So you want to be an author. That’s beautiful. That’s brave. That’s also statistically one of the worst financial decisions a person can make, right up there with buying a timeshare or trusting a guy named Crypto Steve. But who cares about statistics when there’s a story that needs to be told? Here’s the thing…
The medical professional gave you the news, and now there’s a situation happening in the lower deck that looks like a pepperoni pizza had a mid-life crisis. It sucks. It’s itchy. It feels like your groin is hosting a tiny, angry Coachella for viruses that nobody invited. But here is the thing: misery is for…
Your best friend just walked out of that courthouse looking like they escaped from a particularly tedious hostage situation where the kidnapper made them discuss their “communication styles” and split the grocery bill down to the penny. Time to break out the good stuff. And by good stuff, obviously champagne. Not therapy. Not ice cream….
Debt collectors found you again? Of course they did. These people could find Waldo in witness protection. Here’s the thing about owing money: everyone acts like it’s some massive moral failing. Like you woke up one day and thought “You know what sounds fun? Financial ruin!” Nobody mentions how that Best Buy credit card started…
So your best friend’s dying. Tragic. Anyway, let’s talk money. What? Someone’s gotta say it. While you’re sitting there clutching your pearls, the hospital’s charging $80 for a Tylenol and the funeral director’s already mentally spending their commission on a boat. They call it the S.S. Grief Profiteer, probably. You know what the difference is…
So you want to write a love song? Cool. You’re about to join the ranks of millions who’ve rhymed “heart” with “apart” and thought they were Shakespeare. You know who else thought that? Your uncle Gary. The one who brings his guitar to Thanksgiving. But wait—you don’t want to sound cheesy? Good luck with that….