Things I'd much rather be writing about today...

One of the problems I’ve had about writing for a living is that I never feel like writing as a hobby anymore. In fact, sitting in front of my computer is probably the last place I want to be when I’m not working. But today, I was thinking about something because of a story I read last night, and I decided to sit down and capture my thoughts before they fade away. Here they are.

What I’d RATHER write about today versus what I HAVE to write about

In the Feb. 11 ’08 issue of the New Yorker there’s a story about a Polish guy who wrote a novel about a murder, and then they found out he actually committed a murder. It was a fascinating story for a lot of reasons and I couldn't get out of my mind. Plus, it brought up so many issues I’d like to write about:

1) Why do so many people today think that killing someone is the solution? What makes them think that’s ok? At what point to do they say to themselves, “I know, we’ll kill him!” I would NEVER in a million YEARS think that. Well, wait, that’s not true. I did have a couple of times when I was dealing with my ex-husband that I WANTED to kill him, but it was more a spur-of-the moment reaction to something he did. I would never in a calm moment have said, “Let’s kill him.”

2) What kind of person is it who thinks that way? Examples: woman in Allegan who, along with her current husband, sister- and brother-in-law, killed her ex-husband, leaving many children’s lives shattered as well (his, hers, theirs, etc.) Why didn’t someone in that group, parents all, say, “What if we get caught?” or, “What about the kids?” These were “normal” people! What made them think they could 1) do it, and 2) get away with it? It’s insane.

3) Another example: The woman in Rockford who was having long-distance (internet) affair with a guy. They corresponded for awhile. Then she flew to California, where they had sex a couple of times. She flew back home, and put up a notice on Craig’s List or somewhere saying, “Freelance person need to eradicate a problem…” or some such similar thing. But basically what she was doing was advertising for a hired killer to do away with her new boyfriend’s wife! On the WEB! Is she insane?? And she has a husband and two teenagers! What the HELL are these people thinking???

4) Anyway, that story in the NYer reminded me of how I’d love to dig into this whole topic of murder and find out what the deal is: Why do so many people today think killing is the solution? It also reminds me how I’ve always wanted to write a thing about the 10 commandments. I mean, shouldn’t “Thou Shalt Not Kill” be a universally understood and accepted concept? Maybe we just all need some new rules to live by; a universal list we can all agree on: No killing. No having sex with children, especially your own. No cheating. No lying. What else? It reminds me, too, that killing is becoming so commonplace, it’s becoming accepted. Some recent headlines in the newspaper: guy killing the kids at Northern Illinois University this week. A few weeks ago, a guy killed a bunch of workers at a Lane Bryant store near Chicago. (My friend Jane and her husband and son were actually in a Target store in that mall the week before the shootings. Then there are the constant suicide bombing report from the Middle East. I mean, what the hell? We read about people blowing themselves and others up every day. We’ve become so immune to it.

So, those are just a few of things I’d explore if only I had the time.

Can I create a link to my GR Symphony story?

Just trying something here...re: story on GR Symphony Orchestra mentioned in 4/27 post (about joining the Peace Corp)...here's a link to how that story ended up after the rotten miserable day I had when I started it:

http://www.rapidgrowthmedia.com/features/grso5107.aspx

Did this actually create a link to that story?

How can I call myself a writer when I spend so little time writing?

One of the fascinating things about my job is how little time I actually spend writing. Like for instance, right now I’m working on a case study for one of my clients (a global office furniture manufacturer). But before I begin writing even one word of the case study itself, I already have more than 8 hours logged into the job: e-mailing and corresponding with people, setting up interviews, sending them questions, doing the interviews (5 in all), transcribing the notes, etc. etc. It’ll probably only take me 2-3 hours to write the damn thing (600-800 words) but all that upfront stuff takes up 80% of the job! Amazing.

Some days I think I’ll just join the Peace Corp

Today was one of those days where I swear I’m going to join the Peace Corp. Everything has gone wrong: I started work early this morning (6:30 a.m.) because I had a lunch date with my friend, Clare, and our former client, Tonya. I was really looking forward to it and wanted to get everything done before I left.

Things were moving along nicely, and I was in the middle of a story about the Grand Rapids Symphony Orchestra when my keyboard locked up.

This has happened to me before: If you hold the “Shift” key down for more than 8 seconds, a box pops up that asks you something about a Filter Key: “Do you want to [ ] Cancel [ ] Continue, or [ ] Frickin’ Abort” or something, I don’t know. Anyway, I hit the wrong answer and the next thing I know the cursor won’t move and the keyboard is totally locked up; it only beeped at me when I tried.

I thought, Oh, CHRIST! MUST I deal with THIS right now?? I tried doing what I normally do: Shut everything down, turn off the computer, start it up again, and hope like hell it works.

It didn’t.

I called my husband from upstairs. “Art, can you please come down here a minute?” He tried to fix it by doing that thing where you restore everything to a certain date, but for some reason, that wouldn’t work either.

By 8:30 I was a maniac, screaming into a pillow so the neighbors wouldn’t hear me (“WHY do these things HAPPEN to me…WAAAHHHH!”) and call the police. At 9:00 Art said he’d take the computer in and have Mike, the IT guy at his office, fix it.

So we unplugged everything (another pain), and Art took the computer upstairs and put it by the back door.

In the meantime, I remembered I had a job to turn in. So while he was in the shower, I went upstairs, brought the CPU back down, replugged everything back in and sent the job off. (Another problem—since I couldn’t type, I couldn’t key in the person’s name or write a message. So had to send it to someone else in her office as a Reply to an old email, then call her and explain the whole thing!!!)

Anyway, I did that, then unplugged it all again, brought it back upstairs, then brought Art’s laptop downstairs to use for the day. I got it set up with my email system (more hassles) and did some writing with the files I had available to me.

At 11:00 Art called to say Mike had fixed my computer. But by then, I had cancelled my lunch (I was in no mood) and decided to just go pick up the rotten miserable thing and come home and work. On the way there, I turned on NPR and Diane Rehm was interviewing a woman from Holland, Michigan (!) named Deborah Rodriguez who had started a beauty school in Afghanistan and written a book about it (“Kabul Beauty School”).

It was a fantastic story, one that was perfect for me to hear at that particular moment in time because 1) it completely put my problems into proper perspective, and 2) it was a totally enjoyable show! I may have had a computer lock up on me this morning, but at least I am not a young newlywed Afghani woman who has been raped and therefore unable to prove my virginity to my husband and his family who are waiting outside the tent for the bloody rag to appear. (A real situation briefly discussed on the show.)

So hearing that show definitely started to change my frame of mind. But I was still kinda wiped out from the morning’s events. And when I got home at noon I realized I wasn’t in the mood to work, either; I needed to regroup and start the day all over again.

I called my friend Nancy, a peace activist, who met me at Honey Creek. We had lunch and a few laughs and by the time I left for home, I thought I was ok.

But I wasn’t. I got in the car and started crying. It wasn’t just the computer problems, or even the Afghanistan story; I had had some other emotional upheavals this week, too: my son didn’t come home when I thought he was going to and just last night I finished a book called “Lucky Child” by Loung Ung, about how she came to the U.S. at age 10 as a Cambodian refugee after half her family was killed by the Khmer Rouge. Incredibly awful.

So emotionally, I was a little raw; and by the time I got home, I definitely was not ready to pick up where I left off on my symphony story and pretend all was well.

And although I really felt like joining the Peace Corp at that point, I decided to drive down to Grand Haven instead.

April 17, 2007 - Getting ready for Boston

April 17, 2007

One thing that’s hard about being a freelancer is that nobody pays you to go on vacation. Nope, no two-week vacation package or sick time or “personal days” or anything else like in the real world. And nobody covers you while you’re gone, either.

For example, right now I am busting my ass to get a bunch of jobs done before I leave Thursday for a long weekend with my daughter in Boston. I have at least four stories and god knows what else due before then. Today’s Tuesday. I worked last Saturday till about 2:00, took Sunday off, worked Monday till 8:00, and will probably do the same today and Wednesday.

And in the meantime, a woman I was supposed to interview yesterday stood me up (for the 3rd time) and she just called to reschedule, so I’ve gotta fit that in now, too.

So why am I writing this stupid thing when I should be writing all that other stuff? Because I need a break!

I’m not sure how often everyone else needs a break, but I am SO ready for one. Not just this temporary 5-minute one, but the weekend one. I seem to need take a break from my life about every 2 months. Otherwise, I go insane.

I’m going to try NOT to take any work with me when I go out east, but I’m thinking: Maybe I’ll print out all my blog stuff, see what I’ve got, and try to organize it in some coherent way.

But I haven’t written in my blog in so long I can’t even remember how the hell to get there! Plus, I’m thinking about that whole Virginia thing…my god! What the hell is going on in this world?? I keep thinking about Brenna and John who are teaching…what if somebody walked into their classroom and started firing away? I can’t even think about it. Jesus, this world is SO screwed up.

So I guess that's it for now. I didn't even print this out to edit, so whatever it is, it is.

Life in the Bowling Lane

Per previous post, here’s my submission for the "FREELANCE SUCCESS STORIES" contest from Writer’s Digest books asking people to tell their stories about when they first realized they were successful freelance writers. (See entry for Jan. 31, 2007 on the outcome – fourth place and a tentative assignment from WD books!)

Life in the bowling lane

I’ve had many exciting milestones in my writing career: Getting my first letter to the editor published in a national magazine (Playboy, Dec. ‘78); winning the annual Writer’s Digest writing contest for a (non-fiction) piece called, “How to Get through a Divorce without Going Crazy”; the Saturday morning phone call I got from the editor of Metropolitan Parent magazine saying she “loved” the three stories I’d sent her; another phone call that came while I was fixing dinner one night from Woman’s Day magazine saying they’d accepted one of my articles; landing my first ad agency job; and probably the biggest thrill of all: the letter I got in March, 1988, from Writer’s Digest telling me they’d accepted my how-to piece on copywriting. (The letter still hangs on my office wall.)

All of those were encouraging and each propelled me forward in some way. But the moment I realized I was a successful freelance writer was a few years ago, one cold winter day while I was standing in the middle of a bowling alley. It was a brisk, sunny Thursday afternoon, and I had driven 50 miles to meet with a woman – Peg something or other – on a writing project for the Brunswick Corporation, the long-time manufacturer of bowling balls and equipment. Somebody had given Peg my name, and she wanted to talk to me about the assignment and what it entailed.

So I met with her, and as she began explaining the project to me, she said, “I’d like you to first talk with a couple of our engineers so you can get a better understanding of this whole thing.”

We walked over to the engineering department, and she introduced me to the two men, who began filling me in on the details. It seems they’d invented a new bowling alley cleaning machine and they needed an instruction manual to go with it. Writing the manual would be my job.

So I’m standing in the middle of this alley listening to the engineers explain how their machine works, and all of a sudden I couldn’t help it, I just started laughing. They kind of looked at me like, what’s going on? I was a little embarrassed, but right away I said, “I’m sorry,” shaking my head, “but I have to stop you before you go any further. Because I can tell you right now, I am not the person for this job.”

A bowling alley cleaning machine manual?? Is that what I wanted to spend the next three months of my life doing? No, it was not. It was way over my head. And that was when I realized I was a successful freelance writer: Because I had finally reached the point where I didn’t have to take this job. I could say, Thanks, but no thanks, this is one is not for me.

As a writer eking out a living in Rockford, Michigan, I’d had many, many years of saying yes to anything and everything that came down the pike: Brochures? Love 'em! Outdoor boards? Bring 'em on! Radio spots? Whoopee!

Around here, that’s what being a freelance writer is all about – writing for businesses and corporations. It’s the only way most of us can make a living. I mean, I’d love to be writing regularly for Condé Nast Traveler, but let’s get real. Breaking into the national magazine market, especially from here, is so hard. Yes, I’ve had a few little successes, but it was never anything that was going to pay the bills.

The local pubs don’t pay anything, either. I had a monthly column in a regional magazine for more than two years, but I don’t think my total earnings ever even hit $100; they just didn’t have the money.

Writing for corporations, however, now that pays – upwards of $65-$75 an hour. And there are all kinds of opportunities around, from web sites to TV spots. Yes, the furniture brochures do get boring, but writing newsletters never does; I always learn something. And interviewing high profile designers, which I do regularly for one client, still gives me a thrill. Traveling around the country (Hawaii, Florida, Idaho, New York) for another, staying in first-class hotels, continues to make me feel fortunate.

So it’s a nice life. But it’s always funny to me to hear people’s reactions when I tell them I’m a freelance writer. They’ll say, “Oh, really? Have you ever been published?” And I’ll say, “Yeah, a lot. Have you ever read any of the statement stuffers from your bank? I probably wrote them!”

I’ve learned that being a successful freelance writer doesn’t necessarily mean a byline in a national pub or a contract for a book. To me, it means being able to make a living doing what you love doing: writing.

And if there’s enough work in little old West Michigan to support me and probably 30 other freelancers around, there are probably opportunities where you live, too.

All I know is, it’s nice to now be in the position where I can pick and choose what I want to do. And who knows? Maybe one of these days, I’ll even have some time left over to try to crack that damn national magazine market.

Freelance success!

I had very cool thing happen the other day. As I was preparing to interview a Korean person on the phone, I was setting things up with the translator when I glanced at my computer screen and noticed an e-mail come in with the subject line: “Freelance Success.”

“Freelance Success” was the name of a Writer’s Digest contest I had entered a few months back. You were supposed to write a thing on how/when you first realized you were a successful freelance writer. I sent something in that I thought was pretty good, a little different. But I didn’t give it much thought after that. (I’ll post it later.)

Anyway, I see this email come in and I think, Hmm…what is this about? So I take a quick peek as I’m waiting for the two Koreans to finish up talking and I see the following:

Hello Keasha,

I just wanted to let you know that you were the fourth place entry in the contest, which I realize doesn't mean too much outside of knowing that you were the best of the rest. However, I am interested in possibly assigning you a piece on how to build a successful freelance business by writing for businesses and such for the 2009 Writer's Market. I won't make assignments until late-June, but I just wanted to see if you would be interested when that time comes around. If so, I'll go ahead and create a folder for you and contact you with more details when the time is right.

So, just let me know.

Best,

Robert Lee Brewer
EditorWriter's Market
WritersMarket.com

(Also, you might want to try pitching the interim editor of Writer's Digest magazine, Maria Schneider, about writing for corporations and such. Her email is (xxxxx). Be sure to let me know if anything comes of that if you go that route, so we don't duplicate ourselves.)

Well, can you imagine my excitement? Here is Robert Brewer, Editor of Writer’s Market telling me he wants to give me an assignment and I’m sitting here with two Koreans on the other end of the line waiting for an interview to start!

After the interview was over, I re-read the e-mail (about 10 times) and then responded back to Robert away thanking him for the good news and telling him I’d be MORE than happy to take an assignment.

The bad news is that I was right in the middle of a HUGE project when this happened, writing an Annual Report for my absolute best client, in addition to everything else I had in the works. So I was totally buried in jobs, and, of course, this is when I get a recommendation from Robert Brewer that I write to the WD Magazine editor with a pitch!

I HAD to do it (strike while the fire is hot). So I took one morning off to scan a bunch of samples, write a good pitch and a decent e-mail, proof it all to make sure there were no errors (like in the subject line, which said, “Pitch from a former WD contributer…” Thank GOD I caught THAT one.)

And then in the meantime, I checked my Writer’s Market just to make SURE I could send my clips as attachments (some mags won’t accept them) and found out that WD mag DOESN’T accept them. So all the scanning and explaining of my clips was for naught, and I had to re-write the whole damn thing. Plus, I then had to make color copies to send via regular mail – a total pain.

But I got it done. And after all that work getting things ready, I was feeling so happy and proud that I managed to get the pitch into the editor in such a short period of time, when I get the following response:

“Maria Schneider is out of the office until January 15…”

Bummer! But in the meantime, I decided to send Robert Brewer a copy of what I sent Maria just to let him know I’d followed his advice, and again, he wrote back a really nice note (“Good stuff!”). So I’m still feeling pretty positive about the whole thing. Now we’ll just have to wait and see if it goes anywhere….

Working alone is so weird

Working alone is so weird. For example, today, after I sent off a job I’ve been working on for weeks, I crossed it off my “To Do” list and then wrote, “Yeay, Keash!!!” Well, somebody has to give me a pat on the back once in awhile; it may as well be me.

Working alone can also be dangerous. As I just said in an email to my friend, Ken, a designer who recently started freelancing:

“One hazard of working at home, alone: If you’re eating a piece of leftover steak for lunch and you suddenly choke on it, you have to give yourself the Heimlich maneuver. I actually had to do that yesterday! My first thought: I can't let Art come home and find me dead on the floor—I couldn’t bear to have him tell my children that’s how I died!”

Thank god, the Heimlich worked. Otherwise, I’d be forever remembered like Elvis, you know, people always picturing him sitting on the john trying to you-know-what. Only in my case, they'd picture me gagging in a very unprofessional manner.

Another thing about working alone—when someone knocks on the door, it always freaks me out. I immediately pick up the phone and dial 91, so that I can continue dialing 911 if the person turns out to be a serial killer. At least, that way I can let someone know I’ve been murdered.

See what I mean about working alone? Sometimes it’s just weird as hell.