RANT: FOR ONCE, LIGHTEN UP

We Should All Be Concerned About the Writers Who Keep Telling Us About All the Things We Should Be Concerned About

The latest schtick: Monkey Pox

And schtick it is. Well-compensated schtick, I’ll bet, given the number of reads, claps, and all the other poop that makes money, here. Courtesy of those writers who’ve managed to reel in the suckers and make it to the top of the Medium charts.

As a rule, I am not a “glass half full” type of person. I’m working on that, but it’s hard. I’ve lived with anxiety and OCD all my life and it’s a constant struggle to maintain a semblance of normalcy in a world that’s anything but. To make lemonade from lemons. To snatch a modicum of joy from simply drawing in breath every day. Those of you who suffer from these emotional wallops know what I’m talking about.

I’m sharing this so that you understand I’m not a happy-go-lucky, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (or Chicago) nitwit. Life is hard, guys, in case you haven’t heard. And then you die. But is this something we need to be reminded of twenty-four-seven?

Some readers actually come here to be entertained and enlightened. In a good way. A hard concept to grasp, perhaps, but there it is.

We’re in dire straits and everyone with half a brain knows it. For me, personally, I’ve survived breast cancer, watched both my parents die of lung cancer, am caring for a husband who has Covid and whose health has diminished, and frankly, the last few years have been shit. For all of us, given the virus that keeps on keepin’ on.

The older I get, the more I fear the future. What if? WHAT IF?

Some of you are experiencing your own health challenges, or are caring for loved ones who are ill. Many of us are struggling financially, and, while the money, if there is any, trickles in, the bills overwhelm us like a Tsunami.

If you watch the news or have any interest in the world around you, you already know about Monkey Pox. And inflation. And the fact that our planet is slowly dying. And that Ukraine is being crushed by a mad man.

We know all of it, yet the doom purveyors continue to ram the absolute direst situations down our collective throat because, as I stated, this is all about schtick. You know what that is, right? It’s Yiddish slang for a “gimmick.” And that’s because gimmicks, schtick, pay the rent. And the gushers are too dim to get it.

Like the song goes in the hit musical (and film), Gypsy:

You can pull all the stops out Till they call the cops out; Grind your behind till you’re banned. But you gotta get a gimmick If you wanna get a hand. You can sacrifice your saccro Working in the back row. Bump in a dump till you’re dead. Kid, you gotta have a gimmick If you wanna get ahead.

That last line says it all, no?

As I said, many writers here operate from SchtickVille. Work gimmicks of their own. You know who they are. The course-peddlers. The bullshit slingers. The “If I Can Do It, So Can You” nimrods.

A handful of writers’ particular shtick is “doom.” Plain and simple. Do you want a reason to shoot yourself in the head? Swallow a handful of pills? Sit in your car with the garage door closed and the engine running? Subscribe to their stories.

Does this mean I don’t take our country’s and the world’s issues seriously? Hell, no. As I said, I’m already in the weeds emotionally and mentally. I’m sucked dry and I’m doing whatever I can to find a modicum of joy in waking up every morning.

Our cats. Enough said.

This is my opinion, folks, and my opinion, only. So keep that in mind in case you feel like mixing it up with me. Unless I’m mistaken, we’re still allowed to voice those, are we not?

Should we talk “scary?” Then, I’d love to see one of the doomsters publish a story about cancer. About how many millions of people a year are stricken by a disease that affects both young and old, alike. Why hasn’t this been eradicated? Delve into that and I’ll eagerly read what she unearths.

Cancer has run a wide swath through my family. My 60-year-old cousin died on New Year’s Eve from multiple myeloma which was diagnosed only a year ago after she saw her doctor complaining of a “back ache.”

Another family member, sixteen years old, had a good portion of her jaw removed because of a rare form of bone cancer that came out of nowhere. Sixteen. A baby. Thankfully, she is cancer free and at home, healing after reconstructive surgery. She has a long road ahead of her.

Yes. Monkey Pox, which is much like smallpox is now an issue. Should we panic and run for the exits or try to look at this latest kick in the ass rationally? And just so y’all know, folks, symptoms include fever, aches and an infected individual might have a distinctive bumpy rash.

It’s spread by close, skin-on-skin contact, so, unless you’ve engaged in bestiality and had carnal knowledge with a creature of the simian persuasion, I’d take a deep breath and move on to something else.

I read the following in Reuters: “COVID is spread by the respiratory route and is highly infectious. This doesn’t appear to be the case with the monkeypox,” said Dr. Martin Hirsch of Massachusetts General Hospital.

Am I happy about this? Hell, no. But I refuse to let this, too, keep me up at night. I’ve got enough going on upstairs. And I’ll bet you do, as well.

Now, I’m trying to get a handle on what these writers are getting from making people more miserable than they already are, other than a big, fat, payday.

Of course, what do I know? I’m a gnat on this platform in comparison. I’ve never received 10k claps for my stories. But, who knows what tomorrow may bring? See how upbeat I can be?

Also, my issue isn’t the fact that they spread doom and gloom, rather, it’s the unfortunate fact that doom and gloom appear to be their stock in trade. How about mixing the shit up every now and then?

“Hey, writers in question. Why not try uplifting your readers on occasion, instead of scaring the bejesus out of them? Your schtick is tired, you know? And you’re veering into ‘boring AF territory.’ Just sayin.’ Write about your pets, your mother, or even, your first sexual encounter. Widen your horizons. Spread your wings. If you don’t know how to do that, shoot me an email and I’ll help you out. If I’m in the mood. For a small fee. But you know what? Forget it. I don’t come cheap.”

Meanwhile, there’s always the “mute” button.

© Sherry McGuinn, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

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Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.