For years I was under paid but now I’m simply under sexed. Problem being (besides the obvious) I have nobody to spend my money on but me. Food and booze and cigarettes don’t dent the wallet as much as they used to and writing is not an expensive hobby – not if you sit at home doing it and your “research” involves nothing more than a stroll down the promenade or through L.A. Major (for more well-to-do passages in one’s writings), or my own beloved L.A. Minor (for less scrupulous segments).
Ideally I’ll find my own personal Marilyn/Lovelace/Claudia Eventua (joint-protagonist of my debut novel and probable opus). Until I do, here I flounder in this black and white town.