Wednesday, July 19, 2000

10:50 p.m. This is a labor of love. Did I ever tell you that before? I didn't think so. It is. This site, these words, that picture. I'm doing it for the fun of it. Sort of.

There is a lively discussion going on right now in Xeney's forum about whether or not she should accept donations from readers who've come to know and love Bad Hair Days. I don't know how I feel about this. Or do I? I've been thinking about it for the past several hours, trying to gather my thoughts. I'm very conflicted.

Very, very conflicted.

I come to this paragraph from the other side of the coin. I'm a professional writer. I've been cashing checks for my words for 35 years now. I've gone on TV and I've gone on tour to sell, sell, sell my books. And yet, I've never worked so hard at a thing as I've worked on this site -- for free.

I haven't missed a day since I started, and some nights (including tonight) are very hard. I get tired at night, just like a normal person. I have other things to do, just like a normal person. Yet, I come here and I write -- and I often write to the very best of my ability -- for free. That's just not normal.

Some journalers ask for toys. Some ask for votes. Some ask for quarters and some ask for email. Many journalers list their gifts and count their blessings and report their totals. I don't do these things. They make me uncomfortable. And why? I wish I knew.

This whole thing is weird. Money. Writing. Selling. Begging. Giving freely vs. owing. How much should we pay for Anne Frank's attic or Uncle Tom's cabin?

Conversely, how much should we pay to communicate with each other? The web is neither a telephone nor a back fence -- it's both more expensive and the biggest broadcast bargain on the planet. We already pay plenty to play here, we citizens of rich countries ... we products of elaborate educational systems.

So you know what? I don't know. I can't serve you a partially cooked omelet, so I'm going to put this whole thing on the back burner for a while. And I'm not even going to make any jokes about mental salmonella or add an animation of an egg doing the lambada.

It's going to bug me, though, and it's not going to go away.

Oh, what the heck ...