Pearl Jam is making deals with Verizon. Maynard James Keenan put on a little weight and owns a vineyard. Joe Torre manages the Dodgers. Anne Rice decided to write the Great American Novel. Tim Burton got soft. Black Train Jack disbanded. My bass guitar has a warped neck and is out of tune. There are no legitimate goth and new wave nights where I can go dancing. I write, and truly get excited about, copy to sell things to people. Sometimes I wear high-heels, and although I still stick out in a crowd, it’s safe to say that I’ve grown up, whether or not I’ve wanted to. But having your idols get fat and wealthy is one thing, having your dreams become more outdated than an *NSYNC cassette is quite another. The things I want to do – get a full-time editorial gig and/or a book deal – are suddenly seeming a little like wishing for Kurt Cobain to rise from the dead and reunite Nirvana. Stupid, impossible, or worse yet, out-of-touch.

When Simon and I started sharing the sheets, we frequently fought about the same thing while basking in post-coital bliss: Amazon’s Kindle. The Kindle, to me, signaled the death of books. From Simon’s point of view, it was an elevation of literature. To me, it was the end of bookbinding, the loss of that pulpy perfume from the pages, the vanishing of penciled notes in the margins. To Simon, it was the beginning of a new era, a way to make books accessible and portable, a way to widen his library, if it ever became open source. He looked at it as a necessary component, an advancement of the publishing industry, something to feel good about. I looked at it as yet another scary new machine, like the wireless telephone, or the Segway. I’ve always wanted a book deal, but it seems like the only things that get advances these days have to do with celebrities, scandals, or Twitter. In which case, I’ve got nothing. Except for a Trent Reznor poster and a pair of cheetah print underpants. Do e-readers make my book deal more likely? No. Do they hinder my ability to score a fat advance? Well, indirectly, yes. Because they are a game changer, as men in suits on ESPN would say.

I acknowledge that collections of non-fiction essays from nobodies aren’t the most coveted manuscripts gracing the glossy tables of publishers. I understand that the literary world is in a bit of an upheaval. I let go of the childhood dream of a book tour where I’d be flown to signings in Boston bookshops, where nobody but a few cute undergrads from Seven Sisters schools would attend. I won’t have a chain-smoking editor calling me for revisions, I won’t be able to see scathing reviews on Amazon. I won’t even have the pleasure of buying Simon a Nook (or a Kindle) pre-loaded with my labor. All right, books are changing, which means that book deals, as we once knew them, are dead or close to it.

A note for publishers: I can write really glistening prose about Lindsay Lohan’s bathroom habits or Lady Gaga’s Twitter feed if need be.

Then there was the other brass ring I was reaching for, an editorial gig. When Sex and the City came out, I wanted to punch my television in the screen, and not just because I was offended by the idea that women only function when fueled by a simultaneous desire for shoes and marriage. I wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw. Mind you I didn’t want to actually be Carrie Bradshaw, but I wanted her job and her apartment. I wanted my name on the side of a bus because I was writing about New York nookie. In truth, even if I were simply writing blurbs about seedy nightlife, that would be fine too. Just give me a regular gig at a rag or mag, and I’d be good to go. Well, as we’ve recently learned by the death of Gourmet, that whimsical little daydream is as dated as last season’s suede espadrilles. Or whatever was in style last season.

The chief executive of Conde Nast said that the shredding of Gourmet, and two other magazines, would allow the company to branch out into digital versions of the brands, and he mentioned utilizing "new devices and distribution channels." I don’t believe he means kiosks outside of Starbucks.

The New York Times is cutting its staff. Countless papers nationwide are shuttering their windows and turning off the lights for the final time. Newsweek is covering life after newspapers. Information is available online, for free, and for many of us it’s delivered straight into our telephones and feed readers daily. We don’t need paid subscriptions, we have a subscribe button that it costs nothing to click. If I’m going to get that editorial gig, it ain’t gonna be in a weekly that I’ll see strewn across the seats of the downtown F train, and it certainly isn’t going to be any job that would lead to me munching at those restaurants Gourmet once covered.

My choice is clear. Simon frequently cajoles me into getting and doing things that he swears are life-altering improvements (this list currently includes Twitter, Tumblr, WordPress, iPhones, netbooks, and the band Mum.) I met nearly all of these declarations with intense skepticism at first. When fire was first discovered, I would have been the caveman that threw an empty raptor skull filled with water on the torch, stating afterward that I thought it was a "bad idea." But every new platform, device, or accessory does seem to make my life (and, in tandem, my writing) easier. I think that this is based on an evolutionary model: adapt or die. And my internal life had best man up and follow suit. Just as how I’ll never dance with Gene Kelly or bring a Skip-It to show-and tell, I have to accept what’s passed and cannot be. Setting goals in an age of such rapid advances in technology and declines in economic stability is like playing Whac-A-Mole, it no longer has a predictable and straight trajectory.

The face of writing is changing, and that’s exciting, but it requires a great deal of patience, both for me and for the rest of us restless, caffeinated, passionate key-pushers. Achievement might come in the form of a paid blogging gig, collaborating with other geeks, or simply submitting articles to sites that pay. Whatever it is, success is still out there. It’s just up to us to figure out how its shape has shifted, and then to catch up to it.