It’s been a bleak week, still no job, IRS audit and now, Texas Workforce Commission has my unemployment checks on hold, asking me to call them at a special number where no one answers. (I know, because I’ve hit redial several thousand times today since 8 a.m. I know the sound of the busy signal better than the beat of my own heart. I think it’s B-flat).
So imagine my surprise when I took a break from redialing to give my poor numb finger a rest, and checked my e-mail to find that I am a blogging star!
While I may have only a modest 60-something visitors as my high point since March (apprently, a lot of ya’ll liked the vitriolic Piece of Cake and depair-driven Bulgaria or Jacksonville the best), one of those visitors is Jacob Peebles, the main man behind a web site for freelance writers, Get Freelance Journalistm Jobs, or http://www.getfreelancejournalismjob.com.
He quotes me on that site from when I started this blog in March aboutwhat I intended to do on it:
“My favorite blog right now — and the bane of my existence — is my new blog, Betty Martin, Writer. As planned, it is to have Our Town features about Houston, as well as things about writing and media, plus remedies for all of mankind’s problems, Betty Lou Saves the World.”
I couldn’t be more thrilled about being a Featured Blogger if the New York Times sent me roses. Well, not much more delighted, anyway.
And all Jacob Peebles asked in return was that I post his web site address — somewhere on my page.
Hey, Mr. Peebles. does this work for you?
As for fame, I would like to thank all the little people in life who have made this possible, beginning with the dear Hearst Corporation and the Houston Chronicle, without whose layoffs the page “betty martin, writer” could never have happened, much less risen to such acclaim.
And of course, no awards speech would be complete without giving tribute to my mom — and God. My mom has always been steadfast in her love and hope for me. The Almighty, not so much.
But I thank you. Thank you all. You have shown, through your visits and kind comments that even a gal raised near Denver Harbor, then Telephone Road, then Reed Road, then getting expelled from colleges across the state, then in the Navy in Japan and Hawaii and Italy, then winning awards at newspapers and magazines across the United States until Hearst decides to cut 200 people last March, can make good.
God Bless America!