Friday marked my four year freelance-iversary, which means that this Tinyletter is also four. Which is crazy! Freelancing was supposed to be a stopgap measure until I figured out what I was going to actually do with my life; now, I just do this.

Of course, what was already pretty perilous has become basically impossible Amidst Coronavirus. I haven't sold a piece since the shutdown started six weeks ago, which means at this point I'm living on a) stuff I sold prior (the only advantage of invoicing on publication is that I still have April checks to cash) b) the last third of my advance for Look and c) a ghostwriting gig that, thank god, will keep me busy through the end of the month. After that ends, in all likelihood I will be applying for unemployment. (I mean, I'll also apply for any jobs that will have me, but I've been doing that since the beginning of the year and here we are.)

What is there to say about this? Nothing, really. Media was already a dying industry. I'm lucky and will, ultimately, be fine.

In the mean time, I am used to living month-to-month, to the work and the money only ever coming through at the last possible minute. When I first started freelancing more experienced friends would take me to drinks and tell me that this was the thing that would happen: it would almost fall apart, and then it wouldn't. There would be no work for a while, and then there would be too much. I would stop panicking when it was quiet. I would learn to trust the uncertainty.

To some extent, that is what happened. I have sworn I was going to quit writing three or four times in the last four years and every time something happens, some gig pops up, and I think well, I'll do this until it ends, and then after that, a job.

But the jobs don't materialize. The gigs do. This ghostwriting thing has been in the works for a few months but only came together just as I was seriously, seriously running out of cash. 

Some days I try to make it mean something. Most days I'm just glad it's happening.

In retrospect, almost none of my plans for the last four years worked out. But other things did, and so I'm still here. I'm sitting in the kitchen barefoot and the wind is rattling our blinds. I will work every day of May, and get paid for it. I will do what I can until I find out what the hell is going to happen next, which, when I stop to consider it, is all I've ever been able to do anyway, so!!! Here we are, y'all. Just, that's it, some days: okay, here we are. 

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My local indie, Skylight, asked me to record an episode for their podcast; I enlisted podcast witch & dear friend Gina Delvac to co-host.

Also, Veronica Roth named Look one of her favorite quarantine reads, which was lovely. 

Lastly, I'm thinking about teaching a virtual fiction workshop while we're all still staying at home. Would any of you be interested in something like that? If so, hit reply & let me know.