I was recently musing aloud to my young, hot, domestic partner Warren, what it must sound like anymore whenever I call him at work. My guess was that it sounds like this: I hate my job, I hate everything, I’m going to lose the house, I have no idea how I’m going to make it, OH MY GOD YOU SHOULD SEE THE DOGS THEY HAVE YOGURT ON THEIR NOSES!! THEY ARE SO CUTE!! And that, really, is about all I have to say anymore. I’m trying to keep my chin up about this whole economy thing, and lord only knows I’ve been through hard—nay, harder times in the past. But the difference this time is that back in those days, I always had a good feeling that sooner or later another paid writing gig would come along. That’s no longer the case. I posted a blog entry a week ago about how paid writing gigs are shriveling up quicker than a stud’s nuts upon a swift jump into Barton Springs. And boy did I hit a chord—it is not my imagination what’s happening to writers, not at all. more ›