The eternal divide

If I were to do a mathematical summation that represented how much I love my job as a magazine writer--and that would have to include the mind-bending supposition that I understood mathematical equations--I would have to use an inverted parabola that represented, from left to right: the miserable first day; the increasing awareness that I might be good at the job and can learn to love working on a (big) Mac; the moment of writer/Mac oneness that approaches Nirvana; the opportunity to do all sorts of ridiculous, fun-filled, gratis fam tours where I actually get paid; networking with big, important, occasionally awesome people; to the sharp, steady decline where I start to realize that I will never, never change the ongoing and eternal battle between sales and editorial.

This is a battle that didn't start and will not end with me, the marketing team at work or any of the people who come after us. It's one of those industry-wide situations where, I'm learning, there is no middle ground, no compromise. As a writer, we want the people who read the articles to get the very best of us: a good story written by someone who loves to play with the words, make them dance and keep the reader turning the pages. We want to inform. We want to delve deeper in the human interest side of the story. We want to make readers think and question and laugh and cry. We want them to feel inspired and—this is kind of important—we want them to tell us and other people that they think we do a damn good job.

Woodward and Bernstein probably hated ad people, too

Ad marketing people, on the other hand, think the entire publication could be filled with either ipsum lorem (I'm not convinced they can read anyway) or asskissing fluff that flatters their clients. They wouldn't know a quality story if it came up, punched them in the face and took all the money that they earned by lying, making promises that compromise the writers' integrity and selling their grandmothers down the road. We are not writers; we are McJournalists—cheap, replaceable and prone to giving them stomach aches.

I am not bitter.

As human beings with actual lives outside of work, I assume that most of the ad marketing people are no worse than anyone else. I've seen family photos on their desks and bulletin boards, so unless they've cut them out of magazines, they are presumably marrying and raising families in a manner the suggests normality. Some of them are polysyllabic, so they're not all mouth-breathing troglodytes. A full 74 per cent of them walk upright! So there must be redeeming qualities. There should be a measure of commonality between us and them, no?

No.

Never the 'twain shall meet

We, as writers, want good quality writing. They, as sales people, want to lick the hindquarters of their clients, even if that means compromising on quality, value and ethical standings. They want their paycheques—who doesn't?—and will do anything they can to pad them. Including selling us down the river. And try to explain that excellent stories bring in the readers which is a number that is useful to show the clients, and they will blink at you uncomprehendingly and then tell you that they've promised an advertiser a three-page spread—complete with the right to proof the article and make any changes they see fit—on their company's new widget that was manufactured by five-year-old children in Haiti. We are sales' hos.

As a human being with some degree of compassion for others, it behooves me to look at their side and come to a degree of understanding. As a journalist, I am compelled to look at every side of the story and present it in an unbiased way. As a pissy Scorpio with an inflamed sense of self-righteousness, I may stay right here for a while, nursing my bitterness. Which, by the way, is another necessary trait in many McJournalists.