CHAPTER 60

Hemingway allegedly said that after three years of journalism, get out if you intended to be a writer because formula writing would stultify your creativity. I dispute that. Journalism is another genre, just like poetry, short stories and novels. I believe the situation determines the presentation. Whatever vehicle you choose, there is always a surprising amount of originality that evolves from the mere decision to pound the keys on your laptop.

Too many lament too copiously about the dearth of objective writing. There is no such phenomenon as objective reporting. There is prose that disguises itself in a cloak of objectivity, but stripped of its raiment, it's a naked one-side version of an object that has as many perspectives as the Indian blind men trying to describe an elephant.

The life of this blogger is a rather enjoyable one. I've been writing since midnight after drinking too much beer and eating too many wings watching the Warriors sneak away with an exciting victory. I've written three stories about our college, school board and port elections in an inebriated state.

They are slanted. Just like FOX defends Trump and CNN rips Trump and there is no middle ground, I have to make decisions that I feel are in Brownsville's best interests. If my critics think the few bucks thrown my way influence my coverage, they are mistaken. I have been offered substantially more from individuals with whom I don't agree.

But trying to convince people that you aren't bought-and-sold is a futile endeavor and I don't lose any sleep over those detractors who find this assessment conveniently fits their agenda. Always attack the messenger if you can't attack the message, not that the message isn't beyond criticism.

The old days are over when a sly crone pocketed bucks collecting ballots from the disabled and elderly and delivering them to be marked by the candidates. The bloggers are a much wiser advertising investment. There's nothing illegal in the ad transaction. The Sunday before the general election for the city, I bought The Brownsville Herald and not one of the fourteen candidates had bought an ad.

Most had bought from me.

The public wants meat and the bloggers butcher their sacrificial lambs at Market Square bar. Just like the other bloggers, I am prone to exaggeration, but hyperbole is an effective literary tool.

A person once confronted Estanislao Contreras, the author of Chicano Fuck Songs, and said in regards to one of his verses: "That's not poetry!"

"Yes, it is!"

"How can you say that those lines are poetry?"

"Because I say it's poetry!"

The same perspective holds true for blogging. Blogging is anything you want it to be. Some bloggers like to showcase only their writings. Some bloggers feel that their sites have to adhere to journalistic standards. Some bloggers only want to post nude photos of men and women and call it art. Blogging is little more than a stage that hosts performances of any sort. The reader decides if the visit is worth the effort.

At The Murphy Report we engage in our own works, but we also, when we are at our responsible best working on behalf of the community, like to present a package that moves from genre to genre with no limitations but provides an insight into the city's most important issues of the day.

We go about our calling for a variety of reasons, but we don't want to depart this world without the comfort of having given our vision, artistically and politically, our best shot. We don't want to be like the two 80-year-old virgins when one turns to the other and says, "We got fucked!"