‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, except for one spouse
She’d hung up the fur-lined, white stockings with care,
and wished that her ex hadn’t said he’d be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
With visions of more faithful dads in their heads;
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
She sprang from the sink to see what was the matter.
When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,
But a bright red Toyota, big bow on its rear,
With a happy ex husband, so lively and quick,
She knew in a moment he’d met some new chick.
He was dressed all in gold, from his neck to his shoes,
And his hair was all greased back with hair gel like glue;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes—still like chocolate! His smile—still a charm!
His mouth still had lips that could set off alarms!
He still had his ten-pounder, massive pot belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was middle aged, charming, so not like himself,
And she laughed when she saw him, in spite of herself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave her to know she had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk.
He sprang to his phone, gave his new chick a call,
And away he flew like the belle of the ball.
Did he hear her exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Thank God for Natasha, a great friend alright.
Now who can I beg to seduce him next year?
Who cares, let it empty his wallet with cheer?”
This Christmas she laughs at her heretofore plight,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
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I recently wrote to a friend who makes approx. $140,000 a year from writing, and she is not a novelist (not that novelists make that much; try $15-$30k instead). She has managed to build up her writing and editing business to the point where she now has a list of repeat clients, and she has fine-tuned her weekly process for getting new work. I asked her what her advice to me might be were I to recreate her footsteps in my town, and here is what she advised:
Look for employment elsewhere until you can get a foot in the door. Small local papers are often the way to go, because once you have a couple of articles published in a weekly or monthly paper, you have the beginnings of a portfolio and the ability to link from your site to the articles.
$5-$15 an article might be pittance, but it’s still money, and if I don’t make some, I’ll have to look for a 9-5 job standing at a checkout desk for $7 an hour. I’d rather starve, slowly, in a basket of snakes.
Michael is the author of the very popular 
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