It’s my prerogative…

This site, for those of you who haven’t fallen asleep on the bus, is dedicated to private eyes. That seems pretty clear to me, and I’m pretty sure it was in that inter-office memo I sent out to all of you, but every now and then, someone starts bitching to me about who I’ve listed — or not listed — on the site.

The definition I use is pretty elastic (in a nutshell, the site is for “private eyes and other tough guys and gals who make trouble their business — not their hobby”). The definition has served the site (and me) pretty well over the years, ever since we first started back on April 1, 1998, and has been stretched to include not just private eyes, but also some journalists, lawyers, professional criminals, bodyguards, insurance investigators and the like — anyone who, while working their profession, might reasonably be expected to act like a private eye.

For example, a gardening columnist for the local paper wouldn’t be expected to investigate the murder of the man she found under the rose bushes. BUT her colleague working the crime beat might, and I’d consider the latter close enough for inclusion, in that they’re not a police officer or government agent, and they are conducting an investigation on behalf of a private client — in this case, their employer, the newspaper.

But of course there are always those characters that find their way here who don’t really belong, even by the above loosey-goosey definition. Their inclusion is usually because I feel visitors here will enjoy these trouble-bound characters, or because I personally get a kick out of them.

Believe it or not, I’m not stupid (well, most of the time) — I know very well when I’m bending (or breaking) my own rules. But it is MY site.

And so, from now on, when you see the “It’s My Prerogative” tag, you’ll know that I’m simply exercising my editorial mojo.

So don’t waste your time moaning and groaning about it.

Don’t send me indignant screeds demanding to know how I could have the nerve to include so-and-so, while ignoring your own particular favourite — or your own self-published hard-boiled bisexual time-travelling, fedora-wearing, vampire squid accountant/amateur sleuth.

Don’t accuse me of racism or sexism or whateverism.

But if, after all that, dear reader, it still really bugs you, start your own fucking web site.

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