Yesterday, I accessed my voice mail to be greeted by this message from a relative in Denver:
"I just called to see if your fat butt got a job!"
It is odd to me that there are those who do not consider freelance projects to be actual work. (Then again, I have a sibling who swears I have "never done a day's work" in my life, which calls into question, I guess, the judge rather than the one being judged.) to work from home amid the daily distractions of everyday living requires a special kind of discipline. It is imperative to enjoy the work being done, to find fulfillment in it--otherwise, the insidious beckoning of those dishes piled up in the dishwasher, the three loads of laundry waiting to be tackled, or that favorite rerun of Masterpiece Theatre or The Gilmore Girls prove impossible to ignore.
Truly, this is not the best option for everyone. Many need the structure of a "typical nine-to-five". I have one long-time acquaintance who actually rents office space on a busy downtown street because, "I just can't spend all that time alone in front of the computer. I need to be able to see and hear that rat race as I type."
To each his own....
Still, the selling point for choosing the freelance option (at least for me) is the flexibility it affords. The truth is, I am probably a more grueling (and critical) taskmaster than any boss or supervisor ever could be. The constant reminders of the mundane projects baked up behind me provide the incentive necessary to keep me on track and progressing at a brisk pace. Being, furthermore, one of those irksome perfectionists who needs to get everything done ahead of time, working independently does not pose a problem for me.
Knowing when to call it a day, however, does.
As much as I love Colorado, my body has yet to bounce back from the transition. This last week, I must say, has been--as a result--an absolute killer! If one can picture a near-forty woman huddled beneath a coverlet banging away at her laptop as she all but convulses with chills, he (or she) has a pretty doggone good mental image of me. In some ways, much was accomplished: in other ways, I feel as though I am falling steadily behind. All the same, I have adored every minute of it. Working on such a wide range of different projects (spanning so many different literary forms and disciplines) is never boring. In fact, it thrills me. And, being at the mercy of no one's schedule but one's own (for the most part) is to me a beautiful thing.
Even if it means that others think my "fat butt" (all the better to sit at my computer with, my dear) isn't holding down an actual "job."
So, for all you freelance writers, editors, and ghostwriters out there, never let anyone compel you to feel as though your work, your time, your efforts are of any less value than anyone else's just because you chose to meet your deadlines in a baby-doll nightie and fuzzy Eeyore slippers. The quality of written work stands, regardless of the conditions under which that work was completed; thus and therefore, my friends...
Just keep writing, ya'll.
One of the most difficult aspects of what I do--at least to my way of thinking--is the waiting. I wait for my computer to boot up, wait for inspiration, wait for rejection or acceptance letters, wait for clients to either call me or return my calls, wait for responses to my comments or corrections (when editing), and then...wait for my paycheck!
Grrrrrrrr!!!!
This day finds me waiting a response to an e-mail I quite hesitantly posted earlier this afternoon. A very dear friend is making his first foray into the world of published writing after years in the public eye. When I took on (or,more accurately: wheedled, cajoled,pestered, and demanded) the wondrous and fulfilling task of completing an "unofficial" pre-edit (my term for a process--my personal specialty--I often implement when dealing with many clients, by which the content of the work itself goes untouched while the grammatical, syntactical, and other structural aspects of the writing are corrected, after which, the client to opt for the next stage of the editorial process), I found myself absolutely enchanted by not only the manuscripts themselves but his unique style of writing: so much so, in fact, that I threw myself into the project, adding advice and services that I had not before intended to offer. As life would have it,unfortunately, circumstances led to a long silence between us, and I held no place in his life for several months. Only yesterday did he present me with the "final -final" edit of his young adult manuscript...
And I was faced with a moral, personal and professional dilemma.
As always, the writing itself was breathtaking, as were the ideas and imagery conveyed within this imaginative and unique story he had woven.
The grammar, in places was horrible.
Having gone into this matter with my eyes open--convinced that my personal feelings would indubitably diminish my objectivity with regards to the work--I had always accepted (and, indeed, preferred) to view the project as a favor for a friend, encouraging him--as such--at every juncture to consult (but not sacrifice his creative voice to) his own editor or literary agent. Because of this "hands off" approach, I have no idea who is assisting him in this venture...or to what degree. My concern, however,is that he might, by those without his best interests at heart, be steered into very troubling directions.
Then again, what right do I have--having kept a decided and deliberate distance from the creative process--to bulldoze my way into it now?
(On the other hand, as a friend and fellow writer, under what obligation am I to do everything in my power to make sure his project is the best it can be, the he has the best chance for success possible?)
It's all too much for this little Louisiana/Cherokee girl to handle.
So here I sit...
Waiting...
To see what course of action he will or not take, if my advice will wreck an already precarious relationship, to hear his response, for that bolt from the blue which will impart upon me some great--and before unknown--wisdom and discernment...
Waiting, essentially, for his response to my response....
Where does friendship end and professionalism begin?
And, for once in my life, should I simply keep my big mouth shut?
