When I was in journalism school, I had big dreams to one day write hard-hitting, in-depth articles that would touch people's hearts and provoke society to think about issues that were important to me. Turns out what the people want from me are stories about hair dyeing gone awry and gagging at the sight of my nudey neighbor.
Oh, you don't know about the nudist who lives across from me? Borderstan posted my story earlier this week, and it's still getting a ton of hits. I wrote the article at the request of some other contributors when I told the story at a barbecue. When you go to as many parties stag as I do, you have to have a cache of good stories to tell or people will notice you're alone and talk to you about how hard it is to date in DC the whole night. So you have to preempt their sympathy with something shocking or hilarious.
That makes writer's block all the more mysterious -- if I have all these party stories, why don't I write them down? Well, I did, and now I know how to get my readers' attention: talk about a dude's junk. Eew.
Read the post here.