I have left Vocal.
Vocal v The New Yorker: the cachet, the cash, the truth
Jon McKnight writes for The New Yorker. There! Doesn’t that sound grand? The only problem is, I don’t. But I’m not alone in wishing I did. Hundreds of thousands of journalists and countless aspiring writers would love to have those five little words come up whenever anybody Googles their name.
The Spy Who Came In Through The Code
One of the very few beneficiaries of the Coronavirus pandemic is the QR Code, that little square of black-and-white patterns that looks like an untuned television channel.
Your bids, please, for an NFT of this story
Ever since those swindlers sold the Emperor his new clothes, the unscrupulous (or the imaginative and only-just-scrupulous) have been trying to think of ways to part us from our money without giving us anything tangible in return.
While the cat’s away...
If you were expecting this to be yet another of those long-winded stories from Jon McKnight, I’m sorry to disappoint you - though I suspect that’ll come as more of a blessed relief.
To the girl I never knew who took her own life
Darcy, my dear, I never knew you - and probably never would have done. But your untimely death has had a major impact on me and countless others who’ve known what it’s like to feel as desperate as you did.
How to go the distance when you’re writing a novel
We all have a novel inside us, apparently, but the problem is getting the damned thing out. Some compare it with giving birth to a child - which, my female friends assure me, can certainly make your eyes water, to say the least - but for most aspiring authors, it can seem rather more daunting than that.
Why optimists have a much better time of it
I don’t want to seem pessimistic, but a lot of people won’t be reading this. It’s the word “optimists” in the headline. Puts them off.
Help! I’ve been cloned by an AI writing bot!
I have bad news for Vocal CEO Jeremy Frommer - and for all those who thought that one of me, just the one Jon McKnight, was more than sufficient.