A freelancer's roundup

It's been almost exactly a year since I started attempting to freelance on a regular basis for actual money. This is not statistical data or anything, but I thought some people might be interested in the numbers of a first-year freelancer (who, admittedly, has had plenty of past writing experience, but never in the world of paid-for print). So, here are the numbers I can give you, based on my fledgling and not-quite successful career at this point:

In the past year, I sent out 542 pitches. Out of those pitches, I was ignored 211 times. I received 187 rejections, and had a piece accepted 144 times. That means I was ignored 39 percent of the time. I was told LOL NOPE 35 percent of the time, and I was allowed to write a piece for a publication 26 percent of the time.

I've published in 32 different outlets, writing from one piece to dozens of pieces for each.

I've written pieces for anywhere from $50 a piece (if you don't count free), up to $1,200 a piece, so far, with my average per piece probably hovering around $200, but I'm not doing that math. Maybe it's way lower, I don't know. I hope to markedly increase that this year.

I have made a grand total of: $15,069.55 so far. I am still waiting on a few thousand dollars worth of checks because haha, why pay freelancers in a timely manner, amirite?

Not great for a real person job, for sure. But not really that bad, either, considering if you'd told me last year that I'd be trying to make a go at freelancing for a living, I'd have laughed in your face.

So, recap:

Pitches: 542
Ignored: 211
Rejections: 187
Acceptances: 144
Money: $15,069.55
Publications: 32

And that's really it. I mean, what other info would be helpful, I don't know. This has been your "Darlena's first year as a freelancer" summation. Kbye.

The Shift from SAHM to WAHM

I've always considered myself a stay at home mom. Yes, I've "worked" on writing and editing, and pumped out a lot of material over the years, but as it wasn't really a paying gig, I prioritized spending time with my children over most of my projects. And my kids got very used to that.

The downside is that they are pretty entitled when it comes to my attention or what I'm doing for them. We spent their first two years here in Florida (2-4) with me taking them out on adventures two to three times a day. Because I could. Because I needed to so we all didn't kill each other. Before they grasped the English language fully "what kind go outside, mama" was a phrase I heard round the clock.

In short, my babies are used to my eyes on them.

And to be honest, right about now, they are totally sick of my bullshit.

Since the explosion of the Washington Post essay (and even a little before that, as I'd been branching out into paid work starting at the beginning of the summer), I haven't been staring dotingly upon them every minute of the day. They're almost six, I figured. They should be able to keep themselves entertained, play with each other, whatever. I mean, I remember growing up. My brother and sister and I freaking had to play together. My parents didn't often engage in our games.

But somehow that feels like a different time?

I am totally feeling some mama guilt right now.

We had a rough day yesterday because I'm trying desperately to catch up in the whole "act like a human being and use words instead of freaking out at every little thing" department. And it's a rough lesson for them. But it's compounded by the fact that I haven't been playing with them hardly at all these past few weeks, which is an abrupt change. My kids don't do well with change. Add to that the constant headaches and neck pain I'm living with due to a herniated disc, and the mid-end of summer vacation where it's 100 degrees every day in Florida so everyone is bored, and we've got a recipe for cranky.

Would it kill me to play with them for a few hours a day? No.

It's just that I'm also not used to the change, not used to constant deadlines for publications in addition to being a supermom (albeit a FAILING supermom).

I vow today to cut them some slack. Not in the crying/whining department, but in the "mama, look at me being an elephant" department. In the "Be the cheerleader while we play pretend volleyball with a balloon" department. In the "I really need to be a better mom" department.

I've always been really good at spinning plates, but this freelance work took me by storm, and my kids aren't plates to spin.

I'll find a balance, I know it. But the transition has not been an easy one.

Here's to today being a better day.


 

What is Office Space Worth to You?

Office Space. You may think you don't need it, and even if you know you do, if it's in your home, are you really going to use it?

 

Do you see this immaculate room? The chic black desk in the corner, artwork and photography I enjoy, a cozy nook where I can while away the hours, freelancing and writing to my heart’s content?

Yeah, no.

Given thirty minutes during twin-awake time and that room is a mess, bombarded with popped balloons, old flashlights and rubber blocks. The neat stack of bills-to-be-paid strewn across the floor, some of them lost forever, I’m sure. Juice spills, pretzel droppings and accidental popsicle stains would tarnish the atmosphere, leaving it unrecognizable, turning my precious workspace into yet another toddler playroom.

My solution? I don’t go in there. The door remains shut, the desk sits unused. Meanwhile, I wonder why my back is always hurting, and I can’t pay attention to my work.

Perhaps it’s because you can usually find me typing away from my couch while the girls play. Even when they go down for a nap, I don’t venture up the stairs. I’d have to drag my laptop and charger up there, and there’s a good chance my footsteps creaking on the floorboards would wake them up. Not worth the risk.

My idyllic space, wasted. That’s the problem with most home offices. If you have young ones about, they make it theirs, and who can get anything done with a million demands lining up?

“Mama, get me my Bean.”

“Mama, I need Cheez Its.”

“Mama, SHE’S TOUCHING ME!”

Toddler wailing should not intrude upon your workspace. It’s too hard to deal with. When I walk into my office, first off, I want to use it. Secondly, I want to use it alone. It’s so important to have your own sectioned-off space, where you can muse and get your work done in peace. If left in blissful adult silence, you’ll be amazed at how much faster you can settle into task, and how much more quickly that work actually gets done.

The best way to go about it? Move the office out of the house. Seriously. Even in a remote upstairs room, I can still hear the dryer beep, I can still worry about dinner, and I find myself ever nervous as to what is going on in the other rooms. I am still involved in the home. With half of myself distracted like that, it’s no wonder I never finish anything.

My own office space. Hmm. I should look into that.

Worn Out, but What Do You Do All Day?

I'm worn out.

There, I said it.

I'm tired.

I want to play with my kids more, but I don't have the time.

I work from home, and the deadlines pile up, deadlines for little if any money. And at every turn there's another employer beckoning for my attention, threatening to pull the plug on the relationship, wondering, 'why can't you just do this for me NOW? You're sitting at home while I'm at the office, working my ass off. Why don't you write, or edit, or research, or blog for me somewhere between your morning bath, your soap operas and bon bons and your third cup of coffee taken leisurely on the porch?'

As if my time is meaningless. As if the tasks I perform are worth less than the nothingness I get paid. As if I'm on vacation.

This is no vacation, people. This is my life. And I love it, I do, but I'm tired, and my priorities belong to my children. I know that's not going to make me successful in this world. I get it, I do. But I am stretched to my limit. I work all through nap, all through Sesame St., all through the hours after bedtime to get your assignments into you, and they get there, don't they?

Yes. They do.

And I know I'm whining, but how many other mothers feel the same pressures with different specifics? My bet is almost all of them. Having young children is not a magical playland for adults. It disrupts life as we know it, for most of us.

Just now, in fact, I had to leave this post to help my daughter use the bathroom in the middle of her nap. I took care of a tantrum, of her sister that had awoken and sang to them. It took a half hour. Will they go back to sleep? I doubt it. Nap time work time gone.

Anyway, I'm not saying to allow me to turn in shoddy work, or go past deadline, I'm just asking for a little more slack, a little less condescension. Understand that I can't show up to your business in person to interview you unless you want two three year olds tagging along. Know that email works best for me, not because I don't like you, but because no one wants to hear a tantrum on the other end of the phone, right?

And I know what you are saying. 'So, then, just quit a few of those things.'

It's hard to understand, but I just can't. I can't and I don't want to. I already feel marginalized enough in my current role. At least if I have to do 50 things for 50 different people, I'll feel as if I've done something. Anything. I can't give up. I can't admit defeat. I will not. One of these enterprises is going to get me on my feet, is going to get me back into the working world when I have to go. I must be prepared. And since I don't know which job it's going to be, I need them all. I need you, employers. Yes, I do.

And let's not forget that none of this would be possible if I didn't have a partner who understands that the house won't be immaculate, even though I'm home and should be on top of it.

Whether it's keeping a home, freelancing your time while you watch your little ones, or running back and forth to the office, wondering how your children's days are going, every parent of young kids is under enormous pressure.

Sometimes, in fact, we feel so rundown that we can't even manage a coherent blog post that's not us whining about how hard it is.

Sorry about that. I'll be back tomorrow, chipper as ever. I promise.