What Freelance Writing Has Taught Me

It’s Friday, and I’m traveling. So let’s keep it lighter.

I was witnessing an acquaintance’s meltdown recently over a minor (seriously minor) issue. Instead of just getting it together (there was a slight snafu in their presentation), they became flustered. Then more flustered. Then they declared it was “such a disaster.”

It wasn’t. It was far from it. It was akin to a paper jam or a paper cut. But the reaction was helping to manifest it into a minor disaster, and not in the way they’d intended. Instead of an actual disaster, I walked away thinking I’d just witnessed an emotional disaster.

I have a visceral reaction to someone that flustered. To me, that signals someone who gives in to helplessness. I gave that up one husband ago, and I’m not interested in wading back into that pool.

But imagine that kind of fluster applied to a freelance writing career. Yea, that career isn’t happening, is it?

Fortunately, this person isn’t a writer, and has no interest in running a business. And maybe they had a lot of shit to shovel that week, or had something in their past that made this a hot button. Or maybe there’s an untreated disorder lurking. Or self-loathing is that deep that they can’t accept the minor glitches.

The point is the world didn’t end. And this person never noticed.

I bring this up only because it’s been dawning on me for a while that there are some personalities that are just better suited to our line of work than others. Here are a few that don’t fit; people who:

• Go from zero to meltdown in 10 seconds
• Hold grudges
• Lash out quickly and without apology
• Cannot filter what they say
• Don’t really like people all that much
• Think they have all the answers

That list could go on, but I’ll stop. You get the idea.

When I first started this freelance writing thing, I made plenty of mistakes. I had a personality that was too accommodating. I was too eager to please. I was frozen with fear right after getting an assignment. I overthought. I didn’t read contracts thoroughly.

And on and on.

Time and experience changes that, doesn’t it?

Here’s what I’ve learned in the few decades I’ve been freelancing:

Freelancers should lead with professionalism.

Like you, I’ve had my share of questionable behavior coming from so-called clients. I’ve been called unprofessional (which I argue reveals a LOT about any client who would say that). I’ve been snapped at. I’ve been accused of lying (and once proven I wasn’t, not apologized to). It’s all been thrown at me, and all in the course of me doing my damn job.

Know what I did? I kept doing my damn job. I didn’t fight back or defend myself. Anyone who would treat another colleague that way can just f— off anyway, but I won’t roll in the mud with them. I let their last words hang out there unanswered. I won’t engage. It’s not how professionals act. Imagine walking into a store and complaining to the service desk that the item you bought broke, and then the service person responds “Oh yea? Well, you’re probably stupid enough to break it on your own.” Think of that scenario anytime someone acts like a jerk to you. Don’t fight back because yes, you’ll look that ridiculous.

The customer is right. But I reserve the right to express written concerns.

Sometimes clients have ideas that are just awful. When they do, I’ve told them kindly that maybe what they’re thinking could come across in a way they didn’t intend. Or maybe quoting the same expert from a different industry so many times could signal to readers that they’re just borrowing instead of innovating. I’ve had to tell people things can’t be done in the timeframe they intend. In one unpleasant situation, I had to tell someone that the rework couldn’t be done with the funds allocated, and that making me push forward wasn’t going to net the result they intended (and I was right).

Say it in writing. Then let it go. It’s their decision ultimately, but I get in on record what my objections are.

Some clients really earn the scorn, but I won’t give it.

The resume company that cut my pay in half and tried to justify it saying the jobs were smaller (they weren’t — they were larger). The client who kept changing the requirements (12 revisions later, I bailed quietly). The prospective client who insulted me at negotiation time. The other prospective client who told me I “need to lower those rates.” The contact who thought it would be “fun” if I wrote an article that a magazine paid me for, but let them drive the topic and the revisions (that would be unethical, thankyouverymuch and goodbye). The lawyer who thought the same damn thing (and knew better). They all deserved some sharp words.

None of them got it. I just bowed out as gracefully as possible. Though I did tell the “need to lower those rates” dude “you need to increase yours to afford me.” And I enjoyed saying it.

Holding grudges wastes my time and redirects my focus.

The guy who called my pricing “outrageous” was the same guy I said hello to and chatted up eight months later at a trade show. He remembered, and his discomfort was a bonus, but I didn’t want to avoid him because he can’t act like a business person. So I said hello, watched him squirm, then wished him well (and yes, I admit I enjoyed that).

Anne Wayman has a mantra that goes something like this: How much energy do I want to waste on this? I apply that to a lot of things these days. And most of the time, the answer is: none. I want to waste none on the small stuff. And grudges are seriously small stuff.

Holding my tongue is a great use of energy.

I’m known as a smartass by those who love me. I’m the Queen of Smartassed Retorts. It’s a crown I don often, I’m afraid.

But never with clients. Never. If they’re barking orders at me like a platoon leader, I’m going to counter with “Here’s what I’ve heard you say….” and list each item. Why? Because it’s my damn job to do what they’re paying me to do. I don’t have to like their delivery — they have to like mine. Mind you, if they show me an ounce of disrespect, it will be the last project I do for them. Although, I can try to befriend them or talk shop with them to soften their approach, which has worked the few times I’ve tried it.

Be like Buddha and let that shit go.

Everyone has a shitty day. There’s no reason I should be taking any of that on, nor should I take it to heart. I figure someone else’s upset is like a bagful of groceries. They may ask me to hold it for them, but I may be holding a few of my own. I can sympathize and offer temporary help if I have an arm free, but I’m not lugging it around endlessly just because they handed it to me.

For the client who started with one email in the morning, then seven emails later she’s in a full-blown panic (and it wasn’t 11 am yet) — I answered one email. The last one. Always. And I made good use of bullet points just so she didn’t miss anything. She still did, but I limited my responses so as not to get sucked down by the corryvreckan. (that one’s for you Allan MacB.)

Writers, how long have you been running a freelance writing career?
What lessons have you learned, whether by reading, observation, or the hard way?