I once called my editor a whore in college. I worked for the campus newspaper and had written some story quoting the assistant dean of the college of liberal arts. My editor wanted to take the article to the assistant dean for approval before it went to press. The assistant dean was an ass and I’d had problems with him before. Keep in mind, I was about 30 years old at this time, not your traditional college kid, and my editor was a couple years older than me. I was a journalism major and she was public relations. I was hardcore, motherfucker. THE MAN was not going to get a chance to alter and spin my journalistic expose before it went to press.
I won that battle.
Why is this relevant? Because I’m sitting here waiting for an e-mail from a source I just interviewed. The new magazine I’m writing for requires that I get approval from my sources before turning in the articles. And you know what? I really don’t care anymore. Just gimme the paycheck.
I’m either getting old or have just been in PR for too long. Or both. It doesn’t even bother me that the reason for the article is simply to encourage the bank to buy bigger ads in the magazine. Those rigid journalistic ethics never earned me enough money to take care of my family, anyway.