Filthy Lucre

This site is powered by a ferocious love of reading and writing.  It's also an all-too-human endeavor.  Every word here was written in spite of something.  Every page is a job I didn't apply for, an hour of sleep I didn't get, a chapter I didn't read, a story I didn't write.  This isn't a guilt trip.  It's something to consider.

I love what I do enough to want to be able to do it for a living.  I've heard artists of all kinds chastised for lacking what Sylvia Plath exasperatedly referred to as the "pure motive (O it's-such-fun-I-just-can't-stop-who-cares-if-it's-published-or-read) about writing."  Why carpenters, engineers, and scientists are not similarly chided for wanting to actually find work in their field has always been a mystery to me.  A wish for remuneration and recognition is no impediment to artistic endeavor unless it's all one wants.  In healthy quantities, money and popularity are the fuel that keep the creative motor running smoothly.

If this is your first visit here, it's on me.  Take it all in.  See if it's your kind of thing.  You are a guest in my house of words, and you are very welcome. 

As you get to know the place, I hope you'll keep the following in mind:

When you buy a book directly through my link to it, I get a commission.  If you like the site and were in the mood to shop anyway, this is one way of supporting Words On Us.  Spreading the word about us is another.

If you like the merchandise, buy something.  I make as much money off a bumper sticker as I do off more expensive items, and every time you wear or otherwise display something from Words On Us, that's publicity for the site.

If you come to this site a lot and enjoy the writing, please consider making a donation.  Most people read a sentence like that and immediately disregard it, not because they're jerks but because they're not in a position to make any contribution they consider worth making and are embarrassed at the idea of giving a wee small amount.  Allow me to set your mind at rest on that point.  Five dollars would buy me (choose any one of the following):

• half an hour's babysitting;
• one and a half of the fluffy drinks that allow me to call a tiny table at the corner coffee shop my own for a couple of hours so I can get some work done in relative peace (and if hiring a babysitter and writing at a coffee place sound like needless indulgences, I ask you to consider exactly how easy it is to write with children around and then bear in mind that I homeschool);
• a sizeable percentage of whatever book I am currently drooling over and can't quite see my way clear to buying;
• two gallons of milk and a bunch of bananas;
• a decent quantity of some really good chocolate;
• a dozen eggs and two cans of black beans (a few meals in our veggie household);
• a bunch of craft stuff or a new book for my kid;
• a bottle each of my favorite shampoo and conditioner.

If someone came up to me and handed me any of these things, do you honestly think I'd say no? 

The fact that I'd be thrilled at a so-called small donation doesn't mean I wouldn't really, really appreciate a large one.  I've been hoping for a literary patron all my writing life, and if anyone out there is feeling Edward de Vere-ish, I hope you'll consider aiming some of your generosity my way.

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