short story – Nathaniel Mellor

9 things I’ve learned about being a beta reader on Fiverr

(If you want to know how to get your first client on Fiverr, check out my post here: https://medium.com/@Nathanielmellor/getting-your-first-beta-reading-client-as-a-seller-on-fiverr-a1b5fb4298b7 )

Being a beta reader always seemed like the perfect job to me. I like reading, I live in a place where it’s difficult to find work since I don’t speak the language, and I need money. Also, I always find issues with published books, so I might as well make money from it.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

#1 You can’t say no

Just like ordering something online, when someone orders your gig, you don’t get a chance to review it, accept it, or decline it. If their wordcount is longer than what you accept, you’ll have to bring it up with the client and hope they’re not difficult. If someone sends you a book cover and asks you to rework it, even though you don’t offer that, you’ll have to get the buyer’s permission to cancel the job. If you’re absolutely slammed with work and someone buys a gig with a two-day turnaround time which is normally okay, but not right this second, that’s on you.

The only way I’ve found around this is to make your gigs’ turnaround time longer than it would ever take. Additionally, you can do what I do, and ask people to send a message first. Not only will I give them a tailored quote to their manuscript, I will give them a shorter turnaround time than what’s listed on the gig page.

#2 Fiverr sides with the client; always

Is that the proper use of a semi-colon? Probably not. Does Fiverr always side with the client? Yes.

In any dispute, at least in my experience and the experience of those on www.reddit.com/r/fiverr, Fiverr will side with the client. It’s better for them to keep the prospective buyer than a seller, despite the number of reviews they have.

This is important when receiving a non-paying client, someone who threatens you, or someone who is trying to scam you.

#3 In theory, you don’t have to get paid

On Upwork, you can use their program that will take screenshots at random intervals, log keystrokes, and check for activity to ensure a job is being done. When you use that program, they will guarantee payment.

Fiverr has no such mechanism (thankfully. I don’t love the idea of someone logging keystrokes and taking screenshots.) in place to ensure payment. Unfortunately, as you might find out or read about, if a client is “unhappy” with the work, they can cancel the job and keep the work. As far as I’m aware, even though Fiverr will hold the money in escrow, they won’t release it to the seller in those cases. I’ve never had this happen, personally (thankfully), but it does happen.

#4 No Profile Picture doesn’t mean Scammer

When I first started, I got a number of inquires from potential clients that had no profile picture and accounts made that month. They had no reviews, no biography, no nothin’. Just faceless, often nameless, people who wanted work done.

Because on every other website in the world (Twitter, Facebook, eBay, whatever) this means the person is a low-effort scammer, I would often give an excuse as to why I couldn’t do the work. Because Fiverr always sides with the client, and there’s no mechanism in place to ensure I get paid, I was wary. Over the years I have learned that some people just make an account, add nothing in to flesh it out, and start ordering jobs.

So, go with your gut.

#5 Work is simultaneous

It sounds silly, but I thought Fiverr would give the seller a queue since some seller have on their profile “X orders in queue.” When I got my first back-to-back order I found that wasn’t the case. A job will start when you receive the manuscript or files. Like I mentioned earlier, you can’t say no.

#6 Work comes in erratic waves, not steady rivers

I will often have four or five jobs at the same time, then a week later, have nothing. This is just how it goes. If you’re lucky, you can plan around this and ask repeat clients to work with your schedule.

#7 Badges

Getting those badges (New Seller, Fiverr’s Choice, Level One/Two Seller, Top Rated Seller, Repeat Customers) are important to getting work. Really important. They will also allow you to charge more.

#8 Don’t compare yourself

I like to get inspired by other beta readers, but not compare myself to them. For instance, I only offer a Reader Report when I’ve finished a book. It’s 5–10 pages of feedback on what’s good, and more importantly, what I think can be changed to make it a more impactful story. I charge $1/1,000 words + $20 for this. So 10,000 words is $30 and 110,000 words is $130. Personally, it’s writing the Reader Report that’s the biggest pain, not the reading. So I like to make sure I’m getting paid for the Report.

However, when I look at other sellers’ gigs, I see that they’re adding inline comments, it’s color-coordinated to mentions in a Report, they’re offering a free sample of line-editing, and, most importantly, they’re charging less.

This can easily lead to Imposter Syndrome and screwing yourself over. Charge what you think you’re worth and maybe a little bit more.

#9 Money is slow, and then it isn’t

This is all the money I made between January 2020 and May 2022. Obviously, not super for a full-time job. I made $1,700 the first year, $3,200 the second year, and the rest this year. Yeah, I’m in debt, why do you ask?

The first year was riddled with the occasional job. In the second year, I started making between $200 and $300 a month. This year it’s finally started to take off.

I don’t know if this is how it is for everyone, or just for me. But this is all to say, you will make money, just maybe not immediately.

How to submit to Literary Magazines

This article was originally written and published to Pigeon Review, a literary and art magazine.

This article is designed and written for new writers looking for publication, but it’s open to everyone. (My article for artists is on the way!) This article is also focused on fiction-based writing, not articles, book reviews, etc.

Finishing a short story is a fantastic moment, one filled with pride and a little trepidation, if you’re anything like me. Because now that it’s done, I want to share it with the world!

Here are a few steps to get you started with publishing.

Step 1: Regular Submission or Contest Submission?

When I finish a short story, my immediate thought is, “Yeah, that’s good enough to win a competition.” Because of this thought, I tend to hang onto my stories until I find the perfect competition.

I cannot tell you how highly I discourage this practice.

By hanging onto the stories, I don’t allow myself to fail (learn), or discover the niche that I might inhabit. Additionally, I won’t get published if I never submit, or only submit to competitions.

That all being said, if you have a piece of writing you think is absolutely phenomenal, something that is easily worth the three thousand dollar prize, and you’re okay with entry costs, let that story be your “competition entry” story.

Step 2: Finding the right publication

Assuming we’re talking about general publication, how do you find where to submit it?

Worry not! There are lists!

One of the more popular ones is Duotrope which has a cost associated with it, but not all cost money. I personally use pw.org (Poets and Writers) and Literarium. A quick google search will give you a plethora of lists on which literary magazines to submit to.

The smart thing to do is to read back copies of the magazine you want to submit to. This gives you an idea for the kind of writing they tend to publish. This also helps support the magazine if you buy the copies!

Of course, you may have spotted the small problem here. There are hundreds of literary magazines, and each of them wants you to [ideally] purchase a few back issues to read and get familiar with. Cost aside, the time needed is astonishing. I love reading. I read nightly. I read everything I can get my hands on. But hundreds of back copies across a hundred different literary journals is a huge time commitment.

I’m not urging you to not read back issues. But use your time wisely. If you’re writing hard sci-fi, then yes, give a look to some of the previously published work and see if there is any hard sci-fi. It’s probably best not to send a book review to a publication that doesn’t publish book reviews. If you’re an erotica writer, double check before you send! This all goes hand-in-hand with understanding the guidelines.

Step 3: Understanding the guidelines (and following them)

Most of the time, guidelines are quick and to the point, the dos and don’ts laid out simply. This is usually where the preferred wordcount is found, along with the genres that aren’t accepted. Sometimes, guidelines can get a little complicated with the terms, here’s a little help with three of the most common terms.

Simultaneous Submissions: This refers to sending the same story to multiple magazines. Look carefully at each magazine, some don’t like simultaneous submissions and prefer you only send your story to them. (On a personal note, I don’t like to submit to these places. Having one of my pieces tied up with one journal doesn’t make me too happy.)

Multiple Submissions: This refers to sending multiple stories to the same journal. Again, some journals encourage it, some don’t care either way, and some ask that you only send one at a time.

Reprints: Rarely, a journal will take previously published work, or “reprints.” This is more commonly seen in anthologies where they want to re-publish authors works. Normally, a journal will prefer previously unpublished work.

Before you send your work in, double-and-triple-check the guidelines.

Not following the guidelines is the easiest way to have your work ignored, unread, or unpublished.

Not following the guidelines is the easiest way to have your work ignored, unread, or unpublished. Most literary magazines get hundreds of submissions a month and if you don’t take the time to properly format your story, remove the indents, change the font, or do whatever it is they’re asking of you, there’s a good chance they won’t take the time to read your story. It also shows the literary magazine you aren’t serious about your time or theirs, and worse, it shows you aren’t serious about your work. Literary magazines don’t want to publish someone who doesn’t take the craft seriously, especially when the other people they publish clearly take the craft seriously.

Step 4: Know your rights

The worst thing that could happen, in theory, is you get published (yay!) and make a little money (yay!!) but accidently sell the exclusive rights to that story (no yay). Most magazines won’t attempt to outright strip you of your rights. It’s usually a bit of oversight on the part of the writer and a poorly placed “rights” section by the magazine. Still, as a writer, you’ll want to avoid this.

Luckily for you, in most countries in the world, a creator’s rights are fairly well protected, even if something were to happen. Let’s talk about what some of those rights are.

First: The right for the publisher to be the first to publish your piece. This is what Pigeon Review (the journal I wrote this article for) and most publications will ask for.

Serial: The right for the publication to publish your piece in a printed magazine.

Online: Same as serial, but for a publication to publish your piece online. Pigeon Review also asks for this.

Quick pause- Normally you will see two of the three above together, if not all three. Publications usually ask for “First Serial” or “First Online” or even “First Serial/Online” rights. They want to be the first to publish it, and they’re telling you where it will appear.

Territory (USA/Africa/World/etc.): Some publications will ask for territory-specific rights. This gives them the right to publish your work in either a specific country, continent, or the world. Even if an organization has multiple branches around the world, they can only publish in the places they were given the rights to. This becomes gray area when the subject of “previously published” comes up. If you have a piece published in North America and now you want to enter it in a British competition, but they don’t allow previously published work, reach out and see if they consider it “previously published” if it happened in a different territory.

One time: When the publication wants to publish your work once. If a publication wants to re-publish you work in an anthology, or a “best of” collection, they would have to ask for permission.

Archival: When a publication wants to store your work for reprinting later. This means they will have your work even if it doesn’t appear in print or on their website. Be careful when giving away this right as some publications take it to be exclusive rights. What are those?

Exclusive/non-exclusive: Exclusive rights are when you sign over the rights to a publisher that make the piece of work exclusive to them (think of a novel). Non-exclusive means you can then publish your work elsewhere after they’ve published it (what usually happens with short stories). Sometimes, a writer’s retreat or residency will ask for the exclusive rights to any work created there as a way of making money to keep the residency going.

Anthology: This is for when a publication wants to print or reprint your work in a collection, like a “best of.” Some writers will have their previously published work appear in anthologies since it loses “value” if it’s been published before.

Audio/Film: Self-explanatory, these are the rights to create an audiobook or film. Unless you’re selling a book to a movie studio, you probably won’t come across someone asking for film rights, but audio rights are more common. Some competitions (notably the Audible competition) ask for audio rights for your story.

By and large, when you sell the rights, even the exclusive rights to your work, you don’t sell the right for the publication to make money from it in other ways than publishing it. They can’t make merchandise, sell the film rights without your approval, or turn it into a Broadway play.

Further Tips

Cover Letters: Cover letters can be important when submitting a story or they can be completely unnecessary. Usually this comes down to the publication and how formal they are. When we get submissions at Pigeon Review, we get everything from personalized notes to generic letters to simply, “Editors, Here’s my story.”

As an editor of a publication, I can’t let a cover letter, no matter how well it’s written, be the deciding factor on whether or not to publish a story. I let the story be the only deciding factor. However, there are other publications out there that won’t read your story without a cover letter.

My advice? Have one ready, but only use it when required. It will save everyone time.

Keeping track of your submissions: I tend to make a spreadsheet of all my submissions. This includes the story I sent, the date I sent it, the amount I paid, and whether or not it was published (so I’ll have a list ready for any anthologies). Duotrope and Submittable have tools that are like this already, but I find it comforting to have one on my computer that I can access whenever I want that is laid out to my specifications. Of course, you can add a website link to where you submitted your tory, the name of the editor, and any other information (like a twitter handle) that you please, but I keep it simple.

Pigeon Review now open for submissions

Hey everyone!

I’m the fiction editor for an online art and writing publication called Pigeon Review. We are now open for submissions!

What are we looking for? Well, the full submissions guidelines are here. But, for a little idea, we want writing that flows from place to place. Stories that make us question whether it’s fiction or reality.

For art, we love the idea of finding beauty in the mundane, in the everyday, like a cluttered room or a intrepid plant. Art that tells a story, even if you think you’re the only one who might understand it.

If you have work like this, please send it our way, we’d love to see it!

www.pigeonreview.com

Using Movement or Conflict instead of a Plot

Even if you’ve never written a single word, at some point in your life someone has told you how important a plot is to a story. If you have nothing else, you need a plot.

For architect writers, the writer that meticulously plots out the story down to the very intricate detail, creating a plot is easy. It’s the first brick in a towering foundation.

For myself, maybe it’s because I can’t plot out a story for the life of me, maybe it’s because I’m a discovery writer, someone who likes to just sit down and write, I don’t have very good plots. In fact, I often forget about plots until it’s too late.

By and large, there are seven plots.

Overcoming the Monster/Enemy
Rags to Riches
Comedy
Tragedy
Voyage and Return
Rebirth
The Quest

Some writers will layer a very thin plot over what is essentially a character story. Others will use wooden, 2D characters to create a compelling and colorful plot.

In a short story, my main focus of writing, I’ve found the plot can be substituted by either movement or conflict.

Both of these can be physical or metaphorical, depending on the story you’re writing. Moving from point A to point B. Getting in a fight. Spiritually learning and bettering oneself. Emotional inner turmoil.

Because there often isn’t enough time or space to create an entire plot, simply using movement or conflict can work to your advantage. Maybe you can’t create an entire plot about overcoming the enemy, but a simple fistfight could replace that. A quest might not fit into a short story, but a story about running to the grocery store and someone or something encountered along the way could replicate it.

While writing short stories, I am always looking for ways to cut down on writing without sacrificing story, and these are two of the ways I’ve found.

Lost in Thought

James stared out the car window, drawing shapes on the condensation collecting inside.

“Doin’ okay there, sport?” his father, in the driver’s seat next to him, asked. He liked to call James “sport” or “pal.” Even “kiddo.” It didn’t matter that James was twenty-seven and had lived alone for the better part of ten years.

“Yeah, Dad. Doing okay,” James said, hovering between sarcasm and honesty.

“Wanna talk about it?” his dad offered.

James focused on the fish he was drawing, adding squiggles for water and sharp angles for scales.

“Yeah. No. Not now, at least.”

His father nodded, understanding. Flicking the directional downwards, James’s father made a right turn. A horn blared from behind their car.

“Where are we going?” James looked up from his window masterpiece.

“Remember when you and I would go out for the afternoon and run by Checkers on the way home? And your mom never found out because I wouldn’t let us leave until you finished everything? Hah! She would’ve been pissed to see a milkshake cup in the trash.” His father smiled a half-smile.

“And you want to go again now?” James questioned him.

“Yes,” his father answered, pulling into and parking in an empty parking lot.

James opened his door and stood up, stretching. Looking at the sky, he squinted. It always seemed to rain on the day funerals were held. Never a tree-snapping thunderstorm, but a dreary pitter-patter of rain.

They walked up to the order window and stood in the bright white light of the food display board.

“Number seven with a vanilla milkshake?” James’s father asked, smiling slightly as if it were an old joke.

“C’mon Dad, you know I’m vegan now.”

“That’s right.” His dad turned to the order window and waited patiently for a server to come. He didn’t wait long.

“Welcome to Checkers, what do you want?” The lady asked, after opening the window.

“One number seven with a chocolate milkshake,” James’s father ordered.

“One number seven with a chocolate milkshake. Will that be all?” the lady asked.

James’s father looked to James, and James waved away his chance to order.

“That’ll be all, then.” James’s father handed over his card. After a few beats, she handed it back with a receipt.

“Your food will be out shortly,” she said, and closed the window.

James and his father stood in silence under the awning, watching as cars did their stop-and-go dance through the drive-thru.

Finally, the window opened and a young man with acne pushed the food towards them, closing the window without a word.

“Should we sit out here?” James’s father asked.

“It’s raining,” James pointed out.

“They have umbrellas,” his father responded.

“And this is an eight-hundred dollar jacket.” James flicked his lapels.

His father shrugged and stood there with his white paper food bag getting increasingly more transparent.

James shook his head and walked back to the car with his father in tow.

Once they were situated comfortably inside, James’s father opened his paper bag and reached down, pulling out a fry.

“Are you going to eat here? In the parking lot?” James questioned him, despite the fact he was cleary eating in the parking lot.

“We don’t get to talk anymore, kiddo. I think we should talk,” his father replied, ignoring James’s question.

“Fine. What do you want to talk about?” James asked.

“Am I wrong in thinking that we used to be close?” James’s father asked.

James paused, then sighed. “No, Dad. Before I moved out, we were close.”

“Then what happened between us? Because for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it was,” James’s father asked, putting the bag of food on the dashboard.

“Can I ask you a question?” James changed the topic.

“Sure, pal.”

“When did you stop loving my mom?”

James’s father looked at James with a face that bordered the line between shock and curiosity. “What makes you say I stopped loving her?”

“Dad?” James asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can you not treat me like a child? Believe it or not, I did grow up somewhere between turning fifteen and turning twenty-five.”

“Fair enough, James. You want this to be a man-to-man talk?”

“No. I want it to be a father-to-son talk.”

James’s father turned away, nodding a few times. “I have never stopped loving your mother. However, you’re right in a way. We were no longer in love with each other.”

“How?” James asked. “People don’t just fall out of love.”

“Don’t they? People fall in love pretty easily. Sometimes it only takes a few minutes or the cost of a drink. Sometimes it’s a more drawn-out affair. But in the end, falling in love usually happens suddenly, and without any warning.”

“So you just fell out of love with Mom?”

James’s father rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “We were moving in different directions. It sounds like such a joke, doesn’t it?” James’s father smiled at James but James didn’t return the gesture. There were tears in James’s eyes.

“It happened years ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” James asked.

“You were stressed enough,” James’s father answered simply.

“And you guys didn’t get a divorce? Go your separate ways, or whatever?”

“We couldn’t. We just found out she was sick.”

“And now she’s dead. Is that why you didn’t cry at the funeral? Because you’re finally free?”

“Is that what you think?” James’s father snapped. “You think I’m happy that I just buried your mother?”

“Well, you don’t seem too beaten up at the fact.” James tried to lash out but he started to realize he just took a step in the wrong direction.

“How old are you, James? Twenty-seven?” his father asked, all traces of patience gone. “What do you know of the world? Do you know the last time I heard from you before I called you a week ago telling you that your mother died? A year ago. You called me to ask for money, money that your mother needed.”

“Then why even give it to me?” James interrupted. “If Mom needed it so badly, why would you lend me the money?”

“Your mother wanted me to. She believed in what you were doing, even if I didn’t.”

“And now you blame me for it?”

“Jesus Christ! Do you ever listen? I have never once blamed you for asking for money. And after everything your mother did for you, you didn’t even visit. Not once that I can remember.”

“I know you don’t, Dad.” James sounded defeated.

“So where were you when she would spit and swear because she knew her sentences didn’t make sense? Where were you to help her bathe, and to dress her?” James’s father spat out every word. “And where were you when she forgot where she was? Or who I was?” he whispered. “Where were you?”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” James said.

“Me too, James. Me too.” James’s father took a deep breath. “You know, she was looking for you at the end. She asked for her little Jamison. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. She thought you were in the kitchen. Or the living room. That you just stepped out. At the end, I think she knew. I think she knew you were gone.”

James’s father opened the car door and walked over to the trashcan, without bothering to hunch over to protect himself from the rain. With a contemptuous toss, he threw away his number seven (minus one fry) and chocolate milkshake.

James sat in the car, wiping away the fish and water. They would go back to their home in Mastic Beach, and James would go upstairs to bed. And when he woke up, his father would be at the kitchen table crying over his youngest son who didn’t live there anymore. And James would tell him, “I live upstairs Dad. I moved back in two years ago to take care of you and mom.”

And when the day after tomorrow came, he would repeat it all over again.

Lost in Thought (A Short Story)

James stared out the car window, drawing shapes on the condensation collecting inside.

“Doin’ okay there, sport?” His father, in the driver’s seat next to him, asked. He liked to call James “sport” or “pal.” Even “kiddo.” It didn’t matter that James was twenty-seven and had lived alone for the better part of ten years.

“Yeah, Dad. Doing okay.” James said, somewhere between sarcasm and honesty. Even he couldn’t decide how he felt.

“Wanna talk about it?” His dad offered.

James focused on the fish he was drawing, adding squiggles for water and sharp angles for scales.

“Yeah. No. Not now, at least.”

His father nodded, understanding. Flicking the directional downwards, James’s father made a right turn. A horn blared from behind their car.

“Where are we going?” James looked up from his window masterpiece.

“Remember when you and I would go out for the afternoon and run by Cheekies on the way home? And your mom never found out because I wouldn’t let us leave until you finished everything? Hah! She would have been pissed to see a milkshake cup in the trash.” His father smiled a half-smile.

“And you want to go again now?” James questioned him.

“Yes.” His father answered, pulling into an empty parking lot.

They walked up to the order window and stood in the bright white light of the food display board.

“Number seven with a vanilla milkshake?” James’s father asked, smiling slightly as if it were an old joke.

“C’mon Dad, you know I’m vegan now.”

“Your choice.” His dad turned to the order window and waited patiently for a server to come. He didn’t wait long.

“Welcome to Cheekies, what do you want?” The lady asked, after opening the window.

“One number seven with a chocolate milkshake.” James’s father ordered.

“One number seven with a chocolate milkshake. Will that be all?” The lady asked.

James’s father looked to James, and James waved away his chance to order.

“That’ll be all, then.” James’s father handed over his card. After a few beats, she handed it back with a receipt.

“Your food will be out shortly.” She said, and closed the window.

James and his father stood in silence under the awning, watching as cars did their stop-and-go dance through the drive-thru.

Finally, the window opened and a young man with acne pushed the food towards them, and closed the window again without a word.

“Should we sit out here?” James’s father asked.

“Dad, it’s raining.” James said.

“They have umbrellas.” His father responded.

“And this is a two-thousand dollar jacket.” James held his lapels.

His father shrugged and stood there with his white food bag getting increasingly more transparent.

James shook his head and walked back to the car with his father in tow.

Once they were situated comfortably, James’s father opened his paper bag and reached down, pulling out a fry.

“Are you going to eat here? In the parking lot?” James questioned him, despite the fact he was obviously eating in the parking lot.

“We don’t get to talk anymore, kiddo. I think we should talk.” His father replied, ignoring James’s question.

“Fine. What do you want to talk about?” James snapped.

“Am I wrong in thinking we used to be friends?” James’s father asked,

James paused, then responded. “No, Dad. We used to be close.”

“Then what happened to us? Because for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it was.” James’s father asked, putting the bag of food on the dashboard.

“Can I ask you a question?” James countered.

“Sure, pal.”

“When did you stop loving my mom?”

James’s father looked at James in something bordering on shock and curiosity. “What makes you say I stopped loving her?”

“Dad?” James asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can you not treat me like a child? Believe it or not, I did grow up somewhere between turning fifteen and turning twenty-five.”

“Fair enough, James. You want this to be a man-to-man talk?”

“No. I want it to be a father-to-son talk.”

James’s father turned away, nodding a few times. “I have never stopped loving your mother. However, you’re right in a way. We were no longer in love with each other.”
“How?” James asked. “People don’t just fall out of love.”

“Don’t they? People fall in love pretty easily. Sometimes it only takes a few minutes or the cost of a drink. Sometimes it’s a more drawn out affair. But in the end, falling in love usually happens quickly.”

“So you just fell out of love with Mom?”

“It happened four years ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” James asked.

“You were stressed enough.” James’s father answered simply.

“And you guys didn’t get a divorce? Go your separate ways, or whatever?”

“We couldn’t. We just found out she was sick.”

“And now she’s dead. Is that why you didn’t cry at the funeral? Because you’re finally free?”

“Is that what you think?” James’s father snapped. “You think I’m happy that I just buried your mother?”

“Well you don’t seem too beaten up at the fact.” James tried to lash out but he started to realize he just took a step in the wrong direction. He let his anger dictate his words.

“How old are you, James? Twenty-seven?” His father asked, all traces of friendship gone. “What do you know of the world? Do you know the last time I heard from you before I called you a week ago telling you your mother died? A year ago. You called me to ask for money, money that your mother needed.”

“Then why even give it to me?” James interrupted. “If Mom needed it so badly, why would you lend me the money?”

“Your mother wanted me to. She believed in what you were doing, even if I didn’t.”

“And now you blame me for it?”

“Jesus Christ! Do you ever listen? I have never once blamed you for asking for money. And after everything your mother did for you, you didn’t even visit. Not once that I can remember.”

“I know you don’t, Dad.” James sounded defeated.

“So where were you when she would spit and swear because she knew her sentences didn’t make sense? Where were you to help her bathe, and to dress her?” James’s father spit out every word. “And where were you when she forgot who you were? Or where and when she was?” He whispered. “Where were you?”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” James said.

“Me too, James. Me too. You know, she was looking for you at the end. She asked for her little Jamison. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. She thought you were in the kitchen. Or the living room. That you just stepped out. At the end, I think she knew. I think she knew you were gone.”

“I get it! You don’t think I’m a good son. You have made that perfectly clear, so clear in fact, that you were ready to step out of our lives if Mom hadn’t gotten sick.”

“When did you get so self-centered and ignorant?” James’s father erupted.

“Is that what you think I am?” James asked. “An egotistical prick that cares only about himself?”

“You haven’t shown me you aren’t. Maybe it’s because you’re young, or maybe you’ve lived away for too long, but you’ve become a poor excuse for a son. I hope that by the time you’re my age, you’ll have some more respect for those who have given you everything they didn’t have.” James’s father opened the car door and walked to the trashcan, without bothering to hunch over to protect himself from the rain. With a contemptuous toss, he threw away his number seven (minus one fry) and chocolate milkshake.

And when the day after tomorrow came, he would repeat it all over again.