...is what I got in the mail today.
And it's stressing me, big-time.
I have received exactly one check from any client. Since January first.
Have I been working? Have I met deadlines, turned in articles that inspired little notes from the editors thanking me for putting out the effort to give them good stuff?
But somehow, there is a disconnect between doing the work and getting the shitweasels to pay.
Worse, when I finally did get hold of one of the editors on the phone last week -- he returned my call because he wanted to find out when I would have another article completed for him -- it turns out he inadvertently deleted the copy for a story I sent him and somehow forgot to ask for another.
I sent it to him last October. It should already be in print and paid for.
There are few things as humiliating as dodging creditors or trying to explain the strangeness of this so-called "business" to someone who simply wants money.
If everyone paid off tomorrow -- which is as unlikely as, well, another impossible desire of mine -- I would be all caught up, with a few bucks to spare for something frivolous. Like maybe a run to Borders to pick up a couple new books. For me, that would be almost unbearable excitement.
In the meantime, I have to keep a low profile until someone decides they might as well pay.
And I have to keep working, which gets less and less appetizing by the day.
How many more days can I manage this unbalanced balancing act before snapping? I don't know.
1 day ago