Newsletter Revamp: Traveling Word Salesman
New publications & trying to decide whether to go all in, or dial it back.
Hello... (blah blah blah), sorry it's been a while... (blah blah blah)
I've changed the name of the newsletter! (Again?! [Shut up.])
Figure this name more accurately encompasses what I do: travel, write, sometimes money.
I think it’s funny.
Okay, so there are some good reasons why I haven't had time to post on here:
1. I've co-started a company called Chill Subs and it's doing super well but takes up 90% of my time.
2. I've just moved to Barcelona and was visiting family in the states for the past couple months.
These are ongoing developments, so I am trying to figure out how I am going to rework this newsletter. In the meantime, here are some updates on where you can find my work. Recently I've...
...had a new comic published online in BOOTH Journal (and will appear in their upcoming annual print edition): Inside the Last Cinnamon Raisin Bagel
...had a fiction story / collaboration with my brother published in Scrawl Place
...published several new pieces in my Lustery POV column.
And soon I'll be writing a new column for Lustery POV, creating a weekly startup diary newsletter for Chill Subs, and my What Happened When Frank Died column is coming back to the newly revamped Talk Vomit (possibly as a printed quarterly novella...we'll see. Got some convincing to do.)
AND have been working on a graphic novel pitch for WHWFD...
So, yeah, idk, shit's moving. And there are people who want to give me money for writing stuff for them and I need them to help fund all this other nonsense.
So, over the next couple weeks I am going to test out my bandwidth with things and decide on how to approach this newsletter.
Optimistic option: I have enough time to write weekly posts about my current & past travels. I'd likely turn this into a semi-paid newsletter with 1 free monthly post and 3 for paying ($5/m). I'd love to do this as--if it does well--it could fund a lot of my other projects and stop any freelance client work. I’d probably focus it on how to live this way, how to make money doing it, and well—how to not die doing it, I guess? Also, share some cool shit along the way.
Alternatively: If I can't find any time over the next couple weeks, I'll keep using this newsletter to post updates about where you can find my work and post periodic life updates.
I will decide within a week or so.
Till then, go read Egg Nation. It’s fun. Here is how it starts:
We took a road trip across Egg Nation (one nation, under CHICKEN). Though it looks similar, Egg Nation is not like AMERICA, where people are equal and free. In Egg Nation, no egg is equal, and eggs only think they’re free. I am a fried egg like my mother, who was driving, and my brother who was beside me is also a fried egg.
Ohio: We left our home in Massachusetts. We stopped first in a place called Ohio. Outside of our hotel room, there was a billboard: WHAT CAME FIRST? THE CHICKEN OR THE EGG? Call 683-TRUTH. It was a billboard for eggs called Christians who believe in CHICKEN. My brother and I were atheists, believing the egg came before the chicken.
Illinois: We stopped at a diner with a sign that said: FRIED HUMAN AND GRITS. Somewhere in Illinois. It was far enough south to get sweet tea. We stood outside. We looked around, then at ourselves. “I don’t think we look like we’re from around here,” I noted. My brother frowned at me. “I’m wearing all mint,” he said. The waitress was nice to us anyways, brought us sweet tea. Then came back with straws. She dropped them in frustration. It looked as though one of the straws was limp in the wrapper. It wasn’t there at all. “I’m sorry,” she told us. As she walked away, she turned to an old fried egg sitting in the corner. “They been Jewin’ us on the straws,” she said. (“Jew” is a slur. A slur is a word. Words are like knives in that they can carve and create but also skin.) The man laughed and laughed and said, “Straws were metal when I was young.” He was what we call a bigot (a portmanteau for big idiot) I looked at my brother, him at me. He was wearing mint.
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