The Unfiltered Scribe Reaches its First Milestone
The Unfiltered Scribe Reaches its First Milestone
It's All Thanks to You, and it's Time to Take the Next Step
This post is a couple months overdue. You can blame my imposter syndrome for the delay. You see, I made a commitment to myself that when I hit 100 subscribers, I’d activate the Paid Subscriber option. I hit this milestone mid-summer this year. Still, I couldn’t fathom asking people to pay me for what I’d been giving out for free.
But then..
I started receiving messages from Substack1.
“Jane Doe has pledged to pay $8 a month to support your work.” Then another one. “Jimmy-Bob Smith has pledged to pay $8 a month to support your work.” Then another… “Sarah McDacklberry has pledged $80 a year to support your work.”
These messages kept coming. I almost cried each time I received one.
There were a couple of reasons I didn’t move on the paid subscriptions option sooner. I’ve already mentioned my lack of belief in myself. But I also wasn’t sure what I was going to offer paid subscribers. It took a while to figure this out. Here’s where I’ve landed.
Free Subscribers:
Nothing less. I’ll still send out a weekly post. Usually on Mondays, but as you may have noticed lately, sometimes it’ll be other days.
Early access to published books.
Substack recommends I limit the ability to make comments to paying subscribers only. At this point I’ve decided not to do that. You’re my people. I’d like you to have access to my old stuff too. And of course, if you read it and have a comment I’d like to hear what you think.
Monthly and Annual Subscribers:
The monthly Subscription rate is $7. I thought $8 seemed like a bit much. I wouldn’t have paid it myself. Seven is a good number. Always has been.
An annual subscription is $80. It’s just a wee-bit of a savings. But a penny saved, right?
Here are the two main things Monthly and Annual subscribers receive in addition to everything Free Subscribers receive
First - My “Works in Progress.”
As I work on books or other essays I hope to publish, I’ll share portions of them with you. Blogging isn’t like other writing. It happens rather quickly and doesn’t get to simmer in the thought-cooker for very long. It usually just gets a quick edit by me, a deeper edit by a good friend, and then I click “Publish.”
Paid Subscribers will get to see some of the other things I’m working on. They will be drafts, perhaps full of errors and in need of a brutal editor. There will be things that might not make it to publication. But you get to see that stuff. You’ll be right in the mix of my writing process. Perfection isn’t the point here, and it will be unfiltered as usual.
Think of this as me opening up at an increased level of intimacy.
You will also be given exclusive access to other stories I haven't shared publicly, which may not be published anywhere else but could be of interest to my readers.
Second – eBooks
One of my current projects is an eBook. The running title at this time is, How I Gave Up Pornography the Unorthodox Way.
Paid Subscribers will have it included with their subscription. When I publish it, you’ll receive it.
(PLEASE NOTE: The eBook is not yet complete. This will be a future offering.)
Founding Members
The cost to subscribe as a founding member is $240 a year. 24 has always been my favorite number. I added a zero and a dollar sign.
Obviously someone making a financial commitment of this size isn’t doing so because they want to read my work. It’s because they want me to know they are invested in what I do and want me to be successful.
With this in mind, founding members will get even more insight into the blog and writing process. They will receive a personal email - outside the Substack app - which includes a quarterly update on how I’ve allocated the financial resources I’ve received for the blog regardless of the source.
I will also hold a bi-annual on-line meeting with founding members to discuss the blog trajectory. We’ll talk about things that are going well, things that need improvement, and anything else which might be on your mind.
So, there you have it! The Unfiltered Scribe has reached its 100-subscriber milestone, and I’m now offering paid subscriptions.
Before I go, I want to offer you a bit - just a portion - of what paid subscribers can expect. The following is an excerpt from a piece which has been accepted for publication in the Bay to Ocean Journal 2023: The Years Best Writing from the Eastern Shore Writers Association . It’s a story from when I was a child, and is about one of the learning experiences my siblings, friends and I had growing up.
The Bear Facts of Life
When my family moved when I was in the 5th grade, we discovered there was a bear in our new neighborhood. We saw it the first day we moved in, lounging next to a large oak tree behind the house across from our new home. The oak tree was massive. I’d estimate it to have been three feet in diameter at the trunk, with its roots fanning out and curling around it. Far above, the sun was shining through its leaves, reflecting off the sheen of the animal's thick, black fur coat. From time to time, he would stand up, stretch, and yawn. As he did, we’d get a good look at the large, sharp teeth lining his drooly mouth which I’m sure couldn’t have been as frothy as my memory suggests. He’d look around, pace a bit, and reposition himself, once again curling up between the roots of the oak tree to which he was chained.
It wasn’t an actual bear. It was a large German Shepherd named Bear, and a more aptly named dog has not tread the earth. Bear, the pet of the family across the road, was enormous. If a typical full grown German Shepherd weighs anywhere from 70 to 90 pounds, Bear weighed 100 pounds, easy. His intimidating look aside, he was more rambunctious than he was mean.
Truth be told, Bear didn’t lay around much. Usually, he was pacing back and forth, sometimes completely around the tree dragging his heavy chain behind him. The countless hours of pacing resulted in a dusty area encircling the tree, and a light-brown ring around the trunk where the metal chain links had worn down the tree’s otherwise thick bark. Bear’s size and free spirit meant the chain which held him to the base of the tree, and the tree itself combined to make some of the most important equipment in the neighborhood. As will happen with family dogs, Bear would get loose in the neighborhood every now and then. While nothing bad ever happened, the size and energy of the animal was enough to make us nervous. Still, he’d mostly just run around trying to evade the attempts of his family to corral him.
With two parents and three kids, the family was composed much like ours. Sara was the oldest child, the same age as me and in the same grade in school. The middle child, David, was two years younger, but an age close enough to mine to have similar interests as I. We played together and got along well. The youngest was Aaron. Aaron was the same age as my younger brother and was a kindred spirit with Bear when it came to energy and self-control. Nobody ever tied Aaron to the base of a large oak tree, but I’ve got to think some of the adults in the neighborhood might have thought about it a time or two. The kid was a spitfire. Fortunately, he was also good-natured. In the four years we lived across the road from each other, David, Aaron, my brother, and I would spend innumerable hours playing together.
As far as the “typical American family” stereotype goes, the only thing our family was missing when we arrived in the neighborhood was a dog of our own. The next summer my parents finally relented to the constant badgering of us kids and agreed we could get a canine companion. We all kind of thought Bear looked like a handful, so we decided to get something of a smaller variety and ended up with a Beagle/Springer Spaniel mix. We got her as a puppy, and she was mostly white with some large, dark-brown, and black spots here and there. We named her Casey. Using a cable coated in red plastic, Dad strung up a line between two trees about eighty feet apart next to our home where Casey had plenty of room to run back and forth. As we kids played outside, Casey was always there. Sometimes we’d run around with her, other times we’d do our own thing and leave her to entertain herself.
My parents were intentional about creating memorable family experiences. For dad – a pastor and theologian – thinking, learning, and waxing philosophical was second nature. He enjoyed being a part of leading people through learning experiences, particularly if those experiences were in relation to the divine. At the time of this story, Mom was a special Education teacher on her way to a career as a public-school administrator. She had a knack for discipline and knew exactly how to adjust a child’s behavior with little more than a look – a look which always seemed to pry into the depths of their soul. She loved children and never hurt a kid, but the look and tone of her voice when addressing undesired behavior would have terrified Satan himself. She pulled no punches, even though she never threw any. She disciplined so that learning could occur unimpeded by misbehavior. Growing up as one of her children I was the beneficiary of her teaching lessons – some painful, some pleasurable – but all useful.
A puppy was the perfect learning opportunity. Of course, there was the idea of a dog being a big responsibility – a lot to take care of. Upon the acquisition of our puppy, we faced the decision of whether to get her spayed or to eventually allow her to have puppies of her own. Mom thought it would be a fun and educational family experience to have puppies, so we decided not to get Casey spayed. We weren’t dog breeders, but mom was resourceful and learned it’s safer to wait until at least the dog’s second heat cycle before attempting to breed puppies. So that’s what we did.
Well, that’s what we intended to do.
A few months after Casey’s became a part of our family, I noticed a drop of blood where she’d been standing next to me in the kitchen. Concerned, I ran to my mother and told her I thought Casey might be hurt, explaining what I'd found.
“Show me.” she said, smiling with an unconcerned, knowing look. It was a reaction I found to be confusing since I thought blood was a sure sign of injury. I escorted her to the kitchen, and there on the brown and yellow linoleum floor, was a single, dark-red spot of blood. She looked at it closely and touched it with her finger to be sure it was. As I watched her, I looked for signs of concern, expecting her smile to fade. It did not.
“Casey! Here, girl!” Mom called. She made that little kissing sound with her lips; the kind people often make when calling for their pet. Casey trotted in; unconcerned, likely hopeful being called to the kitchen would result in a morsel of human food. Instead, mom lifted the dog's tail to get a better look at her backside. There, at the very base of what my sixth-grade self would have described as “her girl part,” were the tell-tale signs mom was looking for. Signs of what, I didn’t know. But mom did, and it seemed to make her happy.
“Casey is in heat!” She exclaimed. By this time, my seven-year-old brother, Jeremy, and 15-year-old sister, Traci, had joined us in the kitchen.
“What’s heat?” Jeremy asked.
“Look at Casey’s bottom. See how the pointy part is kind of swollen more than usual, and stained red with a bit of blood? Well, that tells me she’s in heat! When a dog is in heat, it means they can get pregnant and have puppies.” Mom explained.
“Really?!” Jeremy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. The little brat was always good at lighting up the room when he was happy. His mood was infectious and, with the thought of cute little puppies running around, we were all a bit excited.
Jeremy’s seven-year-old brain continued to try and process what was happening and was soon back trying to figure out why dogs had to bleed in order to have puppies. With a quizzical look and tilted head, he asked a follow-up question we didn’t see coming.
“Was Traci in heat on vacation?” He inquired.
“HEY! I WAS NOT IN HEAT!” Traci protested.
“Prove it, dog!” I teased her. She punched me squarely in the pressure point on the front of my shoulder, her middle knuckle finding its target with ease. As I hid the pain, she stormed out of the kitchen, her excitement about the possibility of puppies now overcome by my ability to annoy her.
“No, Jeremy. Traci was not in heat.” Clarified mom, glaring at me. “But it’s similar, I guess.”
Jeremy’s question was innocent. On a cross-country road trip a couple of years prior, mother nature blessed my sister with her first experience with menstruation in the back seat of our white-leather-seated Oldsmobile. While the seat came clean, the experience left an indelible mark on the young teenager, as well as my brother and me, for whom it was also a first experience with menstruation.
My reminder to my sister of her embarrassment was not innocent, and I reveled in my successful attempt to annoy her. Mom, on the other hand, turned her attention to me and put on the face that told me my life was on the line. “Don’t tease your sister, or any other woman, about their period. It’s none of your or anyone else’s business. You understand me?” she asked, eyebrows raised high, pointing at me with what I also recognized was her trigger finger.
“Yeah.” No longer enjoying the moment at my sister’s expense, my shoulder began to hurt where she’d hit me, likely more than it might have if mom hadn’t dressed me down. She stared at me a moment more for effect before continuing. While she spoke to my brother and me, it was clear who’d have the bulk of responsibility.
“Casey is too young to have puppies yet. So, we’re going to have to make sure no boy dogs get near her.” Her words squelched the last remnants of excitement in the room.
“Why?” Jeremy asked.
I looked at mom, wondering if she was going to inform Jeremy of the facts of reproduction. She did not, at least not completely.
“Because if a boy dog gets too close to her, she can get pregnant with puppies.”
“Oh.” Jeremy said, curiosity satisfied.
By this time, I’d been through sex education in school, and I knew what could happen if a boy dog got close to Casey. Frankly, I was curious what it would look like.
We did our best to heed mom’s instruction…
That’s where we’re going to stop for today. I have a commitment to keep with my paid subs. They’ll see how this ends!
See you again soon. And thanks for all your support. And as always, you know what to do with this button…
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