I was preparing for this afternoon's unpleasantness this morning, when I got a phone call from photographer D.: a magazine we work for is shutting down.
There goes roughly 60% of my income, maybe more. This was the pain-in-the-ass publication that has given me enormous doses of grief over the years -- my first piece for them appeared in 1987, as I recall -- but also a fair-sized pile of work.
No word yet on whether the two or so issues still to appear will use up the half-dozen stories I've done for them. If not, no pay; contributors only get their money when the issue containing their stories is actually published.
I'm speechless. And somewhat numb. It's getting a bit late to build up the energy to start trying -- again -- to line up fresh clients in the ever-shrinking pond.
I'm not a paranoid. Really. But it sure seems as if something out there is working hard to feed me to the crusher.
It's succeeding, too.
22 hours ago