U.S. As we say at Murray's Freelance Writing: I'm faster than the writers who are better than me and better than the writers who are faster than me.
For the rest of the week I'll offer confessions of Me At Twenty Three, and advice for today's working babies and their bosses.
I look forward to the conversation, wherever it takes place.