I’m 53 years old and have had a pretty amazing career, but it’s been episodic rather than progressive — full of ups and downs, now being one of the downs — and I’ve reached the stage of life where I no longer have great expectations. My family life is splendid, however, and that’s where my focus lies. Nothing else really matters to me. I just want to be able to pay my bills and be left alone.
As the son of two writers — and having made my living as a writer, such as it is, for 35 years now — I am destined to continue on the path laid out for me, pro
fitable or not.
Though I’ve often thought about stopping, I’ve continued to write and distribute a weekly politickle every week for over 13 years. In 2000, I published a collection of politickles, but the book was never promoted by the publisher and I received not a single royalty check.
During my annual, month-long Politickles fund drives, I have never raised more than enough to cover a week’s worth of living expenses.
Why do I do it then?
That’s simple. Begging for contributions is an exercise in humility for me (especially since I do it so badly), and an opportunity for a few of my faithful readers to demonstrate their generosity.
I appreciate that generosity — and the kind words and counsel that come in the mail, with or without monetary contributions — more than I can say. It helps to remind me that I’m not invisible after all, and that somebody’s really out there, paying attention.