Please Don’t Ask Me to Write about “That”

I’ve already admitted to being a content mercenary. I’ll write on just about any topic, from the dangers of coal-fired power plants to the joys of F1 powerboat racing in Qatar. Just give me an assignment.

And if it’s not my specialty? Hey, no problem. I’m a professional writer. I’ll research it. I enjoy studying new things and then explaining what I’ve learned in lay terms.

Want to know why Now is the Best Time Ever to Invest in Silver and Gold? I’ll give you the top ten reasons in a bulleted list.

Want to know why Investing in Precious Metals is the Financial Version of Fool’s Gold? I’ll present the most convincing arguments you’ve ever read for steering clear of coins and bullion.

As a freelancer, I write for money. I sell my words to the highest bidder. Politics, religion, sex, drugs, rock’n’roll … you name it. Call it literary prostitution, if you like. I’m not proud.

But there is one topic I avoid like the plague. It’s a two-letter word that sends a shiver down my spine every time I’m asked to write about it. And ironically it’s the topic I know best of all:

Me.

That’s right. I really don’t like writing about myself.

Maybe it’s a reflection of college journalism training, when we were taught to be invisible, dispassionate observers, never injecting our own thoughts into the reporting.

Or maybe it’s all those years spent writing advertising copy in “you attitude” and assuming the corporate voice of “we,” the megalithic marketer.

When ghostwriting or creating a “work for hire,” I sell my words, not my self. My clients get a professional product that suits their purposes. How I really feel about gold futures or silver speculation is my business and mine alone.

That’s why blogging scares me. Blogs require going beyond facts. To engage the reader, it is necessary to express opinions—what “I” think, how “I” feel, why “I” believe—even if the very act of writing that damn capitalized vowel goes against all my instincts.

You see, there is a very real danger in coming out from behind the curtain of anonymity. My words might displease. They could be used against me. (I didn’t really mean “Buy Gold Now!”) There is nowhere to hide.

But I’m getting paid—probably not nearly enough—to reveal the truth. So you shall have it, dear reader, along with my figurative head on a platter. Please be gentle.

In our next Diary installment, I will tell you exactly how “all this” came to be, and how you could be part of it, getting paid to pour your words into the blogosphere just like … er … moi.

T.A.J.