Best Business Practices for Photographers [31]
The transitional year for me as a staff photographer was 1993. I had spent almost three years traveling the country and the globe, to more than 40 of the 50 states, Cuba, all throughout Eastern Europe and the Americas. As a young staff photographer, I was firing on all cylinders, going at a hundred miles an hour. The problem was, I wasn't wearing a seatbelt, my brakes were shot, and my airbag had malfunctioned. I had no safety measures in place for the letter that I received in the spring of 1994 (see Figure 4.1).
Figure 4.1
When I received this letter, I was in shock. Was there something I could do? I was the chief photographer of a monthly magazine—I was responsible for dozens and dozens of photographs each month that were a part of our effort to fill 702 pages a month. How could they survive without my work? Who would travel for them? In came the other staff photographer, who had received the same letter, and he was upset. He was much older than me—probably in his 50s. Both he and I were being cut to half-time. "I can't take half my salary, John," said the other photographer. "I have to find another job that can support my family." And he left the building. For a moment, I was sad for him too, but my survival instinct kicked in, and I thought, "Well, if they can't support two of us full-time and place us both on half-time, and the other photographer leaves, then they can put me back on full-time." My brilliant idea might just save me. Then the word came back. Nope. We'll just have to do with you alone at half-time.
I quickly did the math. My takehome pay would only cover my rent and utilities, nothing more. I stocked up on Top Ramen (both in brick and cup form) and started to see how I would go about freelancing. At the same time I was doing that, I was still tasked with working 20 hours a week and doing my best work for the magazine, and those were some rough times. If I never eat another Top Ramen again, it will be too soon.
As I sought and produced a few assignments a month, I found I could pay things such as car insurance, gas, and a limited amount of savings that I put aside for leaner months. In January of 1996, the same editor handed me the letter in Figure 4.2.
A glimmer of hope! A light at the end of the tunnel! The magazine is doing well—so well, in fact, that I got a three-percent cost-of-living increase, and it was backdated five months! Steak dinner! And, the editor wrote words that made me feel like I was a part of the team: "Your efforts on behalf of the magazine are very much appreciated. Please keep up your good work."
Unfortunately, that light at the end of the tunnel was the freight train barreling toward me, and in August of 1996, just three weeks shy of my date to be fully vested in my retirement savings, I was laid off in a short meeting. I asked for just those few weeks, and the same editor who "very much appreciated" my efforts said no.
There are only two upsides to this story. The first is that I had just over two years—from spring of 1994 until August 1996—to grow a freelance business that was sustainable. The second is that I may well not have become (or survived as) a freelance photographer and thus written this book had this situation not happened to me. Hopefully, you will learn from my example how to best prepare for an unexpected departure from your staff position, even when you think things might be looking up.
Here's an important point: Until you start making a solid amount of income as a photographer, you may have to take another job (in another industry—perish the thought!) to support your freelance career as it gets off the ground. In my case, I had just enough revenue