I tried out a few versions of this post—simpering, jokey, earnest—and threw them all out: it was just different versions of the same soft-shoe routine that everybody on SubStack seems to go through when they’re getting ready to have The Talk. Instead, I will be direct with you, because I respect you.
I need money.
Not, like, need money. I don’t need money for drugs1. It’s not like I’ve run up too much debt playing mahjong with Regular Tom in the basement of the take-out place over on State Street, because you know how Regular Tom gets after he’s had a few, especially if you keep playing with the house’s money for too long. And it’s not like my kids are going hungry2, either.
We’re doing just fine, but we’re still not swimming in it. Time is, unfortunately, still money; if I’m taking time away from paid work and family stuff, I need something to show for it. (Besides just the satisfaction of finally finding a purpose for my very specific personality disorders.)
Here’s the value proposition for subscribers:
I believe I can publish between twenty to thirty solid posts for the year. I’ll take a month off in July for summer vacation, and I’ll wrap up the bulk of my writing by Halloween, to be resumed in January. Apart from those breaks, I seem to have enough material to publish every two weeks or so, give or take.
The balance will be about a 50/50 split between nonfiction essays and original fiction.
Failing this, I will document my slow descent into madness: somewhere between a knockoff Lovecraftian protagonist and an unpaid intern for Hunter S. Thompson’s restless ghost, increasingly undone by dangerous chemicals and the sheer Horror Of Reality—shoveling byzantine dispatches out into the void, like coal into the furnaces of Hell Itself.
One way or another, you’ll get some Original Content®.
There will probably be some additional subscriber benefits that I honestly don’t know how to structure at this point. I’m not a Very Important Person, or even a Slightly Important Person; I’m a guy who writes things on the Internet, which would otherwise be scrawled onto a bar-napkin manifesto. I’m still getting used to the idea that other people enjoy reading this stuff as much as I enjoy writing it. For now, Additional Subscriber Benefits: TBD.
While I’m trying to chase my own proverbial paper, I’m also very aware that people are paying for subscriptions on multiple ‘Stacks, on top of their other material needs. It’s an expensive habit. I’ll continue to keep most of my content available for free subscribers.
The content that I plan on paywalling will be: some parts of the multi-part essays, because those usually involve some actual research, and the final third of my fiction stories, because I’m a sadist.
Please note: if you are one of my original subscribers from back in the Mailchimp days, absolutely none of the following is relevant to you. Your money’s no good here. If you’re on that list, you’ve already done more than enough to support me, creatively and personally. You have a lifetime subscription for whatever you already paid. If you try to give me money I will find a way to throw it back at you3.
At a rate of twenty to thirty posts per year, I feel comfortable asking for $5 per month, which is the absolute lowest that SubStack permits me to set my subscriber rates.
If you’re on a budget and you just want to finish an essay series or a story—please feel free to sign up for a month and then cancel. I’m not aware of any penalties for start-and-stop subscriptions; I certainly won’t think less of you.
Yearly subscriptions will go for $50. If you believe in my work enough to pay for the year up front, you get my sincere gratitude along with a discount.
That’s all for now, I think. I’m cooking up some more essay ideas, excited about (re-)writing some more fiction, and looking ahead to next year for an entirely new project. Thanks for reading, as always.
They’re vitamins, really. They come from the earth. Except for the military-grade amphetamines, which are covered by insurance.
It’s all a ruse because they like snacks. In reality, they are not feral, and we’re able to give them plenty of food. For now. We might have to start raising cattle in the backyard to keep up with feeding time in a few years. But for now, we’re good.
I’m not sure if this is some sort of cultural shibboleth that my Midwestern family observed, or just a peculiar ritual they invented for themselves. Growing up, I remember full-on (lighthearted) scuffles between my parents and my grandparents; one couple would try to pick up the tab for food somewhere, and the others would try to physically prevent them, so that they could pay instead. My mom hip-checked my grandpa away from the register at the ice cream store a few times. If somebody succeeded in paying, the game was on to pay them back: money was covertly deposited in pockets and purses; cash was flung through open car windows as we said goodbye in the parking lot. It got wild. Anyway, that’s how we roll in the hinterlands of New York State. Let me know in the comments if this sounds familiar or just insane.
*take my money GIF*
Once, I insulted my father in law in a seemingly lasting way by thoughtlessly paying for the food at a place where I was the guy operating the touch screen ordering pad for everyone.