I try to make my blog posts useful, entertaining and mostly positive. Today’s will not be one of these posts. This post involves literary lies, thievery and subterfuge. It also is the story of how my novel came to be unpublished.

The gist is this: Torquere Press acquired my novel in fall 2014. Shortly thereafter, the press was sold to new owners. I was like, “Cool, maybe they’ll bring some good changes.” An LGBT press, Torquere had been around since 2003,  one big reason I chose to sign with them. Everyone had good things to say about Torquere. They assigned me an editor, handled the cover, did a small amount of marketing and released the book in summer 2015. I held up my end, promotion-wise. I did talks at libraries, signings, that kind of stuff. So it was pretty disappointing when my royalty check was only $60. I really thought the book had sold more copies. The next quarter, my check was $20. After that, I didn’t get any royalty checks at all.

I figured, well, my book is a flop. Critically, it got no traction. Craft-wise, it was the best I could do at the time, but I knew the book was flawed and hoped my subsequent work would be better. And financially, I didn’t recoup the money I put into booze for the book party, promo copies, Goodreads giveaways and targeted Amazon ads. I felt like I had failed at every level.

Soon I heard rumblings of discontent. My fellow authors weren’t getting paid, they said in our private email chain. Last summer, one of Torquere’s co-owners went to jail for writing hot checks to authors (the item is here–-her first name is Kristi).  More and more and more authors reported bounced checks and nonpayment, requesting their rights back only to be stonewalled. Meanwhile, Torquere kept signing new contracts and participating in Twitter pitch contests.

Yesterday, Torquere owners Kristi and Joanna sent an email to all their authors saying the press was closing. There’s a post about it on Writers Beware, though Torquere has not yet gone public on their pages. I’m getting my rights back to the novel eventually (within 90 days, they claim). But as far as getting paid, I’m not holding my breath, and neither is anyone else. I feel especially sorry for the editors who are owed thousands of dollars.

One of the shitty things about crime is, when it happens to me, I wonder, “How did I invite this into my life?” And when it’s the petty crime that’s so common in New Orleans, the answers are simple: I left valuables in plain sight in my car. I didn’t lock the deadbolt. That kind of thing. Victim-blaming is never the right way to go, but it’s the mentality I revert to when I’m a crime victim. I feel stupid, ashamed and embarrassed—I should have prevented this! I should have known better!

When crime happens in the literary realm—which is a new one for me—the psychic ramifications are still there, but they’re a lot more troubling. Self-defeating stuff like: if I was capable of writing a decent book that got picked up by a decent agent and a decent press, this wouldn’t have happened. 

On the silver lining side: if and when I publish my next book, I might get a second chance to be a debut author. I don’t think I lost that much money. And I learned something—I think. That thing is to get out of my own way. When I submitted this novel to small presses, Torquere’s was the first offer I got. I committed a cardinal sin, which was to accept the offer without revisiting every press I had subbed to first. I really didn’t think anyone else would want to publish my weird, flawed book. Three offers rolled in after Torquere’s, one from Evernight Teen, which is a much bigger small press, with owners who have yet to be incarcerated for stealing from their authors. I regret not giving myself the chance to take their offer. But I’ve learned not to put myself in that position again.

Right now, I’m deciding whether I want to forget this book ever happened or try to re-home it with another publisher. I’m leaning toward the former, because my energy is focused on my next book. But I don’t have to choose right now. After all, I still don’t have my rights back.

 

Stock photo via Unsplash

I‘m going to be blogging about freelancing a lot, for two reasons. One, I’m in the process of transitioning from a 9-to-5 newspaper job to self-employment and that’s where my focus is right now. Two, because there’s a lot of haziness and confusion about how freelancers make it work. I’m not saying I am an expert, since I’m just now switching over, but I am earning enough freelance income to cover my bills and quit my job. The assignments listed here pay $50-$200, depending on the client. Here are my main clients and how I got them.

Thrillist. Thrillist is my biggest client right now. My editor generally offers me three to five health assignments every two weeks. I usually claim two assignments from each batch because that’s all I have time for. I’m hoping that once I’ve quit my job, I can take more, because I love health reporting, I love my editor, and I love working with Thrillist. I got this gig by cold-pitching Thrillist; you can read the cover letter I wrote here.

Imaginal Marketing Group. Imaginal handles marketing for salons nationwide. I usually write blog content for them. I got this gig in August, thanks to a referral from owner Kathleen Turpel, who used to work at the newspaper where I work now. This is another reason I’m glad to have had my newspaper job for so long–the contacts are invaluable and the position is a great platform. I suggest that anyone who wants to become a freelance writer work a full-time writing job first (not that this is a super easy thing to do, but if you have the chance, take it, or at least intern). 

SixEstate. This is a content marketing firm, too. I got this gig by applying on WorkNola.com, and a recent scan of that site reveals the owners are looking to pick up more copywriters. So feel free to apply.

SOLID Web Service. I write blog posts for spine surgeons, bariatric surgeons, physical therapists and soon, a lawyer. This is a position where my health reporting background really comes in handy. I got this gig through LinkedIn. Owner Jamie Foster saw my profile and contacted me. So it always pays to keep your LinkedIn profile up to date, if you’re a freelancer.

This is how my week (Monday, Dec. 5 through Friday, Dec. 9) breaks down, freelance-gig wise:

Monday: Blog post for SixEstate 

Tuesday: Blog post for SOLID Web Service 

Wednesday: Blog posts for SixEstate and Imaginal 

Thursday: Blog post for Imaginal 

Friday: Blog post for SixEstate and stylist profile for Imaginal 

The week’s invoices will total $460*.  That’s a little short of the goal I set for myself ($500 a week), but it is still pretty dang good, especially since I am still working full-time at the newspaper. I also get income from renting out my spare bedroom on Airbnb, which warrants its own post. Anyway, next week, I’m set to earn $450, writing two Thrillist pieces and a blog post. That’s also my very last week as a 9-to-5er. As much as I am going to miss the people at Gambit, I’m looking forward to only working one job starting December 16.

*If you want to know what each client pays per blog, message me–I feel like they wouldn’t appreciate me sharing rates on a public post, though.

Heavily tattooed is a subjective term–some people might consider me lightly tattooed. I do have a fair amount of plain skin left. At the same time, I also have about 70 hours of getting tattooed under my belt. So I know a little bit about becoming heavily tattooed, which is an ongoing process for me.

I got my first tattoo on my hip when I was 18, in 1998. Even though I was obsessed with tattoos and worked briefly as a piercing apprentice, it was nine years before I got my next tattoo. That’s because I was in a strict new religious movement for many of those years, and when I wasn’t, I was doing work that required a blank slate, body wise. Things like local modeling, background acting, stripping and promotional work. It was more lucrative for me not to have tattoos, so I held off.

Of course, I had all the usual concerns: Will I regret this? What if people give me shit about the way I look? How will tattoos affect my job opportunities? So I didn’t get tattooed again until I was 27, and that tattoo was a cover-up of the one I got at 18. I didn’t start getting tattooed heavily and often until I was in my early 30s. I think that’s for a few different reasons, but mostly, I realized that I’ve loved and had tattoos for half my life, so I will probably still love and want them in the future. If there were a few things I could tell myself before I got tattooed, this is what I’d say.

Yes, you will regret some of your ink. I don’t love every single one of my tattoos. Some of them, I wish I could go back and change. I don’t regret getting tattoos, but I regret the loss of opportunity that comes with a new tattoo–once you tattoo over plain skin, it’s gone forever. Sometimes, I wish I could start my tattoo collection all over again.

These are my tattoo regrets: My shoulder caps. I wish I had only gotten one rose and left the other shoulder bare so I could start with a blank canvas for a sleeve someday. I sometimes wish my tattoos weren’t in color because I love the look and cohesion a body of grayscale tattoos has. I wish my side piece didn’t extend so far onto my back, because it’s going to look weird when I’m ready to get a backpiece.

The way people treat you in public won’t change that much. In 1998, when I had my septum pierced, I could hardly leave the house without someone asking me if it hurt, staring, or asking rude questions like, “Why do you want to make yourself ugly?” I thought I was in for more of the same if I got public skin, like my arms and legs, tattooed. Lo and behold, the world has changed A LOT in the past 18 years when it comes to body modification. I have never once had someone say something rude about my tattoos or piercings. Weird, huh? It’s generally only compliments. The only downside is, people do use my ink as an excuse to touch me.

You will still be able to hold a good job. I waited years before getting my forearm tattooed because even though I work at an alt-weekly, it’s fairly conservative–for example, our CEO asked me to disguise my gauged ears. Finally, I decided this was my body and I was going to do what I wanted with it. I told HR I was planning on getting arm tattoos, and they just said that was fine, but there might be some situations where I needed to cover them. It was so not a big deal. Now that I’m about to go freelance, my appearance matters even less. In fact, my next tattoo is probably going to be on my hand.

You will feel happy every time you look down at your body and see your ink. For a long time, my biggest tattoos were on my back, torso and hips, hidden by clothes. I thought the fact that I had extensive, hidden tattoos made me a secret badass, unlike those people who flaunted a tiny public piece on their wrist. That’s not true, obviously. Where you have your tattoos boils down to preference and life circumstance–it doesn’t make you more or less of a badass. However, I am so glad I ventured into having tattoos in more public areas, because that means I get to see them as part of my day-to-day life. I think they’re beautiful, and when I see them on me, I feel more beautiful than I did when they weren’t there.

You will create a rich, rewarding relationships with this art form and the tattooers who create it. I love looking at tattoos on other people. I love browsing through artist portfolios. I love seeing tattoos on strangers. I love the creative process of thinking about a tattoo I want for myself, drafting Pinterest boards of inspiration, researching artists whose work fits my vision, and finally, I love getting the tattoo and seeing my body slightly transformed. The whole process has brought such richness and pleasure to my life. I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my days without it.

 

 

Stock photo

1. Start by going freelance.

I don’t mean you should just up and quit your job without notice. No, that would be lunacy. What I mean is start freelancing while you have a full-time job. A study by the Academy of Management found your businesses is 33 percent less likely to fail if you launch it while you’re still employed.

So find your first client well before you quit your day job. Look on Flexjobs, Craigslist, Worknola or whatever, apply and (hopefully) get hired. Once you have built up some recurring work, test-drive freelancing by taking a day or a week off and working on freelance projects during that time. Pay attention to what you like or don’t like about it. Do you enjoy being at home and working? Do you find it easier to get things done in a shared workspace or a coffee shop? Maybe you’ll find you miss the structure and camaraderie of your office. Whatever you learn, take that knowledge and use it to decide whether or not freelancing is right for you. Before I took the plunge to full-time freelancer, I scheduled a whole vacation week during which I only worked on freelance projects. I loved it! And I loved that I knew I loved it.

2. Track your bare-bones expenses for a couple months on a spreadsheet.

I did this so I knew the bare minimum I needed to survive. I found out I can live comfortably on $24,000; I can scrape by while maybe feeling a little deprived on $18,000, and I can survive on $12,000, but just barely. Those numbers give you something to aim for as you build up your roster of clients.

3. Build up more freelance clients and income sources until you can easily meet your minimum expenses.

The great thing about getting clients is this: once you start, if you do a good job, your existing clients may give you more work or refer you to others. As work snowballs, you might find yourself with an additional part- or full-time job on your hands. Yes, this might mean long days, working on weekends and a lot of stress. Remind yourself it’s temporary, and that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel–self employment! A career with unlimited growth and income potential, flexibility and opportunities to work from home with your cats.

4. Start a website.

You should actually do this before you start freelancing. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Just let it be your digital placard in ye old Internet land. Feel free to optimize your website toward your business or just use it as a place to blog and share information about yourself. The great thing about blogging/creating websites is that it’s perfectly fine to figure it out as you go along. And once you start your website and optimize its SEO and hook it up to Google Analytics, you can learn not only about yourself, but also about the people who are taking in the stuff you’re creating. Take this blog, for example. I had no idea what its purpose would be when I created it, and it’s still a work in progress–but I can tell which posts are the most popular ones (that’s the microblading piece, by a landslide) and see the need they’re filling. Also, clients like it if you have a website. Why would they hire someone who’s a virtual blank space when they could hire someone they “know?” On the same note, max out your LinkedIn real estate, too, and get aggressive on social media.

5. Buy a house or refinance your mortgage (or both).

I actually did both of these things. I closed on my house in 2014 and refinanced (sweet, sweet 2.8 percent, baby) in 2016. The reason I refinanced wasn’t only because interest rates were good. It was because banks won’t even look at a self-employed person until they have two years’ of freelance income to present. So I knew I’d be locked out of the real estate market for a MINIMUM of two years. 

6. Project your income for your first year and get Obamacare based on that income.

Yeah, you need to get on that Obamacare fast, because who knows what’s going to happen under this new administration? There’s some possibility that existing users may be grandfathered in, though. So figure out your projected income based on the work you’ve been doing for the clients you have. Err on the conservative side. Then pay for the year up front on a credit card, preferably one that offers cash back or air travel miles. Here’s to your health.

7. Save up a nice money cushion.

This should be easy because of all the freelance work you’re doing on top of your full-time job. As tempting as it may be, don’t treat yourself with your additional income. Put it in the bank where it can serve as a cushion during that precarious first year as a freelancer. I saved $10,000 before putting in my notice. Which is comforting, because I’ll be ready in case there’s a client who pays late or not at all, a pet who needs emergency surgery, etc. etc….

8. Go to the doctor, use sick days, and max out your cafeteria plan.

Get your health-related issues worked out while you have got a solid health insurance plan and paid sick days. Do any surgeries while you still have a cafeteria plan. I used paid vacation days and my company’s cafeteria plan to have PRK eye surgery– and I’m really glad I did. Neither of those luxuries would have been afforded to me if I was a freelancer.

9. Talk to other freelancers who’ve made the leap.

I found invaluable advice, support and encouragement from talking to other freelancers. In fact, Juliet Meeks gave me the advice in #6.

10. Quit your job and tell people why.

When you quit your job, people are going to be curious about your reasons for leaving. This is a prime opportunity to tell them you’re going freelance and hey, you’re available for work. Also, if there are cocktail parties, events, industry mixers, etc., that you usually opt out of, well, STOP. Go to that shit. Tell people you’re freelancing. SING IT TO THE WORLD. (Just like I’m doing now … cough, cough.)

 

 

As some of you know, I got my eyebrows micro-bladed in January 2016. Microblading is a semi-permanent tattooing technique during which an esthetician makes tiny, hairlike cuts in and around the eyebrows, then applies ink made of vegetable dye to the incisions. (I found it pretty painful.) The result is soft, feathery, natural results that give your brows a permanently on-fleek look, without requiring a daily investment of time and brow powder.

However, that’s not to say there’s no investment at all. The procedure costs around $300-$600 depending on where you live, and results last six months to two years. When I had microblading done at Beso Makeup, I was really skeptical about the whole semi-permanent thing. Like, is it really semi-permanent? You’re cutting into my skin and rubbing ink into those wounds. Would this fade naturally–or at all?

The answer is yes, my microbladed eyebrows did fade. It’s now almost a year since I had my touch-up appointment, and the tattoo is basically gone. In the photo below, the faintest smudge of brown is discernible  over the arch of my left brow. It’s not visible except in bright, direct sunlight–my sister saw it outside and said, “Do you have something on your face?” I said, yes, a faded tattoo.

The impermanence could be a good thing or a bad thing for you, depending on how much you liked your end result. Personally, I’m a little disappointment my microblading didn’t last longer. While I loved the finished look, I don’t see myself shelling out more than $500 a year to maintain the results. I can get pretty much the same effect with brow mascara.

If microblading were cheaper, or if it lasted a couple years, or if I had very thin brows, I could see myself making this a regular part of my beauty routine. As it is, I’m glad I tried microblading, but probably won’t be getting it again soon.

If you’ve had microblading done, how long did your results last? Let me know in the comments.

Growing up in south Louisiana, figs weren’t so much a delicacy as they were a fact of life, something to be dealt with. In June and July, it’s hard to keep up with the mass ripening. Figs are constantly foisted upon summer potlucks, and I feel kind of meh when that happens. My coworker brings hundreds of figs into the office kitchen during the summer season. It’s either that or let the fig trees throw their fruit to the ground, where it lays smashed, overripe, ringed with mosquitoes and fruit flies. I didn’t develop a taste for figs until my thirties.

Last night I was reading Sweetbitter, which an Airbnber left behind (thanks, Airbnber). Sweetbitter kind of makes me want to wait tables again, even though I know it was really nowhere near as great as the book makes it sound (at least for me it wasn’t, but I didn’t work at a tony Manhattan place). Anyway, there’s this part where the narrator’s crush leaves a secret gift of figs in her locker. They become sort of this symbol for voluptuousness and sensuality.  He gives her four figs–only four!– and she devours them and likens them to sunlight.

Since we have a fig surplus down here, it was novel to for me to see them depicted as precious and rare. Was it really impossible to grow figs in most of the country, I wondered? I googled “Where do figs grow in the US” and learned about how ancient figs are, how they were the first fruits ever domesticated by man, and I realized figs really ARE precious and rare and voluptuous, and they DO taste like sunlight. And then I learned they can only be grown in the very deep south and California. I felt grateful to be from a place where magic is so commonplace, we don’t always see it for what it is.

Yesterday, I walked to Frenchmen Street from my place in Bywater with Elizabet and Duane. We were on our way to Bryan’s gig at Blue Nile. It’s a nice walk, a little over a mile each way, and last night was the air felt crisp and spooky, like fall. I didn’t want to let the kilometers go to waste, so I busted out Pokemon Go. Some of us have Digletts to walk, you know? Neither Elizabet nor Duane play, but they’re both familiar with it, because the museum where Elizabet works is a gym. Anyway, I spent what is in retrospect an embarrassing amount of time talking about Pokestops, pointing out the homes of other players when we passed them and explaining the concept of location spoofing and why it’s not a good idea. 

I did all this while catching numerous Rattatas and Pidgeys and collecting Pokeballs galore. It’s actually very weird to move through two realities at once–and it’s weird that most of the time, existing in a hybrid dimension doesn’t feel weird at all. Not that I’m trying to slam people for being on their phones all the time and missing out on the “real” world.  I appreciate the beauty of the real world more when I play Pokemon Go. I don’t get inured to the sight of crumbling brick roads, palm trees and pastel shotgun houses. When I look up from the blue-green grid that is the Pokemon universe, the richness and detail of the physical world hit me with new power.

I love raiding gyms on Friday nights with my neighbors, friends and family. I’ve convinced my cousin,  sister and her boyfriend to play the game and join my team (Valor). I’ve bonded with strangers ranging from children outside a library to a non-English speaking nail technician over the game–it cuts through language, class, age and race barriers the same way football does. I’ve also joined a secret Facebook group, Nola Team Valor, where accusations of subterfuge and gym-raiding strategies run rampant. Ultimately, the makers of the game have created a structure that rewards you for walking, traveling and connecting with people.

On one hand, that’s cool. On the other hand, as lots of people have pointed out, the implications of this new panopticon (Pokeopticon?) are vaguely terrifying. I’m not too worried about that because I’m already deeply enmeshed in the digital grid. What does give me pause is the layer of reality Pokemon Go creates, which encompasses participants like a caul. It contains and nurtures me, but it also separates me from everyone outside its amniotic grip. I felt that keenly yesterday with Elizabet and Duane, walking beside them but not always with them, describing things around them that they could not see.

 I used to hate cats. I’d boo at them in the streets and chuckle any time a cat died in a movie. My neighborhood is overrun by colonies of feral cats who felt as dispensable as pigeons. I suspected anyone who harbored a feline in their homes of codependence. Why else would you scoop up the shit of a creature who had utter disdain for you?

That was before I had a cat of my own. Now I have two, Claude and Roland. They’re brothers and they were born in my living room. (You can read more about how that happened here.) I don’t know what’s more amazing, the fact that I passionately love these cats or the fact that the narrow space behind my saggy plaid sofa become a portal for life to tumble through.

Because I love my two cats, I somehow, by default, love ALL cats. Especially the cats in my neighborhood. Claude and Roland’s mother is feral. She comes by the house sometimes, along with her brother, to eat the cat food I leave on the deck and peer at her offspring through the glass back door. These meetings are tense and marked by hissing, like most family reunions. But I like that I know my cats’ mother and uncle and presumably dozens of their cousins, who cross my path when I go for a run or walk to the corner store to buy wine. Some of them are black, like Claude and Roland; some are tortoiseshell, some tuxedo. I don’t know the Byzantine structure of their feral feline family tree, but I would wager my cats are loosely related to almost every feral cat in the neighborhood.

Last weekend, Bryan and I went for a walk (well he was walking, I mostly was stropping to catch Pokemons). We saw a family of black cats on a porch– a mother and two kittens. They shrank back and disappeared under the house. But before they left, I noticed the kittens were almost exactly the same size Claude and Roland had been a year ago. If we hadn’t captured their mother when she was pregnant, they would have been born under a dumpster or in some crawl space somewhere and been terrified by our presence, the way these young feral catlings were.

“It’s a fig tree,” a neighbor yelled at us, thinking we were admiring her greenery.

“Oh, I was looking at your kittens,” I said.

“Do you want one?” she asked.

“No. We already have two cats,” Bryan said, explaining the story of their birth.

“I took three,” she said with long-suffering resolve, implying we probably had room for one more cat.

Here’s the thing. I already dread the day Claude and Roland die. I picture it in my mind, calling a mobile vet to euthanize them in my home, so they won’t be too scared when the needle slips in and life drains out. Or maybe it will be something more sudden — a collision, a dog attack.

When life is taken, it often feels random and meaningless and you can’t understand why. But I never asked for these cats; they appeared under my couch and now it’s hard to imagine them not being here. Life is given just as arbitrarily, so I guess that makes it fair.

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Congrats! You’re a published writer. It’s been a long road, hasn’t it? Researching, writing, revising and interviewing sources for your piece. Pitching editor after editor and weeping softly into a jar of peanut butter when the rejections (or radio silence) roll in. Well, don’t put that spoon away yet, because your job is not done. Not by a long shot.

This is the stuff you absolutely must do after your story goes live.

Tweet it, put it on Facebook, pin it. Ask your mom to do the same. Maybe hit up your friends, too. Use whatever means necessary to put that shit on blast via social media. Not only because some contributor networks offer financial incentives– namely, cash bonuses if your story goes viral– but because more eyes on your story means more eyes on your byline, which means more followers. And editors absolutely take your number of social media followers into account when they’re considering whether to accept your pitch. Sad but true.

Email it to your sources. Remember everyone who helped you out when you were trying to pull this thing together? Now you get to return the favor. Bonus: you can politely ask your sources to share the piece via their social media platforms.

Monitor the story for comments and respond when appropriate. Sometimes online commenters are snarky assholes and make fun of you for commenting on your own story. But engaging with these assholes generally results in a livelier discussion, making it more likely that your story will get shared and read. So talk to them. Be disarmingly friendly and easygoing. Make them love you. Or at least, make them pay attention to you, which is the next best thing.

Add the link to your online portfolio. Add it to your website, your LinkedIn, your Contently portfolio, wherever it is on the internet that you go to gain admiration and employment.

Send a physical thank-you note to your editor. It might be overkill to do this every time. But if you’re working with someone new or had a really plum assignment? Definitely doesn’t hurt to say thanks. Also send a thank you note to the person who hooked you up, if applicable.

Make sure you get paid.  Find out if you need to invoice and how to do that, if necessary. Be prepared to fill out a bunch of paperwork. Hound your editor if the money isn’t forthcoming. You’re a professional, damn it.

Y‘ALL! Mardi Gras is SIX DAYS AWAY. I hope you’re stuffing your faces with king cake, catching beads and dancing in the streets as much as possible. In the spirit of Carnival, I thought I’d share a piece I wrote for Gambit a couple years back. It lists tips for members of walking and dancing troupes — all of whom cover lots of ground during a parade. How much? Thoth’s route is more than six miles. Add another parade (or two or three) to the mix and you’re logging serious distance, making Mardi Gras parades athletic events on par with the Crescent City Classic.  I marched in parades in 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 and 2016, and I’ve figured out some tricks for getting the most out of the experience. Here they are.

1. Test out your parade gear ahead of time. Ideally, your Mardi Gras dance troupe will do a few practice marches, but if not, you’ll want to take your costume and shoes for a spin. The parade is not the time to find out your boots blister your heels or your sequined halter top chafes your armpits.

2. Check out the weather and plan appropriately. If there’s rain on the forecast, wear waterproof mascara. If it’s cold, layer your tights and slip a handwarmer into your pocket.

3. Figure out your ride situation ahead of time. If you’re lucky enough to have a bus, I’m jealous of you. Otherwise, hit up a friend to drop you (and as many others as the car will hold) off at the lineup point. You’ll end the parade downtown. Good luck finding an Uber to shuttle you back Uptown if you left your car at the staging area.

4. Eat a big meal before the parade. You’ll probably have to line up two hours before the parade rolls, and the actual marching will take at least two to three hours. I like a peanut butter and honey sandwich on wheat, plus a banana and coffee. This meal came recommended to me by a marathon-running friend, and it’s the perfect mix of carbs and protein.

5. Pee before you leave the house. Pee in the port-o-potties by the staging area. Pee whenever you get a chance, because once the parade starts, it’s going to be tough to pee.

6. If you have to pee during the parade, float breakdowns are your best friend. There’s always at least one point when the parade stops for no discernible reason. Use this time to hit up the port-o-potties. If there’s a line, tell the crowds you’re marching and the masses will part. People are deeply respectful of paraders. Use the rest of the down time to drink or eat a snack. Impromptu dance parties also are welcome.

7. Drink, but don’t get drunk. Passing a drink around among friends is a good way to achieve this. When it comes to booze, I’m a fan of whiskey and water. The whiskey is great during cold weather and I like to think the water hydrates me. Unlike beer, it packs an alcoholic wallop and won’t send you running to the port-o-potty. Moderation is key here. You don’t want to forget your choreography. As far as illicit substances go, just keep in mind that they can make masked revelers seem super terrifying. Plan accordingly.

8. Break out of formation to hug your friends. This is contentious advice. My dance team captain would be pissed if I did this, but I don’t care*. Your friends will be flattered and everyone who witnesses your embrace will be charmed. That’s just sweet. More than sweet, it’s entertaining. And why else do people go to parades?

9. Save energy for these key areas: the viewing stand by Gallier Hall, the interstate overpass at Lee Circle and the final stretch on Canal Street. These spots draw huge crowds and you want to look on point.

10. Smile and make eye contact with people in the audience. This is a no-brainer, but really, smile the whole time, because there are cameras along the entire route, and you don’t want to look dour. It’s pretty easy to grin when thousands of people are cheering for you. In fact, you probably won’t be able to stop. Happy Carnival!