Transvestia

in the Editorial Emanations sections and then have to conclude that a lot of the readers don't even bother to read it. (That's why this editorial is up front where it counts). Or take the matter of the yellow sheet that all those receiving No. 53 by mail received with it. (Newstand purchasers did not). In that sheet I explained why No. 53 was so late and that the problems of time were just getting too much and asking for your understanding about the impossibility of meeting publication deadlines and suggesting a mechanism to asure you that your order had been received the postcard with advance orders. Although the majority of you get the message there were enough "where the hell is it letters" coming thru on No. 54 because it had not appeared on December 1 to aggrevate me almost to the boiling point. Then there were those few who write berating letters referring to my, "falling into the habit of publishing whenever you feel like it", or cautioning me that my, "getting careless with publication dates is endangering your readership," etc. These are specific quotations.

Really, sometimes I feel like I'm supposed to be an employee of some of the readers instead of their benefactor. And I'm not a bit sensitive about the apparent immodesty of referring to myself as a benefactor(-ess). I know what I've done for the very people that bitch and thats what makes the bitching that much more galling. And in fairness I must say that one of the things that keeps me sustained is that every now and then I get a real heartfelt letter of appreciation from someone because my efforts have helped her to find herself and accept it or to clarify things with the wife so that the marriage is not only saved but better than ever. These are what really count. Does anyone object to being appreciated?

Really and in all candor, there are many times (and Mary could substantiate this easily) when I just feel like saying "the hell with the whole business". Why? Not just because of a few bitching letters certainly. No, what really makes me feel like throwing in the sponge sometimes is my own conscience and sense of duty. I'm getting pretty tired, I want to do something for ME like lying on the beach in front of a fire reading a book. or going to a show or working out in my garden or such, of telling myself, "No, you can't take the time to do that, there is that next issue to get started on, these stories to edit, that article to write, those dozens of letters to answer, that columnist

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