Latest news with #YouTuber
Time of India
6 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Time of India
'He Needs a Desperate Attempt': HasanAbi Calls Out Ethan Klein for Legal Move Against Streamers
Image via: Instagram/hasandpiker In a shocking twist, in retaliation for Ethan Klein's aforementioned move to sue three of Twitch's largest streamers Denims, Morgan 'Frogan,' and Kacey 'Kaceytron',political commentator and former War of AI participant Hasan 'HasanAbi' Piker declared Klein's lawsuit a 'last ditch attempt' meant to generate drama. This suit stems from the conviction that Hasan Piker, aka hasanabi, has unjustly violated YouTuber. The legal challenge: What's the problem? On June 19, 2025, H3 Podcast host Ethan Klein announced his intention to sue Denims, Frogan, and Kaceytron for copyrighting his content. In his first clip, Klein laid out an introduction to the lawsuit, arguing that the three streamers were illegally using his copyrighted videos on their sites. That suit got ugly when those streamers started directly reacting to Klein's video in their own live streams, something that Klein now alleges led to rampant copyright infringement. Klein's choice to pursue legal action has been the subject of widespread attention, in large part because the content at issue in this case including the discussions made between public figures that lead to the threat of legal action are typically public and occur in a public forum. As the host of one of YouTube's most popular and longest-running podcasts, Klein's decision to go to bat has inspired several days' worth of raging discourse about the YouTube creator community's ethical obligation to steer clear of this type of lawsuit. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like Memperdagangkan CFD Emas dengan salah satu spread terendah? IC Markets Mendaftar Undo Hasanabi's Outrage: A 'Pathetic Stunt' For Drama' HasanAbi was the first to express his outrage at Klein's misconduct, seizing the lawsuit's condemnation the day the news of the lawsuit broke and going straight to his livestream to condemn the lawsuit. The Turkish-American streamer took full advantage of his opportunity to hammer Klein's proposal, calling it a blatant attempt to manufacture controversy. As HasanAbi reminds us, Klein's legal crusade is a collaborative squall of costly, hazardous balderdash that's quickly turning into a big-wave tsunami for the influencer/content creator space. "Now he needs a desperate attempt to grab onto f*king any sort of controversy and drama. I'm sure that me reacting to it actually playing into exactly what he wanted to do. But the reason why I wanted to talk about this is specifically so that you guys go and show support to Denims, Frogan, and Kaceytron because, obviously, he has a fk ton of money, and he's going to use the fk ton of money that he has to bully other content creators who don't have a f*k ton of money, and try to win some kind of public opinion battle. ' The move stands in a dismal contrast of further implications for content creators, especially micro-influencers who often lack the legal resources to present their own arguments against industry Goliaths. Nor will it pacify the Twitter mob. This is in large part due to the fact that many of HasanAbi's followers have taken to social media to defend the accused streamers, further inflaming the growing online conversation about whether content creators with huge platforms have any ethical responsibility to their audiences. Klein's lawsuit has not by any means slipped under the radar, as nearly a half million in the Twitch and YouTube communities have rallied to the cause of the three streamers. Game On Season 1 kicks off with Sakshi Malik's inspiring story. Watch Episode 1 here
New York Times
18 hours ago
- Entertainment
- New York Times
She Didn't Give Up on Her YouTube Dream — or on Love
Finding success as a YouTuber can be a dream come true. But it doesn't always lead to a satisfying love life — or so it seemed to Remi Ashten Cruz after building a devoted audience for her takes on everything from dorm décor to snack food. Miss Remi Ashten, the YouTube channel Ms. Cruz, 30, started in 2012, had spawned spinoff channels and podcasts that have won her five million followers across platforms. But finding men whose relationship goals matched her own in Los Angeles while helming various series including 'Pretty Basic,' the podcast she still hosts with her best friend, Alisha Marie McDonal, had been mostly a bust. 'A lot of guys were condescending about my career,' she said, because of its focus on what she called 'girl topics,' like trends and relationships. By the time Cal Robert Parsons, 29, reached out on Hinge in June 2019, she was ready to call it quits on dating altogether. 'I had officially given up,' Ms. Cruz said. She had told Ms. McDonal as much the day her phone pinged with a 'Cal messaged you' notification. 'We had just wrapped an episode, and I told her this guy Cal asked me out on a date,' she said. First, she responded to Mr. Parsons. 'Yeah, sure!' she wrote. 'Then I told my best friend, 'I'm not going on that date.'' Ms. Cruz is from Anaheim Hills, Calif. Her parents weren't thrilled when, in 2013, she told them of her plan to take a year off from college at the University of California, Riverside, where she was studying psychology, to focus on YouTube. She never went back. 'I had so much drive,' she said. 'I was posting every single day. I loved it. I still love it.' Mr. Parsons, 29, knew nothing about her onscreen persona when he asked her out. But 'I thought she was pretty,' he said. And Ms. Cruz's answers to a 'three things you love' question spoke to him. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
Daily Mail
2 days ago
- Politics
- Daily Mail
American finds himself stuck in Iran as all hell breaks loose during round-the-world fundraising trip
An American YouTuber shared his desperate scramble to get out of Iran after getting trapped in the war-torn nation while on a fundraising trip. Ian Andersen, from Minnesota, shared a video to his channel RideWithIan showing his dramatic escape from Iran as Israel sent a barrage of rocket fire. He found himself stuck when neighboring Pakistan closed its border with Iran on Monday. 'The situation is quite dire at this point,' a panic-stricken Andersen told the camera. 'All the land borders are closed. Flights have all been canceled. There's a rumor that the border with Iraq is open. So that's my best hope right now.' Andersen was in the middle of a years-long effort to cycle across all seven continents which he began in 2016 when he entered Iran weeks ago before the conflict with Israel was ignited. The YouTuber said he quickly became concerned as Israel used American-supplied arms to bomb Tehran at the end of last week, fearing he could become a target for Iranian forces. 'The Iranians now see the U.S. as being like tied directly to Israel. Now people see the U.S. as the enemy. So, I'm in quite a bit of danger here,' he said. The cyclist said the outbreak of the conflict, which has killed at least 250 people and injured hundreds more, has ended his plans to bike ride across the Middle East. 'It's no longer safe to bike, in my opinion,' he said. 'It's a matter of just escape and survival. Evading police, capture.' Andersen showed himself in several locations in northern Tehran as he described hearing rocket fire and bombs dropping, at one point saying he heard an explosion 'just a few miles from us'. After finding shelter for the night, Andersen spoke into the camera as he said the 'situation continues to evolve' because of 'escalations on both sides.' 'I thought it was safe, but I heard a bomb this morning,' he added. He was joined by a tour guide named Reza, who spoke to him in Spanish in hopes that authorities would not detect that Andersen was an American. 'So, today I'm a Spaniard,' he joked as they drove through Tehran. Andersen was in the middle of a years-long effort to cycle across all seven continents which he began in 2016 (seen on a separate trip) when he entered Iran weeks ago before the conflict with Israel was ignited They were making their way to the border with Azerbaijan in an attempt to slip out of the country when his guide made a chilling confession about their safety. 'Probably the scariest part about this is that my guide says that he's no longer able to protect me,' he said. 'So if we're pulled over at a police checkpoint or something like this there's not much you can do if they suspect me of anything, just chuck me in prison for a few years and that would be the end of it.' Although he got to the border without a visa, Andersen said at the end of his clip that Azerbaijani authorities gave him an 'emergency green light to enter' after they were contacted by the US Embassy. 'That border is never open. It hasn't been open in five years,' he said, adding that he was 'grateful to Azerbaijan'. The YouTuber's escape comes as American forces were moved toward the Middle East amid fears that the US could be dragged into the conflict with Iran. Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Sergei Ryabkov warned on Wednesday that direct U.S. military assistance to Israel could radically destabilize the situation in the Middle East. Ryabkov said Russia cautions the U.S. against supplying such assistance to Israel - as the ministry warned Israeli strikes on nuclear facilities had pushed the region 'millimetres away from catastrophe'. The remarks came as the Ayatollah Khamenei issued a chilling threat to the U.S., warning that 'any US military intervention will undoubtedly be accompanied by irreparable damage'. 'This nation will not surrender to anyone in the face of imposition,' he said in his first televised comments since Israel launched its surprise attack on Friday. The stark warning came as U.S. officials indicated that Iran has 24 to 48 hours to surrender and save itself from American invention as President Trump considers joining Israel's war. White House officials said the next two days will be critical in determining whether Washington and Tehran can find a diplomatic solution to the burgeoning crisis in the Middle East.
Zawya
4 days ago
- Zawya
Africa's most ‘underrated' country with breathtaking scenery and iconic landmark
Africa's most 'underrated' country is hom to amazing experiences featuring beautiful scenery and majestic wildlife. One YouTuber, who makes travel videos based on the wide range of destinations he has visited across the globe, featured Zimbabwe in a recent video and explaned exactly why it is Africa's most underrated spot. In fact, he went as far as to call it the most underrated country in the world. Tayo Aina showed off what the country has to offer visitors from the wildlife experiences to the iconic Victoria Falls. Zimbabwe is located in southern Africa and is landlocked by Zambia, Mozambique, South Africa and Botswana. Home to just over 16 million people, it is a place that is often overlooked by tourists who are looking for the best experiences that Africa has to offer. However, that is a mistake according to many, such as this vlogger who calls it one of the 'most beautiful' countries on the planet. Among the things he shows off in the video is Victoria Falls and a fascinating elephant and cheetah experience in which he gets up and close to these animals. Among the famous sites in Zimbabwe is the afformentioned Victoria Falls, which is located on the border with Zambia. The Zambezi River plummets over a cliff here and it makes for a magnificent site that rivals that of Niagra Falls in the US. It is ranked as the number one thing to do in Zimbabwe among Tripadvisor users, receiving rave reviews. One person said: 'It is one of the most beautiful places in the region, as it is imposing and huge. It is important to carry a raincoat, as we went in May, when the volume of water is high, creating large wet clouds.' Another wrote: 'Must see natural wonder of the world. It is impossible to describe how large and massive of a water sheet the falls are. Bring rain poncho!' The second-highest rated attraction in Zimbabwe is Prinlin Safari Travels, which offers excursions around this region of the country to take in the iconic Victoria Falls and the surrounding area.
The Guardian
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Horse racing and erotica: How I survived the fickle world of freelance writing
When people ask what I do for a living, I'm faced with two choices: either I can lie or I can bore them with the truth, which is too complicated to explain succinctly. While those around me have normal, definable jobs – accountant, journalist, engineer – my work requires headings and subheadings to get it across properly: a map of overlapping gigs and contracts. 'What do you do?' It's a simple question, and one that often gets asked on first dates. No matter how much I pare down my reply, it's always long-winded. 'Well, I'm a freelancer,' I start, 'so I have a million little jobs …' The first of my million little jobs is what I call 'Horse News'. It works like this: every weekday morning I wake up at 6am and make my way to my desk, stumbling and still half asleep. I flick on an old lamp and wince as my eyes adjust to the light. I turn on my computer and use a piece of software that shows me all of the American horse-racing-related news from the past 24 hours. It pulls up radio clips, Fox News segments and articles from publications called BloodHorse or Daily Racing Form – anything that could be relevant to my interests. I sift through countless story summaries, many of which sound fake. 'Army Wife defeats Crazy Beautiful Woman in race!' 'Another doping scandal emerges in Northern California!' 'A disgraced-but-very-good trainer is no longer banned from the track!' 'A famous YouTuber has invested millions into a betting app!' I compile the important stuff into a newsletter: stories about track renovations, big events, the series of horse laws that were passed, then repealed, then approved again in 2023. This is a real thing. These laws (known as the Horseracing Integrity and Safety Act) are meant to keep racehorses and jockeys safer. Tracks are required to provide on-site vets and doctors and to follow standardised safety protocols. But it is much cheaper, it turns out, to ignore the laws and have the horses race in dangerous conditions. Vets and safety gear are expensive, which is upsetting to the billionaires who own the racetracks. And so certain states have fought these laws, calling them unconstitutional. I have followed along, every step of the way. When the newsletter is finished, I send it to my client, a company that owns race tracks across the US. Though, to be clear, I don't work for them directly. I work for a reputation management firm. This company's entire purpose is to monitor the news for other companies, keeping tabs on what the public is saying about their clients and the major trends in those industries. I didn't know this was a real job until I started doing it. I got this job the way I've gotten most of my jobs: through an acquaintance who heard I was looking for work. This is key to success in freelancing. You just need to build a roster of industry connections who know how desperate you are. 'It's just an hour per morning,' she told me. 'Usually less.' 'Sure,' I said, still not understanding what I was agreeing to. 'I'll do it.' The reputation management firm has a slew of different clients, each of whom want a customised newsletter about their industry. There's a fast food chain, a brewery, an environmental organisation. But I was assigned to the horse-racing client. And so I keep up with the Horse News and the Horse Laws. By 7.30am, the report is done and I go back to bed. The Horse News makes me feel like a bad person sometimes. Racing is an odd, archaic and often cruel sport. The more I read about it, the more convinced I become that it should not exist. I root for the Horse Laws, and grow sad when a state bucks against them. The thing about Horse News, though, is that someone has to compile it. It might as well be me. I got the offer to do Horse News not long after I moved to Montreal, at a time when I needed work more than ever. I was 24 and a full-time adult now, tasked with the question of how I planned to fill my time and make a living. A year and a half earlier, when I'd finished my undergraduate studies in English and creative writing, I had immediately enrolled in another creative writing programme. I wish I could say this was entirely because I was devoted to my craft or that it was my life's dream to write a book, but that's only a small part of the truth. The main reason I joined a master's programme was because I didn't want to face what life would look like once I was no longer a student. As I got closer to finishing my undergrad, I kept getting asked what came next. For years, the question of what I was going to do when I grew up had been answered the same way: I'm going to be a writer. This was an answer that adults found cute when I was a child, and concerning as I got older. A writer, they echoed, mulling the word over slowly. Interesting. By the time I got to university, it was an answer that felt downright unacceptable. Sharing dreams about writing for a living elicited looks of mingled confusion and pity. A writer? I understood that being a writer was fraught. I understood that it was a hard way to make a living. There were no jobs in the industry, and books didn't sell for as much as they used to. And so, the question of what I wanted to do after graduating was one that made me physically sick, because I didn't know what being a writer meant either. I decided the solution was grad school. If anyone dared to ask me what I was doing after that, I could shrug and tell them I had a few more years to think about it. My plan worked for a year, though not exactly as expected. First, the pandemic hit and I moved to Nova Scotia with my now ex-girlfriend. Then, I became disabled. I developed a nerve condition that became chronic. Pain had spread through my neck, my arms, my hands. When it first started, I couldn't type at all. I had to readjust every aspect of my life: how I cooked, how I brushed my teeth – and how I worked. By the second year of the programme, I had moved to Toronto, but I was still struggling with voice-to-text and barely able to keep up with basic assignments. The thought of writing a thesis – an entire book – felt impossible. I was also writing freelance articles on the side to help pay my rent and I simply couldn't do both, mentally or physically. Forced to choose between work and school, I chose work. So I took medical leave, saying I would return in a year but unsure if I actually would. Leaving school meant I had to face the question of who I was, if I wasn't a student, much earlier than anticipated. Without a schedule filled with classes to attend and readings to do, I was just a person with an empty calendar and one and a half arts degrees. 'What're you going to do now?' a friend asked over beers at a Mexican restaurant in downtown Toronto. I dragged a chip through guacamole. 'I don't know, to be honest. I mean, I'll work, obviously.' 'I'm sure you could get an office job somewhere,' she said. 'Or go back to being a barista, maybe.' People kept suggesting jobs to me like this. Why don't you just become a barista? A cashier? A secretary? Every time, it was a sharp reminder of how little they understood my physical limitations. I'm too disabled for that, I wanted to say. I held my tongue, but it was true. My pain was so crippling at this point that I struggled to perform basic tasks around the house. I knew I was no longer able to do most of the jobs I'd had in high school or when I was an undergrad: I couldn't work as a barista, my forearms too weak to tamp down espresso grounds, nor in retail nor as a waitress, as the weight from my own dinner plate at home was enough to make me wince with pain. As I scrolled through job postings for office work, I knew a nine-to-five wasn't feasible either. I needed the kind of flexibility a job like that wouldn't allow: the ability to take long breaks when I was in too much pain, to shift deadlines, to use tedious and time-consuming adaptive technology. Back then, I was in so much pain I could barely use a mouse, commanding my entire computer with my voice. Open Google Chrome. New tab. Copy that. Paste that. In addition to being annoying in an office setting, it just wasn't fast enough. 'I think I'll just write,' I told my friend. 'Like I've been doing, but full-time.' She blinked at me. 'Will that be enough?' I understood the question. I'd enjoyed the freelance writing I'd done, mostly penning articles about health and pop culture for Canadian outlets and the odd American one. It paid poorly and inconsistently. For a long time, I'd thought of this freelance work as a stepping stone to a real job as a writer or an editor, with a salary and benefits. Now, it seemed like going all-in on freelancing was my only real career option. It was the only way, I thought, that I could truly work on my own schedule and tend to my needs without falling short of employer expectations. 'I'll manage. It'll work out, I'm sure of it.' I'd never been less sure of anything. In the weeks that followed I launched myself into freelancing, pitching an endless stream of articles and essays to my editors. I was lucky to have a few people who championed my work and encouraged me to send them my ideas. I'd never met any of them in person, which was strange: they felt fake to me, just email addresses that provided me with opportunities and pay cheques. There had been even more, in the past – editors I'd worked with and felt comfortable contacting – but many had faded away, either leaving the industry or simply starting to ignore my emails. As I started writing more freelance pieces, I was, in a way, living the life I'd always wanted. I was a writer. It was my actual job. I balanced deadlines, rotating between articles and editors. I sent out more and more pitches. I worked late into the night, fuelled by instant coffee and bad music. It wasn't enough. The number of pitches I was landing couldn't comfortably sustain me. And it often took ages for me to get paid for my work. A fully written article might be put on hold – it would sit and collect virtual dust, and I wouldn't be paid until it was published. I knew I needed more consistent work. I longed for some sort of pay cheque I could rely on month to month. My savings dwindled as I paid for rent, pricey physiotherapy appointments and adaptive tools. I moved to Montreal, where the cost of living was cheaper, but I still struggled to get by. This was when Horse News entered my life. As I settled into my new city, I was shown the ropes of this strange job: how to use the monitoring software, how to identify stories worth including in the newsletter, who the big players in Horse World were. I was promised hourly pay, with a lump sum deposited into my account at the end of each month. And I suddenly became aware of the possibility of odd jobs that were writing-adjacent – the kind of unglamorous work that would pay the bills while allowing me to keep writing on my own schedule. In the coming months, other odd jobs entered and exited my roster. I wrote Instagram captions for a hospital foundation. I wrote online content for a bank (which always paid me late and said it was because they couldn't figure out how to transfer the money, which made me grateful it was not my bank). Importantly, I wrote a column where I recapped episodes of The Bachelorette. I was constantly writing some odd article for a different publication. Throughout all of this, Horse News was the only stable work I had. Every weekday, without fail, the horses raced on and I compiled my newsletter. As new opportunities presented themselves, I found myself unable to say no to work. No matter how busy I was or how strange the job was, I accepted every single offer that came my way, worried the gigs would eventually dry up. In early summer, as Montreal's unbearably cold season gave way to an unbearably hot one, I got a text from a friend. She worked at a major Canadian newspaper – which, she said, wasn't paying her enough. She'd taken on a side gig to compensate for the poor salary. She'd heard I was looking for work, and thought I might be interested. 'What is it?' I texted. 'Writing erotica,' she answered. The next week, I had a Zoom meeting with someone who worked at the company. She was young, in her late 20s, with pink cheeks and glossy blond hair. She explained that she needed writers for an app she was running that was like a choose-your-own-adventure story, only hornier. Users, mostly women, would select a story and start reading. They were all written in the second person, placing users in the protagonist's shoes: You walk into a restaurant … You see a hot guy sitting at the bar … What will you do next? They were then presented with two choices. One would be boring (ignore the guy!), and the other would be depraved (ask him to go back to your place and [redacted]!). Choosing depravity cost $0.99. These stories were long, most of them basically novels. New chapters came out every week, each instalment getting increasingly risque. This was a business strategy: users became invested in a story, and were then charged money to read the new material. 'Do you think you'd be able to keep up with it?' 'I think so.' I agreed to write one or two chapters per week. Each would be about 4,000 words long and the story would ultimately have at least 20 chapters. I would get paid US$120 for each chapter. If I had worked this out or thought about this critically, I'd have realised this was a very bad idea. It was a monumental amount of work and creative energy to expend for pretty poor pay, especially as someone who couldn't type very much. Unfortunately, I was distracted by how fun the work sounded. Like many young women who grew up with the internet, I had lived through the days of reading whatever perverted and poorly written erotica I could find about my favourite fictional characters. The prospect of now becoming a professional erotica writer was too enticing to turn down. Plus, if my friend was balancing full-time newspaper work with this, how hard could it be? The woman who would become my editor nodded. 'The categories that perform best right now are domination, stepbrother and campus stuff. You know, student-teacher situations?' She looked through a printout of figures and nodded. 'Vampire and werewolf stories are making a resurgence, too.' I jotted this down in a notebook, my handwriting messy and quick. Campus, werewolf, domination. 'Got it.' 'By the way, the app store won't let us use the words penis, vagina or cock,' she said flatly. 'Oh,' I said. 'Why not?' 'Terms of service stuff.' 'Got it.' 'Read a few of the stories for inspiration on how to work around this. You'll get the hang of it.' 'Right.' 'People get really creative. Fruit works, sometimes.' 'Fruit?' 'You'll see what I mean,' she said. 'And you'll need a pen name. Unless you want to use your own?' I shook my head. 'I'll find a pen name.' That afternoon, I sat on my friends' balcony. I told them about my new job, which would somehow slot in alongside all the other jobs I was doing. It was one of the first truly warm days of summer, and we were determined to spend the entire thing outside. Between sips of iced coffee, we plotted out my story chapter by chapter, my friends enthusiastic about its trajectory. 'Maybe she can hook up with her roommate?' I suggested. 'Yes, that's great,' John said. 'Make it a love triangle.' He dragged a finger through the air, drawing a triangle. 'I can't believe you're writing porn,' Maria said, leaning back in a wooden folding chair. 'How fun.' 'Not porn. Erotica.' 'Same difference,' John said. He pulled the notes I'd scrawled towards him and squinted. 'OK, what happens next?' By the end of the day, John and I had plotted out an entire story arc: the student and the TA's tumultuous affair; the way they were almost found out; the forces that almost pulled them apart. Ultimately, love and sex brought them back together. 'This is basically an entire romance novel,' John said. 'Smuttier, though.' 'Of course.' 'And worse.' Maria spent the day brainstorming pen name ideas, which she would occasionally pipe up to suggest. Madame Scarlett? Delilah Rose? Candy Mae? Jolene Fox? 'What kind of vibe are you looking for, anyways?' Now, my days looked like this: I woke up at 6am and did the Horse News; I hammered out whatever freelance writing assignment I was working on; I wrote erotica; I ended my workday around 5pm, tired and achy. In the coming months, I sat in my hot, un-air-conditioned apartment, sweating and damp, and wrote between 3,500 and 8,000 words of smut per week. Since I was doing this with voice-to-text, I had to keep my windows closed, mortified at the thought of my neighbours hearing me speak vile things into my computer: words like member, length, girth and sometimes the names of fruit. I worked on one story throughout the whole summer. On weeks when, for whatever reason, I couldn't keep up – say, my hands were worse than usual or I got too busy with other work – my boss at the app was understanding. Your health is more important than this, she would say. Rest. It was the most compassion I'd ever gotten from an employer, which was nice but also annoying. Part of me hoped to be fired, freed entirely from my contract. But no – these people were, unfortunately, sweet and thoughtful. Within a few weeks I had come to hate the work. Though it was fun in the beginning, it quickly lost its charm, the sex scenes becoming tedious and exhausting once they were no longer new to me. 'There are only so many ways to write 'they had sex', you know?' I told Maria one day. She shook her head. 'I really don't.' The biggest problem was just that I was overworked. Writing that much sapped all of my creative and physical energy, leaving me unwilling or unable to write much else. When I neared the final chapter, my friends and I sat around with a bottle of wine and celebrated the fact that my life as an erotica writer was almost done. They suggested words and phrases I should try to sneak into the final chapter as a little personal challenge: cornucopia, sledgehammer, pumpernickel, Seinfeld, Donna Tartt, the Watergate scandal. Maria squinted at John. 'That last one is too silly,' she said. 'She won't be able to manage it.' 'Have faith,' I said. I managed them all, laughing along the way as I tweaked the story to include them. By the time it was done, I'd written more than 70,000 words of smut. My editor asked if I wanted to renew my contract and I declined. She insisted, saying we could alter the work schedule, maybe even up my pay by another $5 per chapter. My story, she revealed, was gaining a devoted following, quickly becoming one of the most popular on the app. This felt nice – my anonymous magnum opus. Still, I said no. As time passed in Montreal and I did more odd jobs, my hands were getting marginally better. This meant that, as long as I was very careful and worked within a strict set of limitations, there was one more type of work that became available to me again: cartooning. I'd loved drawing since I was a kid. Growing up, I drew countless pictures of animals (especially birds), carefully copying them from the books I begged my mom to buy me. When my pain first started in 2021 and I realised I would have to take a months-long break from drawing, it had been a particularly tough blow. Drawing wasn't as big of a part of my income or my identity as writing was, but it still mattered to me immensely. What felt worse was the fact that, a month before I lost the ability to draw, I'd sold my first cartoon to the New Yorker – an accomplishment I'd worked towards for years, and which I worried I might never be able to repeat. Now, in my very ergonomic home office, I could draw again (though I needed to set a timer beforehand to make sure I didn't work for more than 20 minutes at a time). When the timer went off, I'd stand and stretch and take a break. I limited the amount of projects I took on so I wouldn't overdo it. However, every now and then I pitched a cartoon to the New Yorker, or accepted a commission request for a portrait of someone's dog. Cartooning became a very small part of the tapestry of odd jobs that came together to make up an income. But it was one I was happy to be able to include. On dates, I try to condense this all into a short spiel. I'm a writer. I do the Horse News. I'm a copywriter. I also draw cartoons, sometimes, but that's neither here nor there. Even this has omissions, but it's the best I can do. 'Wouldn't you rather just have a normal job?' one date – a lawyer – asked. It's something I've wondered myself. Sometimes, looking at overlapping assignments and deadlines on my Google calendar, I feel overwhelmed and exhausted. But when I'm in pain, I can take a break in the middle of the day, or even go back to bed if I need to. 'This suits me best,' I said. I ended that date early, as I do all weekday dates. I have a great excuse: Horse News is due at 7.30 tomorrow morning. Excerpted from Look Ma, No Hands by Gabrielle Drolet. Published by McClelland & Stewart, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited Listen to our podcasts here and sign up to the long read weekly email here.
