When I started writing for Medium in June of 2019, my goal was to earn $100.00 per month.
I tried several tactics. I posted once a week. I posted everyday. I posted twice a month. I wrote fast and hit publish. I edited profusely. I typed with my eyes closed.
I garnered claps, was curated, further distributed, and ignored.
I wrote for publications. I wrote for myself. Sometimes it was apparent, I wrote for no one!
And then it happened. I did nothing special. This piece was viewed over 11K times.
Contrary to playground gossip which my daughter was eager to spread among her friends, I was not in front of the camera. But rather, I used my creative energy to produce boner-inducing ad copy and well balanced financial statements.
I have to admit, it was one of the best jobs I’ve ever had. The perks were many. The opportunity to watch porn whenever my husband and I wanted, or needed. A multitude of sex toys always at our disposal. And the pleasure of attending several Adult Video Award ceremonies.
These events led to our hosting a yearly Halloween Event: The…
We made it through Blursday,
Not sure of the time.
We watched a lot of Netflix,
And sipped a lot of wine.
We cleaned a lot of closets,
Dusted, scrubbed and mopped.
Or simply watched the curser,
And shopped, shopped, shopped.
We drove through parking lots,
Followed the orange cones.
We were stuck on a channel
Inside the Twilight Zone.
Our faces got all itchy,
Behind a personal mask.
As we kept our distance,
And went about our task.
We were in it together,
The remote glued in place.
But we finally made it through.
We are the human race.
My best friend’s passing will always be associated with my daughter’s last psychotic breakdown.
There was a deep connection between my best friend and my daughter. They loved each other, yet there existed a gossamer thread of jealousy. Maybe it was because my friend didn’t have any children and could not relate when I dropped whatever I was doing if my daughter needed me. Maybe it was because my daughter yearned for a friendship similar to the one I shared with my friend.
But whatever the reason, I would often find myself balancing the two relationships.
It should have come…
Several weeks ago, a Russian hacker got into my Facebook account and assumed my identity. Why he/she/they or anyone for that matter would want to be me is beyond my comprehension.
I’m a white-haired grandmother living with my ninety-six-year old mother, my handicapped husband and my eighteen-year-old granddaughter.
My mother forgets what I’m saying before I finish my sentence, if she even hears me.
My granddaughter is brilliant at everything. She’s even performing science experiments with cups of coffee by lining them on her desk and seeing how long until the liquid becomes a solid.
My husband bought a day-glow…
The summer before junior high, I had a love affair. Well, as much of one as you can have at thirteen. Jack moved into the house a few doors from ours. He was tall, handsome and funny. And for three entire months, he was all mine. We swam. We sat on his front porch listening to music. We told each other silly jokes. He wasn’t the first boy I ever kissed, but he was the best. And I would have done anything for him.
Then school started.
Because he was tall, handsome and funny, he was snatched up by the…
Well, that’s not exactly true. I know how, but not why.
It happened because after almost two years, one of my pieces took off and has been read by almost ten thousand paying members.
This particular piece was turned down by several publications before it was accepted and for the first month it earned mere pennies.
And then…it soared through cyberspace catching the attention of thousands of people.
I didn’t plan it. I didn’t see it coming.
But now, I’m thinking differently. Was it the title? The topic? The story? Luck? Timing?
Could it be the alignment of the stars…
While driving my thirty-something daughter to her surgery a few years ago, she looked at me with her jaw firmly set and her eyes displaying a fierce intensity and said, “If I die on the table…”
“That’s not going to happen,” I interrupted, holding up my hand. “It’s knee surgery.”
But then again, when going under anesthesia, anything can and does happen. Of course, I kept this thought to myself as my mind went off to that sentimental place where images of my family are stored.
I waited for her to continue. I expected her to say, “Tell my children…