It really was a pretty awesome feeling to get that first check for writing. Granted, it wasn’t quite the rush that I got with that first feedback email from the editor with nothing by praise. That was a major happy-dance in my chair moment. You know what I’m talking about, right? The silent party that, if witnessed, would get you sent straight to the loony bin for fits. But the check was a pretty cool second feeling. Sure, it was only $30 because it was the per-article fee structure (not my current rate, I assure you) and only for one article the previous month but it rocked all the same. Now when the checks come, a year later, I’m all ‘Cool, into the savings account [part of*] you go[es], glad it showed up on time.’ I’m so over the giddiness, just another jaded writer, accepting the ducats as my due for brilliance. Pffft! No, it’s still cool, it’s just not _as_ cool.
[*What? I’m so not a saver by nature but that whole tax thing is making me more of one. And I do generally spend the rest because, well, I’m not a saver! There are more shoes out there, folks.]