Freelancer finds success as he reads e-mails, sits

Newsletters. Before the Internet, newsletters were on paper. Paper was cheaper to mail than stone tablets, and also easier to fold into standard envelopes.

Today, newsletters are often mailing lists—each “issue” is an e-mail. Some are basically press releases, others are archived chatrooms. Unlike yesterera, it’s all free. People can subscribe to five, ten, eleven different lists. But no one has joined as many as Querby DeMoore, Professional Mailing List Subscriber.

Querby plies his craft in a cozy home office on a third floor apartment that appears to have been renovated in the late 1920s. Despite the lessened effects of gravity at this altitude, Querby’s sizable bulk remains firmly attracted to the floor as he chuckles, mutters, and stares at his screen.

Fabricated Press: Good afternoon, Querby, and thanks for chatting with the Fabricated Press. Today, there are mailing lists for so many different groups, from caretakers of performing koalas to veterans of the Civil War—

Querby: Yes, I know.

FP: Right. So, how do you choose which mailing lists to grab, and which to leave as roadkill on the information superhighway?

Querby: I have one wife and two kids.

Mrs. DeMoore: [from the kitchenette/bedroom] Honey! Three kids!

FP: I’m sorry, Querby, my question was—

Querby: Huh?

FP: While we have eye contact, let me ask, how did you get into this business?

Querby: Oh, I’ve been a freelancer for awhile. Back in 2003, I had this idea to design web pages from home.

FP: Brilliant.

Querby: I did some work for my old company, but they just sold pickle jar lids. That kind of tapered off. So I e-mailed my portfolio to these other pickle jar lid companies … saw their … one second …

FP: (Querby is actually reading e-mails as we speak.)

Querby: … patented … chalupas …

FP: Chalupas?

Querby: What? Oh, sorry. Some guy on this list’s trying to patent chalupas. He’s gotten as far as the cheese. Anyway, after my car hit that llama—

FP: Wait, I think we missed something.

Querby: Doesn’t matter. I spent a lot of time online, and I just started subscribing to all these mailing lists. That’s about it.

FP: But so many. At last count, you’d joined over 2,319 mailing lists.

Querby: It’s a lifestyle. Started out as a hobby, grew into something more.

FP: So here you are, living your dream.

Querby: The tricky part’s the money. That old demon “income.”

FP: I notice you’re sitting on the floor.

Querby: Bill collectors. Took the chair.

FP: Your monitor doesn’t look particularly stable on that pile of newspapers.

Querby: Just don’t touch it.

FP: How do you make money?

Querby: Well, I’ve tried to get corporate sponsors. I could subscribe with a name that was a link to their site, likeRarelyLeakPickleJarLids_com, then rake in the clickthrough cash. But no one’s bit. My wife suggested I do a column, the “Mailing List Review.”

FP: Sounds intriguing.

Querby: I don’t have the time. I’m no skimmer, you know. Everyword matters. These are my friends around the world, mycommunities. If I miss … something … one second …

FP: We’re all part of different communities, aren’t we? Residents of both the globe and the block. Did you know the house across the street from you recently blew up?

Querby: Huh? No, didn’t hear about that … hold on … work from home …market your … fingernails …

Mrs. DeMoore: Querby! Lunch time!

Querby: … one second …

Mrs. DeMoore: QUERBY!

FP: (Mrs. DeMoore just lobbed a tuna melt sandwich at Querby’s head. The sandwich is slowly slipping down his unshaven jowl.)

Querby: … indications … not a real beanie baby …

FP: And there you have it. Querby DeMoore, freelance—

Querby: Hey. Why’s there a tuna sandwich on my face? Dangit, now I have to wash my hands.

FP: Need help getting up?

Querby: I’ll be fine, once I get feeling back in my legs. Only been sitting here, what, three days? Might be good to hit the bathroom while I’m up.