Goin' Paid
Everyone's invited to my party, but now you can let me know if you're really having fun.
A friend asked me the other day why I didn’t charge for my newsletter. Substack is intended to support writers financially as well as creatively, with direct-to-consumer content that gives us freedom from the low wages and high gate-keeping of the publishing industry. I didn’t have a good answer for her as to why I’m not taking them up on their promise, other than that I want as many people to read my writing as possible, and don’t want to wall-off entertaining or thought-provoking word-stuffs from people who are down for it.
When I started this thing in March of 2020, a jillion-and-a-half eons ago, I had plans about “going paid” — becoming a hub of resources for educators that would make their jobs easier. But now that I have abandoned that education newsletter and instead write about the nation’s largest unpaid work force (parents!), I haven’t felt right charging for it, and I don’t have ideas for special bonuses for paid members that don’t seem so “marketing-y” that I want to barf or make the ADHD-rebel in me cry “Fuck no, I am not publishing on a schedule!” At the same time, I am a big champion of women treating their work as valuable, of “helpers” not being ashamed of being compensated for that help, and of being able to justify spending more time writing and less time doing the things people currently pay me to do.
But then, I saw that there was another way. A way for readers to support my writing, which takes up a sizable chunk of my week (it now solidly outpaces the time I spend pretending I am showering so that no one will bother me) and “mind grapes,” as our friend Tracy Jordan would say. I could offer a paid subscription, a chance for readers to give me some financial love, but still keep everything that I write available to anyone, paid or unpaid.
Think of it like this: we’re all at a bar (or a coffeeshop, if you choose), and I’m telling an epic story. I finish my drink, and, to keep me going and hear what happens next, you buy me another round. Not everyone has to buy me a drink - that would result in my having a month-long hangover at worst, or, at best, my grinding up on strangers while singing Next’s Too Close. But your feeling the vibe, adding another few buckaroos (or $29 if you live in New York) to your tab is no biggie, and maybe you even feel proud of your patronage, feel extra delighted when you find out that, in the end, the dog I accidentally ran over with a rented Kia turned out to be a neighborhood terror, and instead of being upset, the people who witnessed his death, including his relieved owner, who had not had the heart to put him down but who had been shunned by his own community, celebrated me as a hero and threw a party in my honor.
So here’s the happs:
You can now purchase a paid subscription to Mompsreading by upgrading your plan using the “Subscribe now” button. Think of this as a donation that supports my writing career and addiction to something called an “everything croissant,” which in turn, supports my writing career!
If you can’t, don’t, or won’t do that, you can keep receiving the newsletter gratis. I may add a little somethin’ in the future just for paid peeps, but mostly it won’t be a big deal.
Thank you for your support. Truly.
PSA: If you, too, need help believing in yourself, but you don’t have a friend like Maggi P. around to encourage you, please watch this: