So, I read a lot of crime fiction, in particular, short crime fiction as published in Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine. The editor of "AHMM" was interviewed a couple of years ago and noted how many stories crossed her desk that started off with a weather report. Kinda brought things home for me.
When someone noted last week that I was starting off many of my blog reports with what time it was, it really hit home for me, too. I am working really hard not to mention that, but work with me, will you?
The new issue of Frank went online this morning. My humble contributions this time come in at seven pages, which surprised me. I was doubly surprised at lunch time when my editor wrote to inform me that my cheque was ready for pick up. Patricia, who works downtown, close to the Frank offices, picked it up for me.
I have written about this before, but I can remember times in my life when it seemed that getting paid for my efforts would result in near fisticuffs. Once or twice, I felt I was inconveniencing those who were paying me. Putting them out.
My dad never forgot the people for whom he did work who never "got around" to paying him, sometimes mentioning them years and years later, with ever-increasing bitterness. He would have to pay his men, and the businesses that had sold him the supplies necessary to do this work, but the so-and-so's never actually paid him. And then there were the people who took their sweet ever lovin' time to pay him. They were always the ones who had the nice cars and houses. Doctors. Lawyers. One man strung Dad along in the early 00's. Guy with the same last name as one I hear on the news from time to time. An unusual name. Wonder if they're related? Makes me not want to trust him, just by association.
I never forgot those experiences, when Dad would have to almost beg these people to pay, and the excuses they employed to delay doing so. So, when it came time for me to start earning my own money, I was particularly sensitive to what he had gone through. The few times it happened to me stung me as much as his experiences, stung my father.
This has never been the experience with Frank. They pay me on time every month. Sometimes, it is literally the last day of the month, which is fine, but I get that money, and it is broken down by each piece that I submitted that was published. This media column has X number of words at Y cents per word, working out to a certain amount. That true crime piece with Q number of words also at Y cents per word, working out to another amount. That kind of thing, covering my contributions for the full month, which is usually two issues. Add up those numbers, and that is the amount of my cheque. Easy peasy. And very much appreciated.
I'd be interested in your stories of getting paid late, or not getting paid at all, for work you performed.
Anyway, we got home after a quick trip to Costco. Had some more of those astonishingly-good salmon fishcakes. There are enough for tomorrow night's dinner, I hope, so that is six meals we will have had using stuff we already had on hand. We finished the night by watching two more episodes of season one of "The Outsiders", which I know is canceled, but let's hope that there was some kind of resolution. Don't tell me what happens.
It is getting late. We were up extra early this morning to get the car to the dealership to have the Winter tires swapped out with the regular tires. So, we are extra tired tonight.
See you tomorrow.