Alas. Somebody who promised one of my UK editors that I would be paid in January was not, history has shown, telling the truth.
Your auntie is something of a gambling woman--not with games of chance, but with life--so I took a chance that Somebody was not lying and went ahead and put two round-trip tickets to Canada on my credit card. As Somebody's publication employs rather well-known and respected writers, I thought Somebody was probably just leaving payment to the last moment, as businesses often like to do. But now I have spoken to an English solicitor and will soon draft what the English solicitor calls "a letter before action."
Perhaps you can see where I am going with this. Behold the embarrassing tip jar button.
"Help Auntie Seraphic pay Mr Credit Card for her and her husband's trip to see their Canadian family and friends" does not sound as compelling as "Help Auntie Seraphic get to Rome to nurse colleague with cancer" but the campaign is rather in the forefront of my poor underpaid brain.
So if you think you can spare $5 or $10 (it all converts to Canadian) and get a sense of satisfaction for having paid a fee for your year's worth of ongoing Seraphic Singles reading goodness, than that would be a very nice thing to do.
Meanwhile, I must say that no Catholic publication has ever done this to me, possibly because Catholic publications are well-attuned to the truth that defrauding a worker of her wage is a sin crying out to heaven for justice. I can just imagine myself telling Somebody down in London that. Ha!
And, no, the writing life is not inherently romantic and fulfilling, well worth the chance of never being paid. I should have worked a lot harder as an undergrad and then gone to law school. I mean that. I feel like a hippy. A hippy with an M.Div. and a vintage hat collection, but still a hippy nonetheless! But every time I say to B.A., "I give up. I want real job. Help me get a real job." he says, "Your job is to write."
P.S. Edinburgh Eavesdroppers are not allowed to donate.
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