My dearest Duie,
Why? Why, after all these years of a mutually engaging affair, are you leaving me? Why, oh why, are you requiring payment, and $50 at that? I've given you gifts, parted with my precious bling.
Fifty big ones is a lot of dough, Duie. Especially for us writers. This past year alone my writing income included $25 for a flash piece and $50 for a poem. And this was a good year.
Sure, you are the dope! You provide us with lots of good stuff on paying and non-paying markets, ideas for similar markets. You let us track our submissions. But what is sexiest about you, Duie, are your stats. You know, the journal's percent of acceptances and rejections, wait times, all those glorious numbers which feed my day job heart.
Duie, I love your stats. I would happily contribute the $50 required to see your stats if I felt assured the rest of your clients will. But I sense a lot of writers aren't going to belly up on January 1, 2013 when your new rate goes into effect, including a lot of us faithful who have provided for your upkeep over the years. And what use will those stats be then?
Yeah, there's other joints to hang out, like New Pages. And I've gotten handy with excel for my submissions. But it won't be the same.
I'm gonna miss you, Duie. At least I've been faithful all this time, tossing you a twenty or more every year. It sure does suck the leeches made it all come to this. But before you go, thanks for the good times. Thanks for championing my successes, consoling me when rejected, providing new havens for my words. Like i said, I'm gonna miss you.
But I can't afford you anymore.