The Magazine Whore

They come in all different shapes, sizes, textures, colors and that’s just the mere beauty of it. They come packed with news, fashion, action, gossip, and informative how-to articles like “How to give the best blow job, and prepare a healthy dinner in just 20 minutes.” Some have good content, some great content, some are big, some are small, some even come miniature, glossy and matte, thick and thin. They come with celebrities, models, entrepreneurs and much, much more. Yes, this is why I’m in love. Confessions of a “Magazine Whore.”

I fell in love with magazines at a very young age in my life. However, I've become a collector as a young adult. Mature. Eager. Ready. Ready to handle the storage and expenses that go along with this fixation, fascination, and hobby. Most would certainly call it a hobby, but I call it a plain ‘ol ADDICTION.

Fortunately, society has not figured it out. They just don’t get it. So, there’s no Magazine Anonymous, place or program of that sort where family and friends can commit a person with a sickness like mine. Yep, we just rome free in the streets looking for a good fix. Money in one hand, Starbucks in the other and a mental map of every Barnes & Noble, magazine store, and news stand in the city. It’s an indescribable high. And oh, so satisfying! Hell, I’d be the first to curl up with a bulky, glossy, imaged filled magazine in my bed compared to a person from the male species. It’s just less of a headache and in the morning, my mag is in the same place where I left it…beside me.

I can remember it like yesterday. An Editor-In-Chief friend recommended it to me via email. The next day I did the unthinkable. I took a trip to my local bookstore, and there it was…sitting pretty and starring right at me. I wanted it and it definitely wanted me. Chills erupted through my body as I studied the scrumptious shiny cover featuring hip-hop artist, Butsa Rhymes in a suit. The feeling was orgasmic. My eyes searched endlessly for the name. There it read, in large, bold font, The Ave: A street movement in print. I picked up a copy and caressed it close to my heart. I suddenly felt the urge to cradle up into the fetal position after reading it cover to cover with a surprise at the end. Spike Lee on the flip side! Two in one, what more could a woman want?

The light bulb lit-up in my brain and I knew that I had to contact a staff member for an opportunity. A story. A voice. An objective. An article. A gracious piece in this fine publication with my name at the top. What do I have to loose? Why not turn this appetizing illness into a pivoting career, a money-making business, and have a damn good time doing it.

As a writer currently launching her freelance career in publishing, I knew that this was the ideal move to pursue. It just feels perfect and I get hungrier each time that I think of a fresh idea to pitch an editor. I’m axious to see where my path will lead.

This is Miss Joi and I’ve given you a full-blown tour. I’m a reader; a writer and you’ve read “Confessions of a Magazine Whore.”