I've been in the freelance game a year and a half, roughly. Three years if you count the time I spent working part-time. I have had phenomenal early success. By that I mean that I have more money than I need to pay my bills, I don't spend time looking for work, I choose which clients and even which projects I work on, and I turn down anything that doesn't feel like a good fit. I've reached the point most freelancers set as a goal for "success." So how did I get there?
Step 1: Be really good at what you do.
I know this can sound daunting when you're just starting out. You may feel like an amateur, only posing as a professional and completely without direction. I certainly did.
But I don't mean you should be really good at marketing yourself, or at keeping your books, or at tracking and prioritizing your projects. Those are the trappings of running a business, and while you do need to become good at them, you'll inherently stumble a bit at first.
But that's not what you do. That supports what you do. What you do is that craft that you sell. For me, it's writing and editing. For you it could be any number of things: baking, painting, doing taxes, sewing. It doesn't matter. Just be a master.
You might already be really good at what you do, even if you've only just started freelancing. Many people begin freelancing because they've been doing something they love for years, even decades, and they decide to turn it into a full-time occupation. If so, wonderful. Keep at it. You've mastered your trade.
If not, take some time to become really good before you strike out as a freelancer. Take some classes, or maybe even get a degree. Work as an intern. Volunteer your services for friends and family. Practice constantly. Show your practice work to people and get their input. Keep doing these things until you're really good. Master your craft before you sell it.
Step 2: Get really lucky.
This sounds horribly defeating, I know. Luck plays an unfortunately large part in success. But, like a Vegas casino, you can stack the odds in your favor to bring luck your way.
First, specialize. Do people want a baker, or do they want a wedding cake baker? Even more, do they want a wedding cake baker who makes masterpieces that look like a zombie apocalypse? The more specialized you make your craft, the more likely you are to draw a particular customer or client, and the more likely they are to pay you well.
You may protest, "But I like doing all sorts of things! I don't want to limit my work!" Well, who doesn't like doing all sorts of things? Specialize more than once. For example, I specialize in writing and editing primary and secondary science education materials. I also specialize in writing and editing sci-fi and fantasy novels and short stories. This doesn't mean I never write or edit anything else (of course I do), it just means I don't market myself that way or draw many clients who want other things. Your clients and customers have a very particular need, and they will feel confident you can meet it if you've stated upfront that it's what you do.
Second, tell everyone what you do. I mean everyone. Your hairstylist, your bank teller, your cab driver, your kids' teachers. You never know where your lead will come from. I got my first professional editing gig following a conversation with someone in a swimming pool at a friend's 4th of July party. Tell everyone.
Third, join a professional organization that matches freelancers with clients. Find a respected one in your field and pay whatever dues they require. Trust me, you'll earn it back. In writing and editing, I highly recommend the Editorial Freelancers Association. I get daily notifications about potential jobs. Two of those notifications were for clients who now provide almost all of my income. Again, specializing is useful here because clients who post job listings to groups like this are inundated with résumés. Yours will stand out if it showcases focus that matches the client's needs.
There may be other things that can help in specific industries, like building your website or attending conferences. Talk to successful freelancers in your industry to find out what they see as vital tools to finding clients. And have patience. For a while, you'll spend most of your time looking for jobs and clients. It can feel very defeating. Keep your head up. Your clients are out there, looking for you. Be ready when they find you.
Friday, October 14, 2016
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
A Problem of Pay
Before I was a writer and editor, I was a scientist.
Not, mind you, that I ever stop being any of those things. I have always written stories, and I have always been curious about the way the world works.
But I once made my living in science, and now I make it in words. And this has been enlightening.
This year, my second in business as a full-time writer and editor, I have already made an income equal to my highest salary as a biochemist. And I worked in biotech for 13 years.
I wasn't a bad scientist, either. I was far from great. No Nobel prizes have my name on them. But a few journal articles do, as well as a hell of a lot of reagents out there in the life sciences world (or they would, if I had put my name on every product I made or tested).
There was certainly no dearth of money to be shared in biotech, either. The company I worked for earned a profit (profit, not revenue) of nearly $2 billion the year they laid me off. Although I don't have hard data on the incomes of my colleagues, I do know the ballpark figures for a few of their salaries.
And the sad fact is that the men were paid more than the women. Not just when they did the same job, but even when the men were in lower pay grades. Men in lower positions than mine with fewer years at the company had higher salaries than I did.
The same isn't true in publishing. Women dominate the field. Most of the contractors I work with on projects are women, and nearly all of my clients are women. Women run the publishing houses I work with. Women write the contracts, approve the content, sign the checks.
And, as a woman in publishing, I am paid rather well. Not enough to afford a summer home and a yacht, mind you, but certainly enough to pay my bills, take a vacation somewhere exotic, and put some away in savings. I am paid equally well as I was in biotech, but I only have a couple years' experience under my belt. I can only imagine how much more I will earn in the next decade.
And this, at its core, is one of the biggest challenges women in science face. The overt sexism is obnoxious, but we lift our chins and shrug it off. But when we set our sights on the future, when we think about mortgages and student loans and car payments, we must confront the reality of the wage gap. This industry that demands our late nights and weekends, that insists we get results at any cost, that challenges every idea we have and insists on proof three times over, will also pay us less than our male counterparts, or even our male subordinates. Men in science tell us we don't work as hard and we don't know as much as they do, then pay us less to ensure we stay discouraged.
Women invented wireless technology and wrote the code that sent humans to the moon. Women discovered radioactivity and the structure of DNA. Women determined the composition of stars and demonstrated the existence of the Higgs Boson particle. If we want women to keep discovering, inventing, and engineering, we have to pay them. We have to make science worth their time and effort. We have to fund their work and their lives.
Not, mind you, that I ever stop being any of those things. I have always written stories, and I have always been curious about the way the world works.
But I once made my living in science, and now I make it in words. And this has been enlightening.
This year, my second in business as a full-time writer and editor, I have already made an income equal to my highest salary as a biochemist. And I worked in biotech for 13 years.
I wasn't a bad scientist, either. I was far from great. No Nobel prizes have my name on them. But a few journal articles do, as well as a hell of a lot of reagents out there in the life sciences world (or they would, if I had put my name on every product I made or tested).
There was certainly no dearth of money to be shared in biotech, either. The company I worked for earned a profit (profit, not revenue) of nearly $2 billion the year they laid me off. Although I don't have hard data on the incomes of my colleagues, I do know the ballpark figures for a few of their salaries.
And the sad fact is that the men were paid more than the women. Not just when they did the same job, but even when the men were in lower pay grades. Men in lower positions than mine with fewer years at the company had higher salaries than I did.
The same isn't true in publishing. Women dominate the field. Most of the contractors I work with on projects are women, and nearly all of my clients are women. Women run the publishing houses I work with. Women write the contracts, approve the content, sign the checks.
And, as a woman in publishing, I am paid rather well. Not enough to afford a summer home and a yacht, mind you, but certainly enough to pay my bills, take a vacation somewhere exotic, and put some away in savings. I am paid equally well as I was in biotech, but I only have a couple years' experience under my belt. I can only imagine how much more I will earn in the next decade.
And this, at its core, is one of the biggest challenges women in science face. The overt sexism is obnoxious, but we lift our chins and shrug it off. But when we set our sights on the future, when we think about mortgages and student loans and car payments, we must confront the reality of the wage gap. This industry that demands our late nights and weekends, that insists we get results at any cost, that challenges every idea we have and insists on proof three times over, will also pay us less than our male counterparts, or even our male subordinates. Men in science tell us we don't work as hard and we don't know as much as they do, then pay us less to ensure we stay discouraged.
Women invented wireless technology and wrote the code that sent humans to the moon. Women discovered radioactivity and the structure of DNA. Women determined the composition of stars and demonstrated the existence of the Higgs Boson particle. If we want women to keep discovering, inventing, and engineering, we have to pay them. We have to make science worth their time and effort. We have to fund their work and their lives.
Monday, August 24, 2015
The Problem of Timing
Wow, I've done a terrible job at keeping this blog updated. Blame the pile of work I've been getting through!
Speaking of which...
I had few illusions when I became self-employed. I have been lucky enough to know enough entrepreneurs and freelancers that I never expected a cakewalk, watching hours of soap operas or eating cookies all day. I always knew it was going to be tough.
But of course, it's tough in ways I hadn't predicted, and in some ways that are the very opposite of some of my main reasons for striking out on my own in the first place.
When and how much to work is chief among these. When you're self-employed, there's no such thing as sick leave or vacation. You can take time off, sure, but you don't get paid.
I knew this, and I was prepared for it. "I'll work more around the times I want to take time off," I thought.
Ha! Hahahahahahahahaha, what a naive little creature I was.
The thing is (especially in the first year of your full-time business), your clients don't care one whit for your schedule. They want what they want when they want it, which is often on Sunday, or by midnight tonight, or in three hours. And when they don't have any wants, you don't have any work. They can go for weeks at a time (even months or years?) without wanting anything from you, and without giving you warning.
So I can't bring myself to turn down that weekend/late night/right away work, even though it causes me a lot of stress, because I know that I'll go for days sometime without working any billable hours. When work is available, I snatch it up, because I never know when the next drought will be. And I'm still recovering from some seriously lean periods from the past few months.
The constant fear of running out of money permeates a lot of my decisions. I suspect it's this way for many freelancers, especially those of us just starting out.
So, sound off! Do you take work you don't really want to do because you're worried work won't be there when you want it? Do you let fear make your decisions for you? Have you somehow put this behind you, and if so, how? I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Speaking of which...
I had few illusions when I became self-employed. I have been lucky enough to know enough entrepreneurs and freelancers that I never expected a cakewalk, watching hours of soap operas or eating cookies all day. I always knew it was going to be tough.
But of course, it's tough in ways I hadn't predicted, and in some ways that are the very opposite of some of my main reasons for striking out on my own in the first place.
When and how much to work is chief among these. When you're self-employed, there's no such thing as sick leave or vacation. You can take time off, sure, but you don't get paid.
I knew this, and I was prepared for it. "I'll work more around the times I want to take time off," I thought.
Ha! Hahahahahahahahaha, what a naive little creature I was.
The thing is (especially in the first year of your full-time business), your clients don't care one whit for your schedule. They want what they want when they want it, which is often on Sunday, or by midnight tonight, or in three hours. And when they don't have any wants, you don't have any work. They can go for weeks at a time (even months or years?) without wanting anything from you, and without giving you warning.
So I can't bring myself to turn down that weekend/late night/right away work, even though it causes me a lot of stress, because I know that I'll go for days sometime without working any billable hours. When work is available, I snatch it up, because I never know when the next drought will be. And I'm still recovering from some seriously lean periods from the past few months.
The constant fear of running out of money permeates a lot of my decisions. I suspect it's this way for many freelancers, especially those of us just starting out.
So, sound off! Do you take work you don't really want to do because you're worried work won't be there when you want it? Do you let fear make your decisions for you? Have you somehow put this behind you, and if so, how? I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Making It!
Wow, can you believe I've been too busy to post?!
It's been three months since I started this freelance thing full-time. It's been a crazy ride. I'd like to share some of it with you.
The first month was bad. I spent all day, every day, sending out résumés and inquiries, and getting back rejection after rejection. It was terribly disheartening. In fact, it made me so upset I decided not to do it every day. I switched to looking for work only every other day, spending the rest of my time blogging, writing, and taking care of chores and errands. I also applied for and began receiving unemployment benefits. Although the money didn't amount to much, it was better than nothing.
The second month was worse. Still I sent out letter after letter, and still I got back, "Thanks, but no thanks." I started to doubt myself. Did I not have the skills to be a writer and editor? Was my work not good enough? Did I not have the gumption to work for myself? Was I going to fail?
I finally reached my breaking point. "Maybe I'll go back to biotech," I thought. "I have a ton of marketable skills. I could get a job easily."
Ha! The employers in that market consist of the company that laid me off, their big, ugly competitor (who's more ruthless when it comes to layoffs, I hear), and a startup that I know regularly lays off scores of people, only to hire them back as soon as the books are back in the black. Not appealing.
"So," I told myself, "it looks like you're stuck with editing. Better make it work." I'm so thankful I reached that point and realized there was no turning back. Knowing my fallback plan had fallen through gave me no choice but to succeed.
So the second month ended, and I was getting desperate. I felt I had used every resource at my disposal to find clients. Where was I supposed to look now? And then, suddenly, work happened. I got one, then two, then three clients. The work rolled in, and so did the pay. I was making it!
Now, at the end of the third month, I realize this is pretty unusual, and amazingly good. I have enough work to fill my time, and I'm making enough money to pay my bills. I've actually turned down work that wasn't a good fit. Having spoken with other freelancers, I now understand that my timeline is nearly unheard of. Some people spend months or even years working toward the goal I've already reached.
The nagging worry in my brain will probably never truly go away. What if I lose my best clients? What if I can't keep bringing in money? What if I run through all my savings? But those worries push me to succeed. They ensure I make good use of my time, and develop positive and mutually beneficial relationships with my clients. They keep me looking for work even when I have enough work to fill my time and bank account. They drive me to network and improve my skills.
Some days I'm still startled to wake up and realize that my business is successful. I constantly have to battle the suspicion that I have no idea what I'm doing.
But I'm learning, and I'm improving. And, finally, I'm doing what I want to do. Thanks for following me on this tremendous journey. You've all been amazing, and given me such support!
It's been three months since I started this freelance thing full-time. It's been a crazy ride. I'd like to share some of it with you.
The first month was bad. I spent all day, every day, sending out résumés and inquiries, and getting back rejection after rejection. It was terribly disheartening. In fact, it made me so upset I decided not to do it every day. I switched to looking for work only every other day, spending the rest of my time blogging, writing, and taking care of chores and errands. I also applied for and began receiving unemployment benefits. Although the money didn't amount to much, it was better than nothing.
The second month was worse. Still I sent out letter after letter, and still I got back, "Thanks, but no thanks." I started to doubt myself. Did I not have the skills to be a writer and editor? Was my work not good enough? Did I not have the gumption to work for myself? Was I going to fail?
I finally reached my breaking point. "Maybe I'll go back to biotech," I thought. "I have a ton of marketable skills. I could get a job easily."
Ha! The employers in that market consist of the company that laid me off, their big, ugly competitor (who's more ruthless when it comes to layoffs, I hear), and a startup that I know regularly lays off scores of people, only to hire them back as soon as the books are back in the black. Not appealing.
"So," I told myself, "it looks like you're stuck with editing. Better make it work." I'm so thankful I reached that point and realized there was no turning back. Knowing my fallback plan had fallen through gave me no choice but to succeed.
So the second month ended, and I was getting desperate. I felt I had used every resource at my disposal to find clients. Where was I supposed to look now? And then, suddenly, work happened. I got one, then two, then three clients. The work rolled in, and so did the pay. I was making it!
Now, at the end of the third month, I realize this is pretty unusual, and amazingly good. I have enough work to fill my time, and I'm making enough money to pay my bills. I've actually turned down work that wasn't a good fit. Having spoken with other freelancers, I now understand that my timeline is nearly unheard of. Some people spend months or even years working toward the goal I've already reached.
The nagging worry in my brain will probably never truly go away. What if I lose my best clients? What if I can't keep bringing in money? What if I run through all my savings? But those worries push me to succeed. They ensure I make good use of my time, and develop positive and mutually beneficial relationships with my clients. They keep me looking for work even when I have enough work to fill my time and bank account. They drive me to network and improve my skills.
Some days I'm still startled to wake up and realize that my business is successful. I constantly have to battle the suspicion that I have no idea what I'm doing.
But I'm learning, and I'm improving. And, finally, I'm doing what I want to do. Thanks for following me on this tremendous journey. You've all been amazing, and given me such support!
Monday, March 30, 2015
Aggiecon!
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| Commander Shepard and me at Aggiecon 46 |
I've been to Aggiecon in the past as a guest of Martin Whitmore, who runs a booth there for his company Ideaschema. In previous years I just helped out at the booth and occasionally wandered around the dealers' room, checking out what other vendors had for sale.
But this year...wow! I stopped and chatted with so many vendors and had the most amazing conversations. Aggiecon is well known for being very serious about its sci-fi and fantasy, hosting panels like "Rules Based Magic vs. Science Fantasy" and "Young Adults in Speculative Fiction." It thus attracts lots of genre authors, and this year was certainly no exception.
I talked with so many talented authors, like Christopher Dunbar (Morrigan's Brood series), Kathryn Friesen (the Power of Legends series, can you believe she's only fifteen?), Kimberly Hix Trant (#hashtagged), and Kathleen White (Lost and Found). And I had the most wonderful conversation with Monique Happy, owner of Winlock Press. Monique and I discussed the future of publishing and how self-publishing is changing the way books are made.
The cosplay this year was truly stellar, and I was thrilled to run into Commander Shepard of the Mass Effect game series (by far my favorite video game). The photo on this page is me with the Commander!
I was also able to attend more panels this year, which was really wonderful. As I mentioned previously, Aggiecon is superb for getting very deep into the nitty-gritty of great storytelling, and this year's panels were no exception. I especially enjoyed "Rules Based Magic vs. Science Fantasy," mentioned above. Not that all panels were serious: "Cosplay Bachelor/Bachelorette" was tremendous fun (and the Shaggy/Elsa matchup inspired Marty's creative spirit!).
Aggiecon this year really felt like my community, like a place where I belong. I had such a blast, and I can't wait to go back next year!
Monday, March 16, 2015
Following my Ethical Compass
Last week I turned down a job. I feel certain that act will stand out in my memory for a long, long time.
Let me explain. I am still getting my business running. I don't yet have enough work to fill my time, so I'm seeking clients fairly aggressively. Because income has been thin the past couple of months, every dollar a client pays me really counts.
So turning down work is a big, bold step. Why would I do that?
I had learned of the job via Craigslist, where the company posted an ad without a lot of details about the company itself. I met the qualifications so I emailed my résumé to the contact listed in the ad. I got a response within a few days asking for a writing sample, which I provided. At that time, I learned the company name and began some investigation into them.
A it turns out, the company engages in a practice I find unethical. What they do falls in a legal gray area, and some people have sound reasons for supporting the type of work they provide. I, however, feel their service is harmful. Their mission clashes with my personal ethics.
I spoke on the phone briefly with the man I had been in email contact with, and he was very excited to have me join their team. He had work for me right away, and the pay would not have been bad.
It was a real challenge to decline to take that work. It wouldn't have filled the gaps in my time completely, but it would have gone a long way toward doing so.
But I know that eventually I will have enough work to fill my time and enough income to pay my bills. And then I will look back on this decision and be proud of myself.
I began freelancing so I could have the professional freedom to take only projects I felt had merit. I have always disliked doing work someone else deemed important, especially when the product clashed with my sense of ethics. If I sell out when times are tough, I've gained nothing by freelancing except a great deal of stress.
An ethical compass is useless if it points toward money. I am glad mine points true, even if it's difficult right now. I am setting myself up for a better road ahead by doing the right thing even when it's the hard thing.
I know this decision was the right one, and I know I will always feel good about having made it.
Let me explain. I am still getting my business running. I don't yet have enough work to fill my time, so I'm seeking clients fairly aggressively. Because income has been thin the past couple of months, every dollar a client pays me really counts.
So turning down work is a big, bold step. Why would I do that?
I had learned of the job via Craigslist, where the company posted an ad without a lot of details about the company itself. I met the qualifications so I emailed my résumé to the contact listed in the ad. I got a response within a few days asking for a writing sample, which I provided. At that time, I learned the company name and began some investigation into them.
A it turns out, the company engages in a practice I find unethical. What they do falls in a legal gray area, and some people have sound reasons for supporting the type of work they provide. I, however, feel their service is harmful. Their mission clashes with my personal ethics.
I spoke on the phone briefly with the man I had been in email contact with, and he was very excited to have me join their team. He had work for me right away, and the pay would not have been bad.
It was a real challenge to decline to take that work. It wouldn't have filled the gaps in my time completely, but it would have gone a long way toward doing so.
But I know that eventually I will have enough work to fill my time and enough income to pay my bills. And then I will look back on this decision and be proud of myself.
I began freelancing so I could have the professional freedom to take only projects I felt had merit. I have always disliked doing work someone else deemed important, especially when the product clashed with my sense of ethics. If I sell out when times are tough, I've gained nothing by freelancing except a great deal of stress.
An ethical compass is useless if it points toward money. I am glad mine points true, even if it's difficult right now. I am setting myself up for a better road ahead by doing the right thing even when it's the hard thing.
I know this decision was the right one, and I know I will always feel good about having made it.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
What Science Says
Something I've seen more and more in the age of social media are phrases like "Science Says..." and "According to Science...." Headlines like these can include everything from how much coffee you should drink to why you should believe in God to which Pokemon can kill you. If it's not obvious yet, these phrases are complete bunk, and are used to sensationalize and legitimize clickbait, scams, and reactionary drivel.
Now that I'm working in science communication, this sort of misleading hyperbole is even more bothersome. Take it from me, as a scientist and a writer: science never says anything. Anyone who tells you differently is trying to make you fall for something.
Science is a way of investigating the world. It's an action, not an entity. You don't have to have a degree, a lab, or even an education to conduct science. You need only an idea and a way of testing it. Anytime you answer a question by trying different things, you're performing science. Have you ever modified a recipe? That was science. Taught yourself a new bike trick? Also science. Tried out a few different shampoos until you found the right one for you? Yup, science.
It can be tempting to think of Science as an institution, an enormous, inaccessible compound filled with old men in white lab coats dictating to the rest of the world the way everyone should behave. In reality, professional scientists are just people, as flawed as any other people. Some are true geniuses in pursuit of the advancement of knowledge, like Ellen Stofan and Fabiola Gianotti. Some are charlatans advancing their own gain, like Andrew Wakefield. Most are somewhere in between—normal people working hard to gain some knowledge for the world while paying their mortgages and saving for retirement.
What they are not is a unified body. There is no one institution called Science conducting research into the appeal of Indian food and the ideal length of eyelashes. There are, however, hundreds, maybe thousands, of public and private research institutions, each with their own goals and ideals. There are more journals than anyone can keep track of, and pay-for-publication journals are becoming a serious area of concern for those in research.
What does this mean for you?
First, never believe any claim that "science says" something. It doesn't. Science is an activity, not an entity. That would be like saying "sports says" or "gardening says" something. Scientists may say something, but they don't necessarily speak for the entire field, just as one athlete doesn't speak for all of sports.
Second, recognize that anything a scientist says (or anyone else, for that matter) must have the weight of expertise behind it in order for it to be meaningful. It can be tremendously difficult to suss meaningful credentials from shady ones. Some questions can help you determine whether a journal is credible, and you can also check neutral third-party recommendations.
Finally, keep in mind that anything titled "Science Says" or "According to Science" is a journalist's (or worse, a blogger's) interpretation of someone else's research. Reporters with greater integrity use titles like "Researchers Find" or, even better "According to NASA" or the name of another institution. If you want to know the truth, go to the source. Read the paper cited in the article. It can be tough to understand academic papers, but it's even tougher to figure out who to trust to do your understanding for you.
Now that I'm working in science communication, this sort of misleading hyperbole is even more bothersome. Take it from me, as a scientist and a writer: science never says anything. Anyone who tells you differently is trying to make you fall for something.
Science is a way of investigating the world. It's an action, not an entity. You don't have to have a degree, a lab, or even an education to conduct science. You need only an idea and a way of testing it. Anytime you answer a question by trying different things, you're performing science. Have you ever modified a recipe? That was science. Taught yourself a new bike trick? Also science. Tried out a few different shampoos until you found the right one for you? Yup, science.
It can be tempting to think of Science as an institution, an enormous, inaccessible compound filled with old men in white lab coats dictating to the rest of the world the way everyone should behave. In reality, professional scientists are just people, as flawed as any other people. Some are true geniuses in pursuit of the advancement of knowledge, like Ellen Stofan and Fabiola Gianotti. Some are charlatans advancing their own gain, like Andrew Wakefield. Most are somewhere in between—normal people working hard to gain some knowledge for the world while paying their mortgages and saving for retirement.
What they are not is a unified body. There is no one institution called Science conducting research into the appeal of Indian food and the ideal length of eyelashes. There are, however, hundreds, maybe thousands, of public and private research institutions, each with their own goals and ideals. There are more journals than anyone can keep track of, and pay-for-publication journals are becoming a serious area of concern for those in research.
What does this mean for you?
First, never believe any claim that "science says" something. It doesn't. Science is an activity, not an entity. That would be like saying "sports says" or "gardening says" something. Scientists may say something, but they don't necessarily speak for the entire field, just as one athlete doesn't speak for all of sports.
Second, recognize that anything a scientist says (or anyone else, for that matter) must have the weight of expertise behind it in order for it to be meaningful. It can be tremendously difficult to suss meaningful credentials from shady ones. Some questions can help you determine whether a journal is credible, and you can also check neutral third-party recommendations.
Finally, keep in mind that anything titled "Science Says" or "According to Science" is a journalist's (or worse, a blogger's) interpretation of someone else's research. Reporters with greater integrity use titles like "Researchers Find" or, even better "According to NASA" or the name of another institution. If you want to know the truth, go to the source. Read the paper cited in the article. It can be tough to understand academic papers, but it's even tougher to figure out who to trust to do your understanding for you.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Dreams Come True
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer. Not when I grew up, but right then. I wrote constantly. I had a blue binder filled with lined, 3-hole-punched paper on which I outlined my stories and wrote them. Longhand. In cursive.
I finished my first novel when I was eleven. The story was about a young girl surviving the Holocaust in Nazi Germany. It wasn't very long—about 15,000 words, if I have to guess. It also wasn't very good. I cringe now to even think of it. But it was a rather big achievement for me.
As I got older, my dreams of being a published author began to fade. I became interested instead in biochemistry and genetics. Influenced largely by Dana Scully and Clarice Starling, I embarked on a career in biotechnology, which I pursued doggedly for well over a decade.
Yet I kept writing. I journaled about my life and thoughts. I made up myriad stories and wrote them down. I enjoyed brief fame as a live romance writer, creating stories in chat rooms with real-time feedback. I blogged about issues I felt were important. I even started another novel or six.
I decided, finally, to switch careers and enter the literary world. And yet, I shied away from writing. I became an editor, focused on making other people's writing shine. I was never confident in my own voice. The words that came out were never quite right, never exactly what I had meant to say or how I had meant to say it. Honestly, I still feel this way, about everything I publish, including this blog.
So I was quite surprised to be offered a job as a writer. It was a small contract position, writing short pieces for educational purposes. Yet it was writing, and someone was paying me to do it.
The thought settled on me when I sent in my first piece: I am a professional writer. Wow!
It was as if my eleven-year-old self had skipped up to me and given me a big hug. My current self is uncertain, unconfident, and downright confused as to why anyone would pay me to put words on paper. But that girl who wrote stories in a blue binder between classes? She's absolutely thrilled. She's always known we'd end up here. She knows we'll do even greater things.
That girl was asked, in sixth grade, to write a goal on a star to be hung in her classroom. She wrote, "Get a book published." Well, young Elizabeth, we're well on our way. Good job!
I finished my first novel when I was eleven. The story was about a young girl surviving the Holocaust in Nazi Germany. It wasn't very long—about 15,000 words, if I have to guess. It also wasn't very good. I cringe now to even think of it. But it was a rather big achievement for me.
As I got older, my dreams of being a published author began to fade. I became interested instead in biochemistry and genetics. Influenced largely by Dana Scully and Clarice Starling, I embarked on a career in biotechnology, which I pursued doggedly for well over a decade.
Yet I kept writing. I journaled about my life and thoughts. I made up myriad stories and wrote them down. I enjoyed brief fame as a live romance writer, creating stories in chat rooms with real-time feedback. I blogged about issues I felt were important. I even started another novel or six.
I decided, finally, to switch careers and enter the literary world. And yet, I shied away from writing. I became an editor, focused on making other people's writing shine. I was never confident in my own voice. The words that came out were never quite right, never exactly what I had meant to say or how I had meant to say it. Honestly, I still feel this way, about everything I publish, including this blog.
So I was quite surprised to be offered a job as a writer. It was a small contract position, writing short pieces for educational purposes. Yet it was writing, and someone was paying me to do it.
The thought settled on me when I sent in my first piece: I am a professional writer. Wow!
It was as if my eleven-year-old self had skipped up to me and given me a big hug. My current self is uncertain, unconfident, and downright confused as to why anyone would pay me to put words on paper. But that girl who wrote stories in a blue binder between classes? She's absolutely thrilled. She's always known we'd end up here. She knows we'll do even greater things.
That girl was asked, in sixth grade, to write a goal on a star to be hung in her classroom. She wrote, "Get a book published." Well, young Elizabeth, we're well on our way. Good job!
Friday, February 27, 2015
You are Your Business
For most people, the line between their professional life and their personal life is clear: what happens at the office is professional, and everything else is not.
For entrepreneurs, and especially solopreneurs (people whose business employs only themselves), those lines can be much more fuzzy. When you are both your brand and your product, when do you stop being on the clock? Are you ever really not working?
Everything we as solopreneurs put into the public sphere is a representation of ourselves as both people and companies. Every blog post I write, every call I make, every event I attend reflects my business, even if the blog post is about my family, the call is setting up a doctor's appointment, and the event is a gardening class. I'm still my business, everywhere I go, and in everything I do.
This blending of the personal and professional has its benefits. When we represent ourselves authentically, we draw to us the kinds of people we work best with. The vulnerability we create by inviting our customers and clients to share in our story enriches those relationships and helps people relate to us. Our natural energy attracts those with similar interests, whether we're salsa dancing, sitting on the beach, hosting a murder mystery party, or riding horses on a wooded trail.
Yet we must also ensure we are being careful and responsible. Am I taking proper care to consider the people in my life when I interact with the public? Am I looking out for those I do business with? My friends and family? What is comfortable for me may not be comfortable for others, and in business, mismatched comfort levels can have devastating effects.
We must equally always be as open and honest as possible with our partners, clients, and customers. Concealing from those we do business with what we're really like can result in their feeling misled and taken advantage of. No one likes a bait-and-switch.
Thus, we as entrepreneurs must find a balance. We must walk the line between being openly expressive in showing our true natures to the world, and being carefully conscious that our true natures may reflect on those we work with and for. This balance isn't always easy to find. Sometimes, we will learn only too late that our careless actions caused harm: a lost opportunity, a disgruntled client, an angry collaborator. Sometimes, we can see the consequences of our decisions before we make them, and choose the action that is best for ourselves and our business.
Readers: how do you ensure you are both authentic and careful in your interactions with the world?
For entrepreneurs, and especially solopreneurs (people whose business employs only themselves), those lines can be much more fuzzy. When you are both your brand and your product, when do you stop being on the clock? Are you ever really not working?
Everything we as solopreneurs put into the public sphere is a representation of ourselves as both people and companies. Every blog post I write, every call I make, every event I attend reflects my business, even if the blog post is about my family, the call is setting up a doctor's appointment, and the event is a gardening class. I'm still my business, everywhere I go, and in everything I do.
This blending of the personal and professional has its benefits. When we represent ourselves authentically, we draw to us the kinds of people we work best with. The vulnerability we create by inviting our customers and clients to share in our story enriches those relationships and helps people relate to us. Our natural energy attracts those with similar interests, whether we're salsa dancing, sitting on the beach, hosting a murder mystery party, or riding horses on a wooded trail.
Yet we must also ensure we are being careful and responsible. Am I taking proper care to consider the people in my life when I interact with the public? Am I looking out for those I do business with? My friends and family? What is comfortable for me may not be comfortable for others, and in business, mismatched comfort levels can have devastating effects.
We must equally always be as open and honest as possible with our partners, clients, and customers. Concealing from those we do business with what we're really like can result in their feeling misled and taken advantage of. No one likes a bait-and-switch.
Thus, we as entrepreneurs must find a balance. We must walk the line between being openly expressive in showing our true natures to the world, and being carefully conscious that our true natures may reflect on those we work with and for. This balance isn't always easy to find. Sometimes, we will learn only too late that our careless actions caused harm: a lost opportunity, a disgruntled client, an angry collaborator. Sometimes, we can see the consequences of our decisions before we make them, and choose the action that is best for ourselves and our business.
Readers: how do you ensure you are both authentic and careful in your interactions with the world?
Friday, February 20, 2015
Joys I've Found Lately
I realize this blog has been all doom and gloom and panic lately, so today I want to share with you some of the good things that have been happening in my life and career lately.
First, I am getting to spend lots of quality time with my cat Ling. Not to be all crazy cat lady, but this actually is very important to me. Ling has been with me for more than twelve years, making our cat-owner partnership the longest non-familial relationship of my life. She's normally active and vibrant, but over the past few years she's battled a chronic illness, which nearly cost her her life last September. Thanks to the fact that I now work from my couch, I am superbly kitty-snuggled, and it does wonderful things for my heart and mind.
Another great aspect of freelancing full-time has been the fantastic people I am meeting as a result of what I do. I spent an hour on the phone this afternoon with Roxanne Hanna of Sunscribe Publishers. I felt a real connection with this woman who is building a brand around the principles I already believe in. She values partnership among those working together to create something worthwhile, immediacy of action when an idea is coalescing into a reality, and fostering a community of creative professionals supporting each other in their business endeavors. We clicked on many levels, and our conversation turned my dull, gray day into something shining and lovely.
I've also been able to spend an unprecedented amount of time outdoors (for me anyway) during Texas's best season: winter. What northern states call summer quite resembles the weather we're currently experiencing—temperatures in the 60s and 70s, lots of sun, cool evenings—and I couldn't be happier to be drinking it in. When I worked in a lab I was lucky to glimpse the sun through a window sometimes. Now I'm a veritable vitamin D factory, I'm outside so much.
I am so glad to have treasures like these in my life. Now, please excuse me. I have a kitty to cuddle.
 |
| Ling in her natural habitat. |
Another great aspect of freelancing full-time has been the fantastic people I am meeting as a result of what I do. I spent an hour on the phone this afternoon with Roxanne Hanna of Sunscribe Publishers. I felt a real connection with this woman who is building a brand around the principles I already believe in. She values partnership among those working together to create something worthwhile, immediacy of action when an idea is coalescing into a reality, and fostering a community of creative professionals supporting each other in their business endeavors. We clicked on many levels, and our conversation turned my dull, gray day into something shining and lovely.
I've also been able to spend an unprecedented amount of time outdoors (for me anyway) during Texas's best season: winter. What northern states call summer quite resembles the weather we're currently experiencing—temperatures in the 60s and 70s, lots of sun, cool evenings—and I couldn't be happier to be drinking it in. When I worked in a lab I was lucky to glimpse the sun through a window sometimes. Now I'm a veritable vitamin D factory, I'm outside so much.
I am so glad to have treasures like these in my life. Now, please excuse me. I have a kitty to cuddle.
Friday, February 13, 2015
The Terror of Money
I'm going to talk about something today that nobody likes to talk about: money.
Not how to make a bunch of it, or how to spend it wisely, or any of the kind of trite advice you can get from a zillion sources.
I'm going to talk about the fear money (and its lack) creates, and the way this affects everything we (read: I) do.
I'm having a snack today of fresh strawberries. This feels so indulgent, so ridiculously extravagant, that I feel ashamed.
That, folks, is pretty fucked up. I know it, but I can't stop feeling that way.
Why do I feel ashamed about snacking on strawberries? It starts with money. I currently have little to no income, having just lost my full-time job and not yet having picked up the difference in freelance gigs. It doesn't matter to my lizard brain that I left that job with a huge severance and that before that I had amassed a big chunk of savings. All my emotion-led self knows is that I have no more paychecks.
So there I was, at the grocery store last week, with a fistful of coupons and an eye on every generic and sale. Strawberries, as it happened, were on sale. But only if I bought two pounds of them. 'Sure,' I thought to myself, 'I can eat two pounds of strawberries before they go bad. I'll get some yogurt and granola and have that for breakfast. It'll be a nice treat.'
Before I was even to the checkout lane I was already feeling guilty. Yogurt, berries, and granola is a far more expensive breakfast than my usual bagel and cream cheese. How could I justify spending so much on something just because I wanted it?
And now, a week later, I still have more than half of those berries, and they're reaching the end of their shelf life. And my lizard brain has gone into panicked overdrive. If I don't eat them now, before they spoil, I will have wasted all that money (and food!). So I need to eat them anytime it makes sense.
I don't make a habit of snacking. Yet here I am, midafternoon, snacking on strawberries like royalty and feeling like a complete financial failure.
This is the sort of irrational, unjustifiable fear we let ourselves build up around money. My issue is strawberries. Other people have other fears that they let rule even the smallest decisions in their lives.
Right now, it feels like hedonism to do even one thing because I want to rather than because it will help me make money. Like eating strawberries in the afternoon.
Why do we keep making our decisions out of fear? Why do we spend our whole lives doing things we hate just to keep that fear at bay?
I wish I knew how to change this. Do you?
Not how to make a bunch of it, or how to spend it wisely, or any of the kind of trite advice you can get from a zillion sources.
I'm going to talk about the fear money (and its lack) creates, and the way this affects everything we (read: I) do.
I'm having a snack today of fresh strawberries. This feels so indulgent, so ridiculously extravagant, that I feel ashamed.
That, folks, is pretty fucked up. I know it, but I can't stop feeling that way.
Why do I feel ashamed about snacking on strawberries? It starts with money. I currently have little to no income, having just lost my full-time job and not yet having picked up the difference in freelance gigs. It doesn't matter to my lizard brain that I left that job with a huge severance and that before that I had amassed a big chunk of savings. All my emotion-led self knows is that I have no more paychecks.
So there I was, at the grocery store last week, with a fistful of coupons and an eye on every generic and sale. Strawberries, as it happened, were on sale. But only if I bought two pounds of them. 'Sure,' I thought to myself, 'I can eat two pounds of strawberries before they go bad. I'll get some yogurt and granola and have that for breakfast. It'll be a nice treat.'
Before I was even to the checkout lane I was already feeling guilty. Yogurt, berries, and granola is a far more expensive breakfast than my usual bagel and cream cheese. How could I justify spending so much on something just because I wanted it?
And now, a week later, I still have more than half of those berries, and they're reaching the end of their shelf life. And my lizard brain has gone into panicked overdrive. If I don't eat them now, before they spoil, I will have wasted all that money (and food!). So I need to eat them anytime it makes sense.
I don't make a habit of snacking. Yet here I am, midafternoon, snacking on strawberries like royalty and feeling like a complete financial failure.
This is the sort of irrational, unjustifiable fear we let ourselves build up around money. My issue is strawberries. Other people have other fears that they let rule even the smallest decisions in their lives.
Right now, it feels like hedonism to do even one thing because I want to rather than because it will help me make money. Like eating strawberries in the afternoon.
Why do we keep making our decisions out of fear? Why do we spend our whole lives doing things we hate just to keep that fear at bay?
I wish I knew how to change this. Do you?
Monday, February 2, 2015
The Scary Reality of Self-Employment
Today is the first day of my full-time self employment.
Although I had been building my business and working toward a goal of full-time freelancing, the final decision was actually someone else's. On Friday I was laid off from my manufacturing job, along with dozens of others. I'm now totally on my own.
It's a difficult transition. I've been employed full-time for my entire adult life. Before my manufacturing job, I worked in academic research, a job I had obtained as a student and continued after graduation. I've spent the past twelve years answering to bosses, counting vacation days and sick leave, taking home regular paychecks.
All of that is no more. From now on I will be answering to clients, working when I need money and taking nothing but unpaid time off. My pay will be sporadic, coming as I finish projects rather than every two weeks.
And that's when I have work to do and money to be made. The harsh reality of freelancing is that jobs are incredibly difficult to get. The few clients I've had were all obtained through friends and family. What I'm making now is nowhere near enough to support myself. I spent all morning today sending out inquiries to people I've worked with, people I'd like to work with, and people who know writers, editors, and publishers.
I may have to learn to cold-call businesses to gain their interest. Although I realize it may be necessary, I really loathe the idea. I hate talking on the phone under the best of circumstances, and interrupting someone to peddle yourself to them is far from the best of circumstances. While I recognize the potential value in it, I haven't been able to bring myself to do it yet.
For now, I'm just trying not to panic at the thought of not having enough income. I know it will improve. I know countless people have done this before me. I know I can do it too.
But damn, is this hard.
Although I had been building my business and working toward a goal of full-time freelancing, the final decision was actually someone else's. On Friday I was laid off from my manufacturing job, along with dozens of others. I'm now totally on my own.
It's a difficult transition. I've been employed full-time for my entire adult life. Before my manufacturing job, I worked in academic research, a job I had obtained as a student and continued after graduation. I've spent the past twelve years answering to bosses, counting vacation days and sick leave, taking home regular paychecks.
All of that is no more. From now on I will be answering to clients, working when I need money and taking nothing but unpaid time off. My pay will be sporadic, coming as I finish projects rather than every two weeks.
And that's when I have work to do and money to be made. The harsh reality of freelancing is that jobs are incredibly difficult to get. The few clients I've had were all obtained through friends and family. What I'm making now is nowhere near enough to support myself. I spent all morning today sending out inquiries to people I've worked with, people I'd like to work with, and people who know writers, editors, and publishers.
I may have to learn to cold-call businesses to gain their interest. Although I realize it may be necessary, I really loathe the idea. I hate talking on the phone under the best of circumstances, and interrupting someone to peddle yourself to them is far from the best of circumstances. While I recognize the potential value in it, I haven't been able to bring myself to do it yet.
For now, I'm just trying not to panic at the thought of not having enough income. I know it will improve. I know countless people have done this before me. I know I can do it too.
But damn, is this hard.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Time Really IS Money!
I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about time and money. I've reached the conclusion that they're actually the same commodity. You can only have so much, and the more you have of one, the less you have of the other.
Applying this to my life, right now I have plenty of money but very little time. I often hear about a meeting or group that happens once a month, or every other weekend, or weekly. While part of my brain thinks, "Once a month really isn't that often," a bigger part screams, "We already have so little time! You want to promise even more of it to someone else?" One four-hour meeting out of 30 twenty-four-hour days is very little, but one four-hour meeting out of 20 four-hour evenings is a much greater piece of the pie.
Why do I have so little time? I spend 40 hours or more every week doing a job I don't love in order to bring home money I may not actually need.
Currently, my income exceeds my expenses, by a small margin. The majority of my expenses goes to rent. I live in a two-bedroom apartment, with drafty doors and cracks in the walls. I opted for a two-bedroom place because at my complex those are the only units with washer and dryer hookups.
But what if I simplified my life? What if, instead of spending so much money on so many square feet (most of which, let's be honest, I don't really use), I spent less on living space? What could I do with more money? Trade it for more time?
If I had less expenses, especially in the form of rent/mortgage and utility bills, I'd need less income. Could I cut my work week from 40 to 20 hours? Less?
And what would I do with more time? Catch up with friends? Sleep (oh, almost definitely)? Travel? Attend some of the "once-a-month" events that I currently feel I don't have time for?
Imagine reversing the work week. By cutting expenses, by reducing the amount of income I need, I could conceivably work two days a week instead of five. Every single week I'd have a five-day weekend. Every. Single. Week.
Egads.
This merits serious consideration.
Applying this to my life, right now I have plenty of money but very little time. I often hear about a meeting or group that happens once a month, or every other weekend, or weekly. While part of my brain thinks, "Once a month really isn't that often," a bigger part screams, "We already have so little time! You want to promise even more of it to someone else?" One four-hour meeting out of 30 twenty-four-hour days is very little, but one four-hour meeting out of 20 four-hour evenings is a much greater piece of the pie.
Why do I have so little time? I spend 40 hours or more every week doing a job I don't love in order to bring home money I may not actually need.
Currently, my income exceeds my expenses, by a small margin. The majority of my expenses goes to rent. I live in a two-bedroom apartment, with drafty doors and cracks in the walls. I opted for a two-bedroom place because at my complex those are the only units with washer and dryer hookups.
But what if I simplified my life? What if, instead of spending so much money on so many square feet (most of which, let's be honest, I don't really use), I spent less on living space? What could I do with more money? Trade it for more time?
If I had less expenses, especially in the form of rent/mortgage and utility bills, I'd need less income. Could I cut my work week from 40 to 20 hours? Less?
And what would I do with more time? Catch up with friends? Sleep (oh, almost definitely)? Travel? Attend some of the "once-a-month" events that I currently feel I don't have time for?
Imagine reversing the work week. By cutting expenses, by reducing the amount of income I need, I could conceivably work two days a week instead of five. Every single week I'd have a five-day weekend. Every. Single. Week.
Egads.
This merits serious consideration.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Overconfidence
Is it possible to come across as too competent?
Here's what I mean: I am quite guilty of giving people the impression, generally, that I am a total expert on whatever I'm talking about. I don't just mean important things. I mean practically any subject. If I have even a shred of knowledge about a subject, I come across as an epic expert.
Why do I do this? I have no idea. Probably I have an astronomical confidence in myself, far more than is healthy. (Thanks for all those "you're a smart girl, you can do hard things" talks, Mom, but they seem to have backfired slightly.) But honestly, once I've learned anything new, absolutely anything, it lodges in my brain as a Kernel of Truth and, if I share it, I do so from the viewpoint of some sort of oracle.
There are some problems with this. Possibly the least of these is that I sometimes tell people their own stories. Like, I'll hear an entertaining story related to me, and, much later, forget a bunch of the details but remember the overall theme, and, like a total moron, retell it to the person it actually happened to. "Oh, you'll never believe what happened to this friend of mine!" "Yeah, that was me, actually." This is, to put it mildly, embarrassing. Luckily, my friends are quite good-natured and apparently love me for my many good qualities, enough to overlook the stupid things I do.
I'm beginning to suspect that I may also be suffering professionally for this trait. Sure, I can expound at length about the benefits of having a well-developed LinkedIn profile, and discuss trusted methods of dealing with finicky clients, and pontificate on the value of offering discounts for upfront collection of payment. But the ridiculous truth is that I haven't actually done any of these things.
I sure sound as though I have. From the way I speak, you would swear I was an amazingly successful freelance editor, dishing brilliant words of wisdom from my keyboard to the lowly masses who are unlucky enough not to have been born me. Hell, if we're being honest, speaking like an expert is what this blog is all about. I'm always going on and on about how to work, what to do, what not to do.
Like I know. I am a total amateur. I have all of one client right now, and they're a really reasonable, likable client and not at all difficult to deal with.
But nobody sees that. Do others fail to send work my way because they are certain I have enough? Do they share less advice with me, because obviously I'm far more advanced than they are? Do they recommend, to potential clients, other editors they feel may have a greater need for work, because they're certain I can handle my own marketing?
I just don't know. Nor am I at all certain I can find out. This isn't some flighty nuance of character I could change with a week's meditation; this is a major part of my personality, deeply ingrained since about the time I learned to speak. To not speak with authority would mean relearning everything I know about the world and the way I approach it.
Is there a fix I can apply that circumvents this? Do I need to learn to attach caveats and qualifiers to my statements, especially in the context of business?
Or maybe this is an asset? Maybe speaking with authority communicates my confidence well, and others respond positively to that? Maybe simply seeming as though you know what you're doing is enough to convince others that you really are competent?
I'd love to hear opinions about this.
Here's what I mean: I am quite guilty of giving people the impression, generally, that I am a total expert on whatever I'm talking about. I don't just mean important things. I mean practically any subject. If I have even a shred of knowledge about a subject, I come across as an epic expert.
Why do I do this? I have no idea. Probably I have an astronomical confidence in myself, far more than is healthy. (Thanks for all those "you're a smart girl, you can do hard things" talks, Mom, but they seem to have backfired slightly.) But honestly, once I've learned anything new, absolutely anything, it lodges in my brain as a Kernel of Truth and, if I share it, I do so from the viewpoint of some sort of oracle.
There are some problems with this. Possibly the least of these is that I sometimes tell people their own stories. Like, I'll hear an entertaining story related to me, and, much later, forget a bunch of the details but remember the overall theme, and, like a total moron, retell it to the person it actually happened to. "Oh, you'll never believe what happened to this friend of mine!" "Yeah, that was me, actually." This is, to put it mildly, embarrassing. Luckily, my friends are quite good-natured and apparently love me for my many good qualities, enough to overlook the stupid things I do.
I'm beginning to suspect that I may also be suffering professionally for this trait. Sure, I can expound at length about the benefits of having a well-developed LinkedIn profile, and discuss trusted methods of dealing with finicky clients, and pontificate on the value of offering discounts for upfront collection of payment. But the ridiculous truth is that I haven't actually done any of these things.
I sure sound as though I have. From the way I speak, you would swear I was an amazingly successful freelance editor, dishing brilliant words of wisdom from my keyboard to the lowly masses who are unlucky enough not to have been born me. Hell, if we're being honest, speaking like an expert is what this blog is all about. I'm always going on and on about how to work, what to do, what not to do.
Like I know. I am a total amateur. I have all of one client right now, and they're a really reasonable, likable client and not at all difficult to deal with.
But nobody sees that. Do others fail to send work my way because they are certain I have enough? Do they share less advice with me, because obviously I'm far more advanced than they are? Do they recommend, to potential clients, other editors they feel may have a greater need for work, because they're certain I can handle my own marketing?
I just don't know. Nor am I at all certain I can find out. This isn't some flighty nuance of character I could change with a week's meditation; this is a major part of my personality, deeply ingrained since about the time I learned to speak. To not speak with authority would mean relearning everything I know about the world and the way I approach it.
Is there a fix I can apply that circumvents this? Do I need to learn to attach caveats and qualifiers to my statements, especially in the context of business?
Or maybe this is an asset? Maybe speaking with authority communicates my confidence well, and others respond positively to that? Maybe simply seeming as though you know what you're doing is enough to convince others that you really are competent?
I'd love to hear opinions about this.
Friday, September 20, 2013
THE Client!
So I'm trying not to count my chickens before they hatch but there are totally chickens happening!
A few months ago I met a guy at a party who mentioned that his organization contracts out their editing work. I ended up calling him some time later and we talked about the possibility of me getting hired on as a freelancer.
Well guess what? It totally worked out.
He's drawing up the contract now but it looks to be a done deal. And the best thing? This is the job I most hoped would work out. I have a few leads on a few good jobs, but this one? Nearly perfect.
I really feel like it's a good fit both ways. I know I can give them valuable work, both because I know I edit well, and because I really care about the work they're doing. And I sincerely hope that they give me plenty of work (I already know the pay is good) such that I can get out of my corporate job by the beginning of next year.
Of course I'm being all vague about who they are and what they do, because 1) I haven't actually signed a contract yet and 2) I don't want to reveal any info they don't want released. But I'm hoping I'll be able to announce everything soon!
Part of me wants to hold back from celebrating because there are still so many things that could go wrong, but the (much, much bigger) rest of me is skipping through the hallways.
Wheeeeeeee!
A few months ago I met a guy at a party who mentioned that his organization contracts out their editing work. I ended up calling him some time later and we talked about the possibility of me getting hired on as a freelancer.
Well guess what? It totally worked out.
He's drawing up the contract now but it looks to be a done deal. And the best thing? This is the job I most hoped would work out. I have a few leads on a few good jobs, but this one? Nearly perfect.
I really feel like it's a good fit both ways. I know I can give them valuable work, both because I know I edit well, and because I really care about the work they're doing. And I sincerely hope that they give me plenty of work (I already know the pay is good) such that I can get out of my corporate job by the beginning of next year.
Of course I'm being all vague about who they are and what they do, because 1) I haven't actually signed a contract yet and 2) I don't want to reveal any info they don't want released. But I'm hoping I'll be able to announce everything soon!
Part of me wants to hold back from celebrating because there are still so many things that could go wrong, but the (much, much bigger) rest of me is skipping through the hallways.
Wheeeeeeee!
Friday, September 6, 2013
Not Having It All Figured Out
I had a revelation at my biotech job today.
I was in my "career development" meeting. I had been given, prior to this meeting, a series of worksheets I could use, if I wanted, to determine my career aspirations and lay out a path to achieve them. The worksheet is currently sitting blank on my desk.
My boss (who, I have to say, is amazing and is the best boss I've had, and I've had lots) knows that I am changing careers and building my own business. In fact, she supports me in this endeavor, and our meeting today was designed around how I can best spend my remaining time with the company developing skills that will help my own business succeed while still being worth what they pay me.
She asked if I'd used the worksheet. I couldn't help but chuckle. "No," I replied. "That's not really how I think about business or my career."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"To me, business isn't about having it all figured out. My business will be about making mistakes and learning from them, or doing things right and figuring out what worked about them. My direction is gained from insights I have while watching Ted talks with friends or chatting during dinner or over late-night coffee. I can't use a form to determine the direction my life will take. My business will connect me with people in ways that benefit us both. My business is not corporate; it's human."
Okay, fine, I didn't say it that eloquently, on the spot in the middle of a meeting, but you get the idea.
Not only can I not map the shape of my future by filling out a form, I'm not sure that anyone can. Corporations make this mistake all the time. Companies are not made of metrics, they're made of people, and people don't fit neatly inside checkboxes add multiple choice questions.
Where do I want my business to end up? I have no idea. Really, I don't. I know where I want it to be in a year, maybe five, but in the end? Who knows?
And would it really matter if I thought I knew? Between now and "the end" I will meet new and amazing people who will change my whole perspective on things. I'll survive heartbreak and tragedy and possibly major trauma. My views will shift, maybe radically. I am so distant now from the person I was at 22, why should I think I will be anything like I am now in ten, twenty, or fifty years? I might be several other people along that road.
And my business will change and grow, and yes, maybe fail. But that's the whole point. It will be an experience, a journey, a network.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go translate this to bullet points and upload it into my Development Tracker.
I was in my "career development" meeting. I had been given, prior to this meeting, a series of worksheets I could use, if I wanted, to determine my career aspirations and lay out a path to achieve them. The worksheet is currently sitting blank on my desk.
My boss (who, I have to say, is amazing and is the best boss I've had, and I've had lots) knows that I am changing careers and building my own business. In fact, she supports me in this endeavor, and our meeting today was designed around how I can best spend my remaining time with the company developing skills that will help my own business succeed while still being worth what they pay me.
She asked if I'd used the worksheet. I couldn't help but chuckle. "No," I replied. "That's not really how I think about business or my career."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"To me, business isn't about having it all figured out. My business will be about making mistakes and learning from them, or doing things right and figuring out what worked about them. My direction is gained from insights I have while watching Ted talks with friends or chatting during dinner or over late-night coffee. I can't use a form to determine the direction my life will take. My business will connect me with people in ways that benefit us both. My business is not corporate; it's human."
Okay, fine, I didn't say it that eloquently, on the spot in the middle of a meeting, but you get the idea.
Not only can I not map the shape of my future by filling out a form, I'm not sure that anyone can. Corporations make this mistake all the time. Companies are not made of metrics, they're made of people, and people don't fit neatly inside checkboxes add multiple choice questions.
Where do I want my business to end up? I have no idea. Really, I don't. I know where I want it to be in a year, maybe five, but in the end? Who knows?
And would it really matter if I thought I knew? Between now and "the end" I will meet new and amazing people who will change my whole perspective on things. I'll survive heartbreak and tragedy and possibly major trauma. My views will shift, maybe radically. I am so distant now from the person I was at 22, why should I think I will be anything like I am now in ten, twenty, or fifty years? I might be several other people along that road.
And my business will change and grow, and yes, maybe fail. But that's the whole point. It will be an experience, a journey, a network.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go translate this to bullet points and upload it into my Development Tracker.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Waiting for the Right Clients
This week I complete my last copyediting course from the University of California, San Diego, and receive my copyediting certificate. It's a major milestone I've been working toward for a year now, and I'm quite pleased to have reached my goal.
This means it's time to get serious about my business. I've delayed spending significant effort working on editing until I was finished with classes, so as not to overload myself. I no longer have that need. What I need now is work.
And I find myself facing a dilemma. On the one hand, I want to find clients who need me as much as I need them. I want to find good partnerships that benefit both me and the client, in all-encompassing ways. I want to find work that fulfills me on a creative and inspirational level, and that pays well. And I want to be a greatly positive influence on the organization that hires me, helping them achieve goals they couldn't have reached otherwise.
However, like many new entrepreneurs, I want to get started this very moment. The voice inside my head is screaming, "Find work now! Take any job! Get as many clients as you can! Prune your business later!"
It may not seem that difficult to tune this voice out, but it truly is. The fear of never having enough (enough business, enough money, enough work, enough experience) has a fierce grip on me.
I know I'm not the only one to have felt this. And I know the most successful entrepreneurs have ignored their inner panic voice and waited for the right clients. I know that selecting only clients who fit well with my goals and ideals and for whom I am a good fit is the only business decision that makes sense. I don't want to have to prune later. I want to grow continually.
But wow, is it hard to wait. Patience is clearly not one of my strengths.
This means it's time to get serious about my business. I've delayed spending significant effort working on editing until I was finished with classes, so as not to overload myself. I no longer have that need. What I need now is work.
And I find myself facing a dilemma. On the one hand, I want to find clients who need me as much as I need them. I want to find good partnerships that benefit both me and the client, in all-encompassing ways. I want to find work that fulfills me on a creative and inspirational level, and that pays well. And I want to be a greatly positive influence on the organization that hires me, helping them achieve goals they couldn't have reached otherwise.
However, like many new entrepreneurs, I want to get started this very moment. The voice inside my head is screaming, "Find work now! Take any job! Get as many clients as you can! Prune your business later!"
It may not seem that difficult to tune this voice out, but it truly is. The fear of never having enough (enough business, enough money, enough work, enough experience) has a fierce grip on me.
I know I'm not the only one to have felt this. And I know the most successful entrepreneurs have ignored their inner panic voice and waited for the right clients. I know that selecting only clients who fit well with my goals and ideals and for whom I am a good fit is the only business decision that makes sense. I don't want to have to prune later. I want to grow continually.
But wow, is it hard to wait. Patience is clearly not one of my strengths.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Silence: Worse than Rejection
If you seek advice about working as a creative professional, you'll hear one thing quite often: "Get used to rejection. Don't take it personally."
You hear it a lot, and it becomes a mantra. It's not you that's being rejected, just your work. It wasn't the right fit. It's not the right time.
Okay. This is fine. I can handle this.
What you don't hear is that rejection happens less often than silence.
Rejection implies someone took the time to review your work, evaluate it against their needs, and decide it wasn't the right fit. Silence provides no such implication. Silence could mean they never received your work in the first place. Or maybe they did and they ignored it. Or maybe they actually went through it but didn't like it.
You'll never know.
I'm trying to get new business right now and the silence is deafening. I contact potential clients every day. I send out resumes and portfolios. I email. I follow up.
Once in a while, I get a response: "Thanks for contacting us. You'll hear back if we're interested." No timeline. No idea of how long I must wait before giving them up as lost.
But that's the rare exception. Mostly I hear nothing.
There's nothing quite as terrible as an empty inbox.
I hope that someday I won't have this problem, but I know too many creative professionals to delude myself into really believing that.
So I'll continue to slog through the continually defeating task of checking for responses that will never arrive, and sending more requests for work out into the great void of silence.
Better luck to you.
You hear it a lot, and it becomes a mantra. It's not you that's being rejected, just your work. It wasn't the right fit. It's not the right time.
Okay. This is fine. I can handle this.
What you don't hear is that rejection happens less often than silence.
Rejection implies someone took the time to review your work, evaluate it against their needs, and decide it wasn't the right fit. Silence provides no such implication. Silence could mean they never received your work in the first place. Or maybe they did and they ignored it. Or maybe they actually went through it but didn't like it.
You'll never know.
I'm trying to get new business right now and the silence is deafening. I contact potential clients every day. I send out resumes and portfolios. I email. I follow up.
Once in a while, I get a response: "Thanks for contacting us. You'll hear back if we're interested." No timeline. No idea of how long I must wait before giving them up as lost.
But that's the rare exception. Mostly I hear nothing.
There's nothing quite as terrible as an empty inbox.
I hope that someday I won't have this problem, but I know too many creative professionals to delude myself into really believing that.
So I'll continue to slog through the continually defeating task of checking for responses that will never arrive, and sending more requests for work out into the great void of silence.
Better luck to you.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Doing the Hard Stuff
Lately, I've been reading a lot about doing what you love and making your business reflect your true self. These are great messages, and worth paying attention to.
But sometimes we need a reality check. Doing what you love doesn't always pay the bills. Selecting only for jobs you think are an expression of your true self may leave you foundering.
Sometimes, you have to do something you don't love.
It can be easy to fall into the trap of believing that doing what feels good, having a great time every moment you are working, and enjoying every second of your job will lead to success. And, to be sure, loving your work will breed success. It's impossible to take your business to great places if you hate everything about it.
But work is work, and some days everything will suck.
Some days you'll be tired. You'll wish you were doing something else. You'll want to put down your work and do something different.
And following those desires just might cause you to fail.
Your livelihood depends on someone paying you for your goods or services. Your customers don't pay you for your happiness, and many of them probably don't care about how you feel. They want their product, and they want it when you said you'd deliver it.
Failure to deliver will drive your customers away.
And that's just what happens when you do something besides the work you thought you were going to love when you took the job.
Ideally, you would only take jobs you truly care about. But, especially if your business is new or struggling, you may find that the only way to keep yourself afloat is to take a job simply because it's available and you're qualified.
This is where I now find myself. I am trying to focus on exactly what I want to do, sure. But the market is competitive and there are more editors than there are contracts, so passing up work that doesn't perfectly suit my personality simply isn't an option.
I'm not saying you should take whatever work comes your way just because someone will pay you to do it. But consider whether you can survive on only the ideal jobs. How many of those exist, and how much can you earn by accepting nothing else?
It's vital, then, to figure out where your lines are. What are your ideal customers like? What are your acceptable customers like? What is completely unacceptable?
But sometimes we need a reality check. Doing what you love doesn't always pay the bills. Selecting only for jobs you think are an expression of your true self may leave you foundering.
Sometimes, you have to do something you don't love.
It can be easy to fall into the trap of believing that doing what feels good, having a great time every moment you are working, and enjoying every second of your job will lead to success. And, to be sure, loving your work will breed success. It's impossible to take your business to great places if you hate everything about it.
But work is work, and some days everything will suck.
Some days you'll be tired. You'll wish you were doing something else. You'll want to put down your work and do something different.
And following those desires just might cause you to fail.
Your livelihood depends on someone paying you for your goods or services. Your customers don't pay you for your happiness, and many of them probably don't care about how you feel. They want their product, and they want it when you said you'd deliver it.
Failure to deliver will drive your customers away.
And that's just what happens when you do something besides the work you thought you were going to love when you took the job.
Ideally, you would only take jobs you truly care about. But, especially if your business is new or struggling, you may find that the only way to keep yourself afloat is to take a job simply because it's available and you're qualified.
This is where I now find myself. I am trying to focus on exactly what I want to do, sure. But the market is competitive and there are more editors than there are contracts, so passing up work that doesn't perfectly suit my personality simply isn't an option.
I'm not saying you should take whatever work comes your way just because someone will pay you to do it. But consider whether you can survive on only the ideal jobs. How many of those exist, and how much can you earn by accepting nothing else?
It's vital, then, to figure out where your lines are. What are your ideal customers like? What are your acceptable customers like? What is completely unacceptable?
Monday, April 1, 2013
Oops?
When I began editing and studying online, I found I had to juggle my time in order to get everything done. Lunch breaks were an easy solution: I can accomplish two or three tasks in the same time frame (eating, classwork, and editing). It made absolute sense to do a lot of my editing work at my desk at work.
However, at work I use a Windows-based computer, which was provided by my employer in biotech. At home I use a Mac, which I own. Once I am freelancing full-time, all my work will be done on the Mac.
And this brings me to the "oops." As much as I love the Mac platform, I've gotten really comfortable working on the PC. I've set folders up on the PC to segregate in-process work from completed and published work. I have files for images, for different authors, for different projects. Everything is very organized.
I've also been working exclusively in Word for Windows when I edit documents provided to me by my authors. As I learned (to my great disappointment and frustration) during my first copyediting class, Word for Windows is not equivalent to Word for Mac.
So I've set up a situation, quite unintentionally, such that I will be totally a fish out of water when I quit the biotech job, unless I make some changes.
I don't relish the thought of lugging my MacBook back and forth to work every day, but it seems like a superior idea to striking out on my own and having to learn an entirely new software, not to mention lacking any real organization for the projects I've already completed or have in progress.
What a mundane dilemma.
However, at work I use a Windows-based computer, which was provided by my employer in biotech. At home I use a Mac, which I own. Once I am freelancing full-time, all my work will be done on the Mac.
And this brings me to the "oops." As much as I love the Mac platform, I've gotten really comfortable working on the PC. I've set folders up on the PC to segregate in-process work from completed and published work. I have files for images, for different authors, for different projects. Everything is very organized.
I've also been working exclusively in Word for Windows when I edit documents provided to me by my authors. As I learned (to my great disappointment and frustration) during my first copyediting class, Word for Windows is not equivalent to Word for Mac.
So I've set up a situation, quite unintentionally, such that I will be totally a fish out of water when I quit the biotech job, unless I make some changes.
I don't relish the thought of lugging my MacBook back and forth to work every day, but it seems like a superior idea to striking out on my own and having to learn an entirely new software, not to mention lacking any real organization for the projects I've already completed or have in progress.
What a mundane dilemma.
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