The email appeared yesterday in my Gmailbox (a term I’ve never used before, but will immediately embrace). “You have a new paid subscriber to ‘The Fight Of and For My Life.” Her name is Anne & that’s all I know about her.
Oh, shit. My Substack. My neglected Substack. My legion of neglected, deserving, and gracious subscribers. All of whom made an earnest investment in my words, most of them years back, but a small handful of newcomers. Some of whom likely forgot they made said investment. Perhaps even some who think, “This fucker can’t take 20 minutes to sit down and write some words?”
You’re right. I mean, you’re not right in that I can not, but you’re right in feeling that way. The tired-yet-true idiom of “Life Gets In The Way” applies. However, here I am, so get over it! But seriously, customary apologies for the time between entries. I’ve been out there living life, but in the last three weeks, things have changed significantly. I rarely know where the “paywall” break is going to be placed to separate the paid subscribers from the freeloaders, but this time I do. Sorry not sorry!
(Anne, if you want to go all the way back to the beginning of this Substack, you might find it worth your seven bucks. If not, i’ll buy you a Whopper from BK as I assume they cost around that much)