I haven’t been procrastinating on the weekly procrastination series. I’ve been busy. You see, a holiday tradition in Hollywood is that producers and studios and networks and publishers finish their to-do lists so that they can go off on their vacations and trips to the parents and Hawaiian safaris and nightly festivities. This means all of my hurry-up-and-wait comes to a screeching halt, as it’s time to Hear Notes and Write.
I debated showing a picture here of the stack of work beside me, but I wouldn’t want you to get jealous. I’m about to have a lot of late nights and airplane writing stretches. This is a good thing! This is being a writer. We work through most major events and holidays. It’s why you think we don’t appreciate you and ultimately leave us.
Let’s get to the question of the week. Continue reading
This has been a most unpleasant Friday the 13th. I wrote a story when I was nine about a kid who had the worst day of his life (bad test grade, grounded by parents, little sibling gets awesome present), only to figure out it was due to the date. Here I am, twenty years later, living out my nightmare. Today’s disappointments have ranged in severity to where I am now sitting at my computer sweating. I’m typing and sweating because I’m overwhelmingly frustrated. Every new piece of bad news has been followed with someone saying, “It’s not your fault; these things happen.”
“It makes it hard to celebrate,” I told our realtor. “No matter how good the news, you know there’s disappointment coming. There’s always something else.” Continue reading
Yesterday was a very expensive day.
The City of Los Angeles wants two years of back business taxes from me, since I work at home. Did you know this? As a writer, you owe money to the city so that you can work at home. I have to file two years of back taxes. Luckily, since I don’t make a dime from the city, I don’t have to declare the entire amount, but pay taxes on a percentage. But still. There goes Christmas.
“Just work it, girlfriend,” the tax lady on the phone told me. “You know how it goes. Say ‘My baby’s sick’ or ‘My husband’s in jail’ or whatever it takes to get an extension or a payment plan or whatever. You’re a writer,” she said to me. “Write yourself an excuse.”
You know those days when you turn over your change jar and shake out all the quarters and then sadly you realize you have a bank account balance that would only please a twelve-year old? It’s one of those days. I hate stressing about money, and that’s the main thing going on today.
I also don’t like talking about money, or talking about money problems because inevitably you send up sounding like an asshole. Someone’s always got worse money problems than you do. That’s like me complaining about my swimmer’s ear next to a guy with a seeing eye dog. It’s hard to keep everything in perspective, though, when you allow yourself to get so nervous about money.
Working freelance means you never really know when that next paycheck is coming, and it’s hard to budget. It’s almost impossible to just splurge on something because you end up regretting it later when that one check you were counting on isn’t coming for another month, or might not be coming ever again. Anyway, I allowed myself to wallow in my brokeness today, and I’m just the worst person to be around.
corrupting the mormon dolls
Oh, man. I didn’t think it was possible, but I’m going to spend even more money today than I’ve ever spent not writing bills.
pamie.com is bigger than the hosting plan I just bought. What does that mean for you? Well, it means I’m moving the site again, and in maybe a week or so the IP will transfer and we’ll have that couple of days where you might not be on the new IP. This will only make a difference in the forum for maybe a day or two.
fought over like wolves by fifteen different companies
Pay day. I made it. Very exciting. Now it’s time to give it all back to the various companies that own my checking account much more than I do. I sit back and I look at this stack of bills and I wonder how they pile up. You know that when you decide to live with someone, one of the first justifications that the two of you make to each other is that everything will be cheaper.
This is never the case.
In theory, it should work. You should have extra money, because the two of you are halving all of the bills. But somehow, when there’s two of you, you have twice the bills. And I think through careful analysis, I should be able to see why I owe more than I think that I spend: