It’s funny, the longer I spend on the Internet, the more I forget what a truly terrible place it can be. This goes doubly when you’re working for clients that don’t realize how difficult it is to intuit their intent from a few pointed words. Most of the time, these clients are corporate or working on behalf of corporations.
For example, I have done a great deal of work for a particular window manufacturer that I won’t name (but there’s a cartoon Martian that has the same “goes by”). When those suggestions and edits come down the pipe, it feels like a ballistic bean bag to the heart. Every time. Even though I know this is the way they do things.
This is probably why so many freelancers avoid corporate clients like the fucking plague.
Rub Some Dirt In That Wound
As painful as it can be, those edits are semi-solicited comments. They’re included in your content package. You told them to bring you comments, in not so many words.
I mean, you still pray to God and Dog and whoever else ya got that you don’t hemorrhage during the process, but you persist because you like having a roof over your head and whatnot.
You do the thing because that’s your job and you are the adult in the room.
But it’s not kind, it’s often not fair and frequently very confusing. When six people are editing your work at the same time, they will end up contradicting themselves. Then your head explodes.
Of course, corporate clients aren’t the only people in the world dropping buckets into the Ocean of Negativity that is the virtual world. Sometimes it’s smaller clients — or worse — your social network.
I Get By With a Little Help…
Last night, a thing happened in the Tubes that shook me up more than it should have. And I did eventually walk it off, but it took me by such surprise that it took the breath out of me for a minute.
I posted to my social network something kind of personal about how this calendar I bought in — who knows, let’s say the 90s — profoundly affected my outlook on life and whatnot. It was called “Nuns Having Fun.” Literally, this is a calendar series full of nuns having fun. What could be less objectionable?
Apparently we can’t have nice things because it wasn’t long before someone came along to shit on my parade. Because there are bad people in the world and a few of them happen to be nuns, we can’t secretly spy on the joy of those nuns that aren’t doing bad things and enjoy it.
This was the lesson. Or, so it tried to be. Several of my very clever friends came in with sarcasm and sharp wit and potentially ruled the day. If anything that happens online can be considered to be real.
Face That Ish Head On
I realized in that moment that the two things, the edits we endure as writers and the slings and arrows chucked at us by online moral purists aren’t really all that different.
Edit-By-Committee means to weed out all the imperfections in short editing rounds by involving every person who might be remotely attached to a project; Online Moral Purity seeks to weed out all the problems of society by raising awareness, even if that means shitting on everything you love.
Now, as to what to do about it.
Face that ish head on. Here, have five ways to do that:
Remember that you’re in control. Even when you aren’t in control of the situation, you’re in control of how you respond to it. You can cry, you can freak the fuck out, you can punch a pillow (not a person), but do it in the goddamn closet. You rule the day, keep a handle on yourself.
Bitch loudly to your friends. Get that poison out of your system, but not where there’s anyone in your professional network to see. Tell your friends, who almost certainly don’t understand what it is that you’re upset about, that your client is squirrely. Just saying it outloud can give you some perspective.
Sleep on it. Seriously. This makes all the difference for me. When I have a good night’s sleep after an edit, I wake up with an improved outlook. I can see those comments in their very best light, as awful as they may have felt the day before. Sleep. It’s really awesome.
Address the offense. Hey, that’s a perfectly valid point about your stupid windows, you dumb window making people. Or, hey, boot makers, guess what? Women work construction, too, so don’t be telling me that only a man can review your dumb work boots. Because you’re all dumb. (but be more eloquent)
Get down to business. Look, you’re a pro or you at least want to be one. There’s absolutely no reason to act like anything but. Don’t let them see you sweat, just clean up the mess of comments in your working document and move the fuck on. They’re paying for it, so if they want something changed, just do it. Let them kill your darlings. You can make more.
Social media and clients can both be full of malaria and alligators, much like Florida, but you don’t have to spend your life bogged down in the fucking swamp. Remember that you are amazing and that the swamp is also a great place for orchids, which really makes some of the malaria pretty tolerable.
For the last several weeks, I’ve been streaming Bob Ross pretty much non-stop during writing time. At first, I did this because I believed his soothing voice was keeping my high strung dogs from flying off the handle every time a garbage truck drove by, but as time went on, I also found myself lulled by his dulcet tones.
Then it happened.
Bob said, “You’re going to need a friend when Nature rises up and takes over.”
That was in season 25 or so, I can’t remember the exact episode now. But I remember the shock. I’m pretty sure I had a happy accident.
Happy New Year!
This is how I’m opening my New Year’s Letter for 2019. If you’re still reading, I really admire your ability to digest bullshit. I really did hear him say that and as the seasons roll on, he says a lot of very weird shit. Then he goes on to justify it by saying that if you’re a painter, people expect you to be a little strange.
Number one, Bob, you’re way more than a little strange. You’re potentially deranged. And yet the world loved you and I think that’s ok. I’m just not buying that wholesome act you’re putting on any longer. There’s nothing more terrifying than the look on his face when he cleans a brush with paint thinner and “just beats the Devil outta it.”
Number two, Bob… seriously? Are you going to continue to perpetuate that tired stereotype? Blerg.
In the New Year, I will be continuing to watch Bob, listen to him tell stories about being in the military, living in Alaska, his dreams of living inside his paintings and Steve, his sorry excuse for a hippie son.
Even though he says very disturbing things.
Maybe because he does.
Welcome to 2019, Plebeians
This letter was written on December 27, so not quite the New Year, but certainly in the run up to it. The last several years have been indescribably difficult. I would say it was epic, but you wouldn’t get the impact I intend. I mean epic like Odysseus’ voyage home… or like one of those dreams where you run and run and run, but you can’t ever get to where you’re going.
A good friend of mine has, at various times, compared times in this life to a coma dream. She was actually IN a coma, so she knows better what that means than I do. But I assume that there’s a sort of eerie sense that things aren’t quite real, but they’re not fake either. It’s like how I feel about those multiverse theories. But I digress.
A lot of fucked up stuff has happened the last few years. It started… well, I can’t tell you when it started because it’s been like waking from a dream. I know you guys probably don’t realize it, but I have been in a really bad way and basically on automatic pilot for a while now. Pieces of me were always there, but not like now.
Let me start over.
Finding Yourself Again is Tricky
About a week after Terry Pratchett died in 2015, The Guardian ran this long essay that he had written about his fight with Alzheimer’s. The deeper I got into it, the more I cried. And not for the reasons you might think. In 2015, I was still losing myself, a piece would fall away here and there. Sometimes I’d find an odd bit, but I’d lose another. What caught me was that the weird Jelloy world I was living in was what Pratchett was described in vivid detail.
“I have posterior cortical atrophy or PCA. They say, rather ingenuously, that if you have Alzheimer’s it’s the best form of Alzheimer’s to have. This is a moot point, but what it does do, while gradually robbing you of your memory, visual acuity and other things you didn’t know you had until you miss them, is leave you more or less fluent and coherent as you have always been…. [while] the disease slips you away a little bit at a time and lets you watch it happen.”
This was my lightbulb moment. Or, rather, it was sort of a dimmish-nightlight-in-the-hall sort of moment. I wasn’t together enough to realize how important this description would be for me or how it would shape my future.
I knew something was very wrong, but most days I couldn’t tell you what it was. I couldn’t tell you what I had for lunch. But somehow I could still write and so I did. That’s all I did. That’s all I could do.
Then the muscle spasms started getting so bad that I couldn’t deny them. My abs would buckle so hard that it looked like I was in some kind of mad sit-up contest for one, my hands would shake, my arms refused to swing as I limped slowly along. I brought these things to my neurologist in Missouri and she did a few tests, but ended up writing it off as “spells.” I was having spells, but I didn’t get better (but to be fair, no one turned me into a newt).
All My Exes Live in Texas?
We moved to Fort Worth, Texas in 2017, and I lucked onto a neurologist who was a genius diagnostician. He said almost nothing to me the first several times I was in his office. He ordered an MRI, he checked my arm swing and how well my muscles responded, all that normal stuff. Then, one day, he asked me to try a drug I’d never heard of: ropinirole, a dopamine agonist.
I had already been reading up on what might be said one day by that quiet man with the big computer of a brain. That’s why I cried as I left the office. If the ropinirole helped, it was another nail in the coffin. And, like Pratchett describes his own moment of clarity, I was suddenly experiencing pretty much every emotion at once.
“When Milton’s Satan stood in the pit of hell and raged at heaven, he was merely a trifle miffed compared to how I felt on that day. I felt totally alone, with the world receding away from me in every direction, and you could have used my anger to weld steel.”
It took about two days before I was confident enough to call Dr. Dhaliwal to tell him that yes, the drugs were working. And in ways I never expected. Things I didn’t know I had lost had returned like a not very funny cream pie to the face. Colors were brighter, scents were scentier, emotions were deeper, oh and that lmp I’d had since I was a teen (always blamed on a soccer injury) had disappeared entirely.
After all the things that had happened in Missouri, including a suicide attempt and two (!!) cancer scares, this was the worst thing I could have ever imagined happening. My neurologist would ultimately diagnose me with early onset Parkinson’s with Essential Tremor. And I would take more ropinirole. And I would get worse.
The funny thing about starting the drugs you desperately need is that the more you need them, the less you notice how sick you are. So, as I regained function bit by bit, I also got worse. More ropinirole. More symptoms.
Today we’re at a reasonably middling dose of ropinirole, plus a few other drugs that help keep the many symptoms of Parkinson’s in check by helping me sleep, giving me a little energy boost or working on other parts that we never knew were connected.
Really, it’s very good. But understand that Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s share a lot of features and may actually be related disease.processes. So as you read that essay, know that it could just as easily be me writing it.
The takeaway should be that 2018 was the year I got my mind back. There’s nothing more important.
Oh, and Then There Was That Time I Died
2018 was such a weird year.
It was the year that I died.
Did I tell you? If not, please don’t feel bad. I was still trying to find my feet in a world of neurological issues when it happened. I was overwhelmed.
The plan this past summer was to have a relatively routine surgery that I won’t go into the details of here, but I assure you that it was seriously no big deal. My body had other plans, though. Once they had me prepped and the really deep anesthesia started, my blood pressure bottomed out.
And there it stayed.
I’m not sure what it took to bring me back from the brink, but when I woke up in the recovery ward, I was surrounded by the anxious eyes of the entire anesthesiology team. They were pale and shaking and fearful, as if they’d seen the dead rise again.
Having had many, many surgeries over the years (autoimmune disease, yay!), I knew that it wasn’t normal to wake up to a fan club. But they didn’t want to tell me what had happened. I was moved to a private room at the hospital (woo woo!), where the hospitalist and my surgeon explained it all.
They really thought I was going to die. At first, this was all a big joke to me. I mean, not really, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it, so instead I made dumb jokes. It was all I could do.
Mostly, I was kind of embarrassed. I mean, I thought people were supposed to have life-altering epiphanies or see visions or something when they die. I got nada. It was just another Thursday in my world, albeit one where I scared a lot of people, a hobby I don’t generally engage in.
So that happened. And even now, I don’t know what it means. Or if it means anything. We all live, we all die and some of us do stuff in between.
And Then We Opened In The Cloud
To be fair, ITC had been around a while already, it was meant to be a rebranding of Waterworth Writes, a company I know you’re all familiar with.
See, a friend told us the winter prior that she was very sick. She’d always been supportive, even trying to help raise the past iterations of a ship like this one that we could never quite get to sail. So, with her terrifying news, I was determined to launch In The Cloud before she posted her last Breitbart article to social media.
I had launched it, but nothing happened. I was just… still me and a big empty, useless boat. I assumed I’d figure it out as I went. I didn’t do well with that until after I came back to life. After that, I kind of got a headwind.
This is mostly a roundabout way of saying that I want her to know that she was a big reason to move the timetables up. And even though she’s sick enough that she doesn’t check in sometimes for weeks, she’s the reason I keep pushing forward with it.
She’s the reason I keep pushing, even when I don’t have anything left. So there’s that. After losing Don, Kat, Our Judith, Rich, Billy, Earl and so many others, I couldn’t let her slip away without really understanding that she changed my world profoundly. That’s about the best that she’ll ever get out of me.
2019 Had Better Hold on Tight
I’ve made some great connections in the world of copy, copywriting, marketing and general shenaniganry over the last few years. I completely believe that we will create something profound in 2019. And if not profound, then we might at least settle for profane.
In The Cloud should roughly double in orders this year, if current signs are any indication. We’re on fire and even though I am one of the more inept business owners around, at least I keep getting back on that horse and riding. We’re in high demand, so that’s always nice.
I just have to remember what we’re worth. My Jewish Second Mom will keep beating this into me until I buy it, I think. We’re worth a lot, she says. There aren’t a lot of people who can do what my team at In The Cloud does, nor with so much flare.
We make this Internet look good, that’s what I’m saying.
Goal-Setting for 2019
The days and nights and nights and days of effort it has taken to set 2019 up for success have not only shown me what I’m made of, but what those around me are capable of. And they’re pretty damn awesome. That being said, I need to get some of my life sort of rebalanced. So here come the 2019 goals!
Double ITC’s output and revenue. We already discussed this. But I thought it was worth mentioning again. Maybe I can actually get my taxes paid on time for once!
Spend more time exploring. I have barely left the (home) office in a year. I have my groceries delivered, I have a postage machine, Amazon brings me everything else. I need to get out of the house and look around at the world. I need to find out what makes it worth living in Fort Worth, Texas (besides Dr. Dhaliwal).
Write more for our company. I have seriously neglected my duties as head blogger at the companies under my direction. That’s already in the process of being fixed, but I need to make it last. Keep it up. We used to blog here all the time, me and you. Time to do better.
Cut the fat. I spend a lot of time fucking around. There’s no way to say it other than like that. I’m a real good fucker arounder. I have to concentrate my fuckery so I have time to do anything besides fuckery and work. Like, you know, take a walk or eat an orange.
Improve focus and productivity. Sometimes it’s everything I can do to focus on the day ahead. Or the one that just got away from me. This year that’s getting attention. Sleeping well and better is the first phase.
Stay active. I am currently doing about an hour of cardio daily to help keep myself moving. It has helped dramatically, but it’s hard to start after I’ve stopped. So I’m not stopping. I need to keep on movin’ on.
Own my shit. You may not believe this, but there are certain people in this world that I am genuinely concerned about what they think of me. It makes it hard for me to have an honest face to face without falling to pieces. I need to own my shit. I’m owning this today.
I guess that’s about it. I have some big goals for next year, but I have no doubt that the people around me will help turn our company into something really magical. Something real special. We’re not a lot now, we’re just learning to crawl, but we’re going to get there. This is everything. We’ve got this nailed so hard.
Thank you for reading all the way down.
Thank you for believing in my vision, if you’re Team ITC. Thank you for being patient.
Thank you for being an inspiration, if you’re a particular reader. Whatever you’ve done in your life and whatever mistakes along the way, know that simply knowing you changed my life profoundly. In my eyes, all those sins are forgiven. Well, except Breitbart.
Thank you for being a friend, if you’re a bee enthusiast. Those long, dark nights of the soul can get pretty bleak. Having so many bees in my corner has been… what’s the word, even? Nonetheless, I would not be here without you.
Thank you for letting me go, if you’re part of the clan back home. I would never have gotten better there. They didn’t know how to help me, I had to leave to realize my potential.
Thank you for everything. All of you. There are so many people who need hand-written notes that I’m very likely to not actually write any due to the overwhelm. But I’m shouting out to you right now, in this blog that gets easily six views a month.
Happy New Year from Waterworth Writes and In The Cloud
Happy New Year, you jerks. May your champagne be bubbly and paper horns noisy and annoying. I’ll be here, clicking the keyboard, trying to figure out why Whataburger is such a big deal and generally feeling my way around in the dark until I find another door.
Oh, and if you need any salty copy written for your company, we’re here to serve. Check out our leaky ship, In The Cloud Copy for more details.
Throughout my career, I’ve been lucky enough to work with some really incredible people. Intense, talented, fucking extra terrestrial people, but most of them ebb and flow in and out of my life. That’s how freelancing works, that’s the life.
But a rare few stick around a bit and you start to really like working together, you know? They go from just people you see here and there to someone you consider an actual colleague and friend. When that chemistry works, it turns everything into rocket fuel. They give you the idea that maybe you can be more.
And, hey, I don’t know you, maybe you can be.
Ten Gallon Hats and Mercy Killings
Sometimes, though, you’re going to find yourself on sinking ships that you can’t find a way off of. You may really like that project at first, even, but over time it becomes glaringly obvious that the client or the client of the client doesn’t give two damns about you.
Maybe you even find out that they would actually replace you or your team with someone who would work for less than the almost nothing you’d agreed to years ago because this project was supposed to grow both in scope and dollars as time went by. (Let that demoralizing little apple bob around a bit….)
When those people who set you on fire as a creative still have your back despite it all, you can’t just walk away from them, you know? Those are YOUR people. You’ve chosen each other, for better or worse. And in this industry, worse is almost guaranteed to be a thing that happens often.
Those are the same people who give you the strength and words to pull the plug on that project that’s been eating you up for years. You can’t please everyone, they remind you. You have to live for today because tomorrow isn’t promised. But the loyalty of a few good friends and contemporaries, well, that’s a big deal.
Loyalty. That’s just… everything.
Moving From Lone Wolf to Freelancing Team Spirit
I work with a team that I adore. I also work on a few projects with a few lovely and wonderful people that I respect deeply. When I started in this business, though, I started out on my own. I didn’t really know anyone and I was like, “I don’t need nobody.” Which, let’s face it, isn’t true. Or it is if you work out the double negative there.
Anyway, the point here is that being a Lone Wolf can be ok for a while, but if you really want to make it in the changing climate that is freelance writing, someone needs to be watching your back and you need to be doing the same for them. Just because it’s highly competitive doesn’t mean that you have to turn other writers into the enemy or be an asshole. Not to other writers, anyway.
The truth is that I have found much more success thinking of myself as part of a team or a partnership than I ever did alone. That being said, I’m going to tell you how to find that same sort A-Team of writing as I have.
Remember: There’s nothing as important as loyalty when the odds are stacked against you as hard as they are in this writing life.
Finding Your Creative Posse
We’ve discussed the power of networking at least once, I know. Maybe a few times. But we never really discussed the longer-term implications of that, so that’s where we’re going right now. How do you find and form a creative posse? Like this.
1 Hang out with other writers online. Check Facebook, LinkedIn, fucking Reddit if that’s your thing, there are bound to be professional writing groups. A lot of them are shit, so keep that in mind as you plunge in. Many are supposed to be for the writing industry and turn out to just be a lot of people who want to “wait on their muse” to do their fucking job and beg everyone for work. If you see that, just block all those fuckers. Or leave. You could just leave.
2. Cultivate relationships with your clients. Believe it or not, your clients are people, too. Sure, they’re kind of the boss, but also they’re kind of a creative collaborator. If you consistently meet or exceed their expectations, then after several months maybe you can do something nice for them. Like, maybe it’s Boss’ Day (that’s still a thing, right?) and you start out delicate by sending an eCard. Or maybe Facebook tells you it’s their birthday, snag a $10 Starbucks gift card for them. Who doesn’t like Starbucks? Shoosh.
3. Meet creatives in your own town. I understand there are still Meetups and other sorts of, you know… social things out there. I don’t participate because I’m essentially just a head in a jar. But I hear things. Go grab a cup of coffee and hang out with some people in your city that do what you do.
4. Attend a writing conference. I mean, I haven’t yet, but it’s on my list. After all, those guys paid to be there, so they’re at least a little serious. They’re not going to show up on a first date with their unpublished manuscript asking you for notes. Instead, they’ll try to impress you with their most recent article in Tiger Beat or something.
5. Help others. Your next door neighbor’s kid just graduated from college with a technical writing degree and is having a hard time getting work? Hey, this is where you offer to take said kid under your umbrella and help them get started. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t, but when it does, that’s a friend who absolutely knows you inside and out.
I can hear you now: Sure, it’s all well and good to make friends and be a social butterfly, but I’m in this for the money. Oh, you special little unicorn, I hear you. I smell your precious farts.
I haven’t been in this business for 23 years for the kicks. Well, I like the kicks, but I also really like the fat stacks of cash. Like totally in my top three.
When you make friends in this world, you expand your network, you rub up against new possibilities, you learn things you’d never think to learn and, you selfish asshole, you get to experience that thing about rising tides and boats. It’s a beautiful thing. And one that will ensure you’re stocked up on Ramen and beans and rice for life.
You don’t get ahead as a creative by stepping on others or using them to make a buck. You get ahead in this writing life by sharing, networking and writing until your fingers bleed.
This message is for all of you: choose your friends wisely and your best creative team will follow. This job isn’t a fucking contest. It’s not a fucking sideshow. It’s not a goddamn charity. But it is hard, you will work long hours, and sometimes things will go to shit completely.
And in those moments, if you’re very lucky, your team will be there to help you reset your compass and guide you back to sanity.
Overcoming Imposter Syndrome is an ongoing struggle for so many of us in this here writing life. You can be on a winning streak, with so many happy clients and then one comment will send you spinning out of control.
I’m the worst. No one deserves to have me inflicted upon them. I knew eventually they’d figure out that I have no idea what I’m doing.The Doubting Man echos nad amplifies these sentiments because it’s his duty to ensure that you don’t reach your potential. He’s a manifestation of Imposter Syndrome, with one solitary focus: to make you quit.
Never Give Up, Never Surrender
It’s one thing to have a panic attack when you get an unmerciful edit sent your way and quite another to slip into a sneaky self-hate spiral that destroys everything else around you. I think most writers panic a little when they get any sort of comments. I can’t blame them, you put yourself into those words, so a criticism of them feels a bit like a criticism of the writer on a personal level.
Let me make this clear: That’s not actually what’s happening.
In fact, many of these kinds of comments are made to help you improve your copy on the next go, or to educate you about something the client really wants you to stress. Comments and constructive criticism are tools you can use to build your work up.
They make you better.
Even if they feel awful.
Never give up, hold on to yourself as the overwhelm sets in. Let the fear pour over you like so much water off a duck. Remind yourself that you are enough. Tell yourself that surrender isn’t an option. Eat the elephant one bite at a time. Remember your worth and then add sales tax.
Five Things That Are Worse Than Extensive Edits
Sometimes it also helps me to reframe the situation. So a client sent a document over with a lot of suggestions. So what? It’s not the end of the world, you knew this was going to happen. It’s part of the process. Let’s pick out five things that are much worse than a lot of red pen.
#1. Oranges that are hard to peel.
Look. It’s the most important meal of the day and you should be eating more fruit. But when them bastards won’t shed their skin, it’s just… it’s like the universe, or at least the part that belongs to Citrus, is against you. No breakfast oranges, no early morning vitamin C boost.
#2. Overly catchy songs that you despise.
I’m never gonna Rickroll you, but I know when I get a song stuck in my head that’s mortifying to admit to, there’s no good way out. Recently, I managed to get Meghan Trainor’s All About That Bass stuck in my husband’s head. This is because of Just Dance 2018. It has a bee dance set to this song and I do it a lot. Because I’m all about that bass, that bass — no treble.
#3. Running out of toner.
I have one stinking set of mailers left to send out and BAM. It happens every time. I run out of black or blue or yellow or magenta toner. Amazon’s got lots of cheap(ish) toners, but they’re slow. UGH. Cannot bear the wait for new toners, cannot bear the cost of buying them in person. It’s a rough call.
#4. Decluttering my office.
Dude, you should see this fucking mess.
#5. Running out of desk candy.
It’s that important. Running out of sugar at my desk is career suicide. That’s why I keep a backup bag of candy in the set of plastic drawers behind me.
Edits Happen, They’re a New Beginning
We’re none perfect, no matter how much we may want to believe we are. Our work is highly subjective, which is why it’s sometimes difficult for clients and writers to communicate effectively enough. If only we could do a Vulcan mind meld, we’d not need to mess with edits because we’d have the full picture of what the client wants the very first time.
And it’s not the client’s fault. And it’s not your fault. It’s the fault of this language we have. This inefficient, confusing, maze-like shitty language. English is cobbled together from spare parts, making mastering it one of the greatest challenges you may ever face in your life.
English is awful. I should go back to writing that series. Because it is.
Take your pen into battle with The Doubting Man. Stab that bastard in the eye.
Look, I got the keywords in. Ok? I thought you’d be happy about that.
This isn’t about copywriting, or — at least — it isn’t directly. This is one of those rare pieces when I speak plainly about my life because I think it might help you, too.
Anyone who knows me is probably aware that a couple of months ago I shaved my head. I mean, not to the skin, but the best you can get with a beard trimmer. It’s some kind of scorched Earth approach, anyway.
And while I never thought of myself as the kind of person who cared about that sort of thing too much, I’ve noticed a big difference in the way I’ve been acting toward others and how they act toward me. And that’s what this blog is all about.
So, read on or bounce away. You’ll get what you get from it, I guess.
Chapter 1: The Backstory
The day I decided to shave my head I had had it. I was fucking done. I spent hundreds of dollars a month trying to protect it, trying to heal it (even though I know it’s dead), trying to keep it from abandoning me, but the longer the fight went, the bigger the clumps of hair I was pulling out of my head daily got.
I mean, one was the size of a small mouse.
That was the day I was done.
I had been hiding, trying to keep anyone from noticing that my hair was thinning visibly, trying to avoid having to answer any questions about it. I asked my doctor, I asked my friends, I asked the people I trusted to not judge me. My meds were the culprit, but overall, I was doing better than I had in years, maybe a decade even.
They. Were. Not. Optional.
My RA is still not controlled the greatest. My Parkinson’s flares up from the exercise I do to keep my joints from screaming. It’s all a delicate balance that makes me tired just thinking about it. But for now, it is in balance, and I only had to give up my hair.
That Cancer Look…
I felt ok about my shearing decision in the moment (it wasn’t a decision I made that day, I had been pondering it for months). I felt ok about it afterward, for about three days. And that was when I got that cancer look for the first time. I was horrified and embarrassed. This woman thought I had cancer.
Later, at the market, I got asked about my chemo regimen. I bought some ill-fitting hats and then couldn’t stand wearing them. I went back to the grocery store weeks later and another person cornered me at the check-out wanting to talk about my cancer treatment.
I told all of these people that it was a side-effect of my RA drugs. I’m not a complete dick. But I also was apologizing for something I shouldn’t be sorry about.
I was sorry for being sick and having to take drugs that make my hair fall out and thus, giving the wrong impression. I was sorry because of how *my* illness was affecting these strangers who were jumping to conclusions.
It took me until just now to realize that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been apologizing for doing what I have to do. And I think — no, I know — that this is the last fucking thing near what a proud, angry, (potentially sugar buzzed) celebrated and successful writer does.
Or anybody with any fucking self-worth.
Today, I changed it. It’s Sunday, September 30. And today, things are different and I also have a lesson to share out of it.
Bold Marketing is Your Bald Head
When you boldly brand you company, or you run a clever and risky marketing effort, you’re really putting yourself out there. When you ask for referrals, you risk that your audience will say no. In fact, the chances are better that they will say no than that they’ll say yes simply because it’s easier for people to do nothing than something. We’re awful like that.
But we also try really hard to get along sometimes. Since I shaved my head, I’ve been trying WAY TOO HARD TO GET ALONG.
For example, I wrote a blog a few weeks ago for my marketing company, In the Cloud, about how my company was unfortunately branded what with the serious hurricanes and whatnot pounding the Carolinas at the time.
I FUCKING APOLOGIZED FOR MY BRANDING EVEN THOUGH THE HURRICANES IN QUESTION WEREN’T A PR STUNT.
That’s not how you do branding. You do branding from a place of strength. Your branding may be done in a moment of sheer adrenaline, like the time you took that razor to your scalp and watched as your ringlets fell into the sink, but it has to be maintained like the twice a week shave in the shower that ends up with a neat pile that looks like you’ve pulled a bit of lint off your sweater.
Your branding is you. And it’s your people. And it’s your bald fucking head, because it’s impossible to tear away from your company once you’ve set it in motion. And In The Cloud being branded with weather themes is fucking brilliant, and you can all go fuck yourselves if you don’t like it.
My Plan Going Forward
My bald head is my own fucking business. My company, its logo, its branding, its clients, its employees, all of that bullshit is my own fucking business (except where the IRS gets to be involved).
I am not going to apologize for my bald head.
I am not going to apologize for In The Cloud.
I was wrong to do it for even a moment. Hell, I was wrong to think I was the one with the problem.
Copywriter, there are always going to be people who think their offense is your fault and therefore your problem. And I say fuck that. If you’re going about your own business and someone else feels the need to tell you that you’re wrong, you show them that middle finger and walk the fuck away. You don’t have time for that shit.
And I don’t, either.
When I was in the newspaper business, I got a really nasty response to an Op-Ed way back in the Dark Ages. I was really upset. Visibly. My editor handed me this little pebble at the time and I’ve held on to and rubbed the shit out of it like my little worry stone for decades. “If they’re not complaining, they’re not reading.”
And fuck all if that’s not the case, my friends.
I included karoshi in the title, so I guess I’ll wrap it up with this thought: If your bald head is caused by stress and overwork, karoshi could be coming for you.
If your bald head is caused by RA drugs and/or other systemic issues, you’re a glorious motherfucker, so don’t sweat it. Flaunt that shit. Buy fancy hats.
If your bald head is caused by cancer, that’s terrible and I hope you go into remission soon. I don’t have cancer, though, never claimed I did (even for free dessert) and I’m not sorry I shaved my head because your hard is different from mine.
When you’re freelancing, it often feels like you’re either running around like mad trying to get work or you’re trying to keep yourself buckled into the hot seat writing all the work you managed to find. The ebb and flow is pretty rough on a person, there’s no doubt. Burnout is for real and can completely ruin lives.
There’s another danger that we as a culture fail to address. Maybe this is because “Protestant Work Ethic” or maybe we just don’t like to talk about things that are unpleasant, but we’re talking about this today.
We’ve visited the concept of work/life balance when you’re freelancing more than once, but that was before I knew that karoshi was a thing. I read the linked article above and I see myself in a lot of it. Of course, it’s not corporate culture forcing me to work all the time, it’s trying to stay ahead of the bills and the ever growing pile of work.
Don’t get me wrong, I love that so many businesses trust me with their words. That they want *MY* voice to be the one that represents them is truly humbling. But I also feel like I could, at any given moment, start dancing on that line between overwork and karoshi.
Let’s look at the cases highlighted in the The Guardian:
Miwa Sado, 31. Death by heart failure. In the month leading up to her death, she logged 159 overtime hours and only took off two days. Breaking that down, she worked four 80-hour weeks, with only two days to recuperate.
Matsuri Takahashi, 24. Death by suicide. For months before her death, Matsuri regularly put in 100 or more hours of overtime. She tried to vent some of the stress from it by posting on social media in the weeks before her death. Her messages got dark weeks before her death, saying things like “I want to die” and “I’m physically and mentally shattered.”
And though Japan is working on changing the circumstances that cause karoshi, this will remain a problem among freelancers. Freelancers aren’t driven by corporate culture because it’s really a corporate culture of one (or maybe a few if you’re part of a team), we’re driven by a mix of fear, greed and desire.
The Three Deadly Sins of Freelancing
If you want to get to the bottom of your overwork problem, there’s almost always a root in at least one of the three deadly sins of freelancing. Trust me on this. Fear, Greed and Desire are great until they aren’t. They’re awesome until you approach karoshi.
Sin The First: Fear. No matter where you are in your freelancing career, Fear will still be a driving force. You remember the lean times and fuck all if you’re gonna go back to living on Ramen and mushrooms from your bath mat. Fear can be used for motivation and often is, but when it turns into a sneaky anxiety spiral, you’ll trip your fight or flight reaction. Do you freeze? Do you go like mad and act like a person possessed? DO YOU GIVE YOURSELF A HEART ATTACK? Karoshi.
Sin The Second: Greed. I will be the first person to tell you that greed is one of my strongest motivator. Oh man, so much. I want to not only take in more work year over year, but to spend more money year over year. We can’t all be perfect. White chocolate Twix don’t grow on trees, you know. Greed will getcha, though. Every so often you’ll have several of your projects converge and the result is that you wish you were dead. It’s juggling client requests without making excuses for not being done on time. It’s when you can’t go on, but you must. That’s karoshi waiting to happen right there.
Sin The Third: Desire. Desire and greed might sound like the same thing, but they’re not, ok? Desire is more about accomplishing things, where greed is about amounting riches and objects. For me, Desire is really about a longing for approval. Clients like what I write, I get that little buzz. Clients don’t like my work and I turn into a quivering pile of snot. No joke. I desire your approval, so please approve of me. Because freelancing is so much a hamster wheel, long time clients often won’t comment on content because it meets their expectations, which just makes people like me run harder on that little wheel to make them love us again. Karoshi, my friends.
If you find yourself practicing one or more of these Deadly Sins, you have time to change. You can change your trajectory, but it all starts by recognizing what’s up.
Elvis Won’t Be the Only One Who Died on His Throne
I used to think the worst place to be found dead would be perched on the toilet, but nowadays, I think I’d rather be found dead there than at my desk.
First, my desk is always severely cluttered, so God knows if you could even get me out of the house without tangling in a shitload of cords. Secondly, dying in the bathroom means that I at least managed to get up and walk around a bit.
Karoshi. It’s for real. It’s killing writers, don’t let it get you. I like you. You read my ish and don’t complain when I use phrases like “hairy box turtle whore” and “moist jelly bean.”
I’m about to reveal one of the biggest secrets in the writing trade. Are you ready?
We don’t write to perfection. We write until it’s good enough.
“Wait,” you say in a sad, almost childlike voice. “But you’re a seasoned professional, that means you’re among the best at this job. How can you just phone it in?”
Ah, little grasshopper, that’s not what I said. I said we write until it’s good enough. That doesn’t mean I have low standards. That means I know, deep in my black heart, that I will never find every misplaced comma, not every turn of phrase will be gold, I won’t always spell everything right. There will be typos. There will be mistakes.
But I’m ok with that.
Perfectionism, Writing and You
One of the biggest problems I’ve see among the newly minted writer is an insidious sort of perfection that looks and sounds like fear. These kids will literally edit all the life out of their work, they’ll write until the piece is begging for an early death.
When this happens, I tell them that they’ve “touched it” too much. If you can imagine a piece, any sort of piece, as a butterfly’s gossamer wing, then you can get what I mean. You catch Mr. Butterfly and those delicate colored scales start to fall off. The more you touch his wings, the more color disappears. In the same way, the more you touch your work, the more you fuck it up.
I’m all for a first and even second proofing pass. I do this myself. I read work out loud so I know it flows properly. But after a pass or two, I’m done. I walk away. Your client, your readers — whoever is judging you — may demand changes that you may never have caught on your own anyway. Because of shit like the Gestalt effect, it’s hard to see your own errors. Your brain fills in the blanks and makes it look right.
This is the biggest unsecreted secret of all pro writers. It’s not about having the right latte or the perfect typing machine or even having a vision of pixies to guide you. IT’S THIS. Good Enough. It’s THE secret to it all.
Time is important when you’re writing, the more you spend, the less you make. So learning to proof quickly and walk away, that’s the secret. I can’t possibly give you any better writing advice.
When I Was a Young Writer…
Not that I’m an old writer now. I’ve just got a few miles on me. And a spare tire…. shut up.
When I was a very young writer, I read every piece of writing advice I could get my hands on. And the thing I didn’t realize then that I do realize now is that there’s no formula, there aren’t any magic tips that’ll make it work. Experience and effort will guide you. They will.
So how do you know you’re “good enough…” Or rather, that your work is?
OH LOOK A LIST!
Being good enough is sometimes harder than being perfect because it’s tricky knowing when to stop. But, these are a few rules I’ve made up just now that you can live your entire life and steer your career by:
Use spell check, but also learn how to spell. I am one of the world’s worst spellers. That’s my Kryptonite. If my spell check stops working, I literally have a meltdown because I can’t spell those five dollar words. And some of the nickel words…. but spell check is there for me most of the time. And while I always look at what it has to say, I also read through everything to check the spelling myself, because that’s the biggest fucking thing, dude. If your spelling is shit, no one will listen to a word you have to say — and spell check can’t always catch errors. Like, for example, accept vs. except. Which one do you need? They’re both spelled correctly. But they’re different….
Read your work aloud. I know I already mentioned this above, but I wanted to discuss this method of proofreading down here, too. Take a rough draft, any rough draft — the rougher the better — and just read it to yourself, but do it out loud. This is an old technique writers use to ensure that their prose is following a proper rhythm for the type of piece it happens to be.
Let’s say you’re writing a really exciting fiction scene and the protagonist is being challenged and he’s kicking ass six ways from Sunday. You want to use a lot of short, choppy sentences to really get that heart rate up. When things calm again, you want to go back to softly melodic sentences. Those things are hard to gauge just staring at the page, but when you hear them read, you can tell where the problems are.
The more practiced you get, the more quietly you can read these things. I give you my permission. When it all sounds like a song, when the words flow effortlessly, you’ve found good enough. It’s funny how sometimes the not quite right word will do, contrary to what that asshole Mark Twain had to say on the subject.
Try to write it in one go. Depending on what you’re writing, this may be impossible, but at minimum, write a whole section, a whole thought, all at the same time. This does two things for your writing: first it ensures that the voice remains consistent and number two, it helps you to finish faster and not ramble. Rambling may be fun when your grandfather’s telling stories at Thanksgiving, but it’s not awesome for a commercial writer. Instead of rambling, get to the fucking point, use as few words as possible and kill more when you do your read-through. It’ll be easier to accomplish this if you do the whole piece at once. When you’re done writing, proof it. Right then. And then send it. Just… all in one session, bickety bang.
Don’t begin to pretend you’re flawless. PAH-LEESE. You’re not perfect. Fucking Stephen King, one of the best writers of our age, isn’t perfect. We all have our weak spots. Mine currently is the overuse of the words “often” and “so,” it’s happening so often that I really have to watch what I write so no one notices that it’s often a serious mental stutter for me. So, anyway…. no one is perfect, so know yourself.
Learn what problems you tend to have, that way you can sort of cheatsheet it and look for those items a little extra hard. What hangs you up will change over time, but something always will be a consistent pain. If time is short, just look for those things that you always fuck up. It’s better than half-assing your proofreading.
I’m so glad you joined me today on the blog. Usually I tell you go to fly a kite or something around this point, but instead I’m going to leave you with these immortal words (I seriously can not make this kind of thing up):
“There’s nothing wrong with making friends with nature. [muttered] One of these days nature is gonna take over and you’re gonna need a friend…” ~Bob Ross, The Joy of Painting, Season 12, Episode 2.
I heard an incredible story over the weekend about a woman who was found in the Atlantic ocean treading water. She wasn’t into extreme sports or out for a water jog, she had apparently fallen into the drink and had no idea what else to do.
She spent 10 hours like that. Ten. Freaking. Hours. It’s unimaginable to me that anyone could tread water for that long, but then I look over my writing career and I see that, in some ways, both myself and other writers I know have had periods when we’ve done just that.
Starting Out is the Hardest Part
Whether you’re getting started as a freelance writer or you’ve just gotten a job at an agency as some sort of creative, there’s going to be a massive learning curve and a lot of stuff is going to get away from you.
Starting out is always the hard part.
Your friends, family and possibly even your co-workers are going to expect that you’ll get over the initial shock in a week, two weeks… and then you’ll be ready to tear the world up.
The truth is that it can take a long time to develop the skills needed to fit well into your new position. As a freelancer, you’ve got to be fast, agile, accommodating and willing to give up your lunch break and sleep in order to build a name for yourself. In an agency setting, you have to be a team player, learn to decode directives that may be contradictory and do it all on tight deadlines for less pay than you might think.
Neither are ideal for the writing process, which requires both caffeine and sleep to execute properly. Also, a little sugar never hurt.
Are You Sinking?
Like the lovely Brit who was collected by the Croatian Coast Guard, you’re probably just doing everything you can to stay afloat. You might lack the systems and processes required to do your job well and keep everything organized or you may be learning how to write fast in order to meet all these deadlines that keep popping up. You may even feel like you’re failing horribly and will never make it.
I have news for you, Bucko. You’re still working, so you’re still winning.
Step one is to tread water successfully. Then you can work on the fancy stuff. Those breast strokes are for the Glitterati. You’re functional. You’re utilitarian. At least for now.
Moving From Treading to Transcendence
Now, I’m not saying that you’re in shark-infested waters, but I’m also NOT saying you’re not in shark-infested waters. That being said (or not said), it’s a good idea to move beyond treading water as fast as possible. I mean, it gets tiring, so at some point you’re just going to give up and sink into the deep, dark depths, where Schrodinger’s sharks might or might not be.
Let’s get you into a higher state. I’m throwing you a lifesaver, grab on!
Invest in time management. I wrote on this recently, but I think it bears repeating. If you’re easily distracted by Facebook or the television or some random pop-ups that keep happening on a certain website, for fuck’s sake, close it down. Pay attention to your time sinks and limit your exposure to them.
Organize thyself. Your shit is literally scattered all over the house, from tip to stern (this is your houseboat, right?). Your brain is equally scattered and I don’t even want to get into your desktop. Take a day — take a whole weekend if you need to — to get your house in order. Create places for things to live, put them away when you’re done, prioritize projects, get all of that on a calendar so you can see when everything is due. Organization is key.
Ready, set, go! Challenge yourself to write faster while still maintaining quality. This week, just write like you would, but keep track of how much time it takes to do each piece. You can average them or whatever you want later, but we need a baseline. The following week, set a timer that’s five minutes shorter than the time you spent writing similar content last week.Do this repeatedly until you’re fast enough to actually make a living. For me, that’s around an hour for a 500 word blog, but someone I know can crank ’em out in half that time. You should always strive to improve this time.
Exercise regularly. I don’t mean writing exercises, either. I mean, get outside, go to the gym, do something to move your body. Hey, I used to think this was business bullshit, too, but physical stimulation and mental stimulation can go hand in hand. Also, you’ll sleep better and it’ll help cut your anxiety down. I know you’re anxious AF. I can see right into your soul through the power of the Tubes ™.
Delegate properly. You can’t do everything. Well, maybe you can, but it’s not going to be pretty. Get a buddy, hire an assistant, something. They can do the little stuff so you can focus on doing the things that your reputation will be built on over the longer term. There’s enough room on that door for someone else, Kate Winslet.
Treat yourself like your best employee. I mean, you probably are, anyway. Your best employee will always be treated with a little bit of extra care since you can’t bear to lose them, right? If they need a day off, you’ll give it to them. Or, say they need an upgrade to their laptop because the one they have is too slow to get anything much done. You’d dig deep and find that ish, right? Why not be as generous and kind to yourself? Get what you need and take no shit.
Well, kids, that’s all I have today. If you’re treading water, remember that you’re still not sinking. As long as you tread, you can work toward summoning that Croatian rescue boat into being. You don’t need luck, though, you just need to work smarter (man, I hate that phrase).
Today is your day. Today. Do it for yourself, then do it for anyone else who might be watching. Like me. Or Santa.
I mean, you could also call this “something something social media neighborhoods blah blah,” but I have neither the brains nor the energy to come up with a title like that. So instead, I’m going to call it as I see it.
Twitter is a cesspool and our President is the Creature from the Twitter Lagoon.
I don’t care who you are, what your political leanings happen to be, you cannot continue to ignore the fact that Twitter is one motherfucking bully convention and the President of the United States practically lives there. Birds of a feather and so forth…
Looking at Social Media Neighborhoods
When social media started becoming popular among the Plebs, it was a golden era. We were kind to one another. We shared our days, our lunches and our pets. It was innocent. Even Twitter, albeit in short sentences.
But that was nearly a decade ago and those neighborhoods have sort of started to attract like-minded people to different areas of their platform. Twitter, for example, is filled with negative people who spend their days cyberbullying others, threatening women and generally being assholes.
And the biggest asshole of all seems to think that he’s the King Badass of Twitterdom, which, even if he was, that’s like being the biggest fucking salami at a vegetarian buffet. Who fucking cares? The Donald is slumming it, or he’s actually showing his true colors. It’s hard to know. The one thing that’s obvious from his tweets is that he knows what kind of God-awful people live in his neighborhood and he’s ok with it.
I’m not saying #AllTweeters, but there are enough waffle stompers in Toupeeland to make it an incredibly bad neighborhood. And Twitter knows it.
If you were a brand or even a human starting out with social media, the last fucking place you should be is Twitter. You might as well be throwing ad spend at a burning billboard that’s in the middle of nowhere and also it’s inside of a volcano. The leadership has tried and tried to get a hold on the problem (or so they say), but it just doesn’t get better.
The Twitterverse, my friends, is a plague on humanity.
But the Others Aren’t Much Better
About six months ago, I stopped following any of my Facebook friends who were on the “extreme” ends of things. Of course I want justice for black people who are being shot down in the streets like animals. Of course I want immigrant children (often asylum seekers) to be kept with their parents. I’m not a fucking monster.
But there’s a difference between raising awareness and becoming obsessed with a cause. My best friend in the world’s oldest kid loves pangolins. He adores them. And they’re adorable. But he doesn’t spend every fucking waking minute talking about pangolins. He’s got more to him than that. He’s seven and he has more dimension than a lot of the people I know on Trump Era social media.
I believe Facebook can be saved.
Twitter should be burned to the fucking ground.
Pinterest didn’t do anything to me.
Instagram? Love the photos of your breakfast.
Reddit. What are you even?
SnapChat, I don’t even understand you, so you’re gold for now.
But the problem we have, the big one, is that there are still echo chambers. There are still left-bookers and alt-right-blockers (is that even a term?), there are people who collect from all over the world just to be vile to others on a global scale. We have to recalibrate before it’s too late to save our own souls.
Dialing Back the Anxiety
I believe, though I have nothing to base this on besides observation, that the heart of this issue, the thing that’s ruining our neighborhoods isn’t the guy that forgets to mow his grass in 100 degree weather, it’s the anxiety level that social media is magnifying.
We, liberals and conservatives alike, became anxious when we realized somehow we were going to have a game show host for a President. And not a charming one like Reagan (who was actually an actor and may have had his own hair). After the election that brought Trump to the White House, we were all suddenly on The Apprentice, and he was firing people like crazy.
Of course, the firings weren’t as bad as the hirings.
He blew his Horn of Racists Summoning and gave tactless, witless troglodytes that believed they were superior to people of color, people with different beliefs and people who had completely intact prefrontal cortexes the impetus to come out of the shadows to where they had been banished. They had the fucking nerve to march on neighborhoods where people of color lived. They felt strong. They’re still not sorry or embarrassed. They’re spineless shitewads. Oh, and btw, they also live in the Twitterverse.
But the anxiety. We’ve been so afraid of what Trump might do that we’ve forgotten there are still things we can do on our own. We can feed that fucking anxiety or we can speak out, shield our friends and families when the Klan comes a-knockin’, say “No more. No more of your shit, you imbecilic bleeding hemorrhoids.”
AND WE CAN END TWITTER-LIKE SHITTINESS.
Sure, the bags full of dicks may move on to another platform, but we just have to keep saying no. “No, you can’t spoil my lovely brunch photos because I’m too happy telling people about my eggs. You can’t ruin this for me. You’re a Godless cretan and a shitstain on society. Get bent.”
As a marketer or freelancer, you can refuse to write their shit. I know money is important, but have you ever considered the state of your soul? If you look back, you’ll find me advocating for “work is work,” but since then I’ve realized how wrong I was. You can refuse to help them spread their hate with effective advertisements and divisive fake news ala Cambridge Analytica.
YOU have the power to end this. We’re a hive mind now because of social media, folks. Do we want those goose-fucking buffoons poisoning our well?
No, no, really. I needed a reminder that time management is a thing that adult people do, so I figured I’d just put you on blast while I was at it. See, last week I had another procedure for a chronic *THING* and the lead-up plus the actual doin’ of the thing has thrown my schedule into chaos. So, let’s fix this ish, yo.
Living in a massive metro area means that I have even more things to cram into every day because it takes so damn long to get anywhere. Ugh. But this isn’t about me and my sloppy habits, it’s about you and your sloth.
You know that’s one of the seven deadly sins, don’t you?
The Domino Effect is a Bitch
It starts so simply. It’s a nice sunny day or you’re a little over-tired from staying up too late the night before, and you think to yourself, “hey, I can just do this tomorrow, it’ll be fine.” But some part of you knows better. You’ve already got a packed tomorrow. But you put it off anyway because, hey, you’ll do better work tomorrow anyway.
And that’s the moment you’ve just condemned yourself to weekend after weekend of digging out from under your one moment of poor judgement.
In the almost nine years I’ve been running Waterworth Writes, I’ve done this more times than I can possibly count (I was educated in the Missouri Ozarks, though, so…). One day full of poor judgements leads to a month of working weekends. One month of working weekends leads to slower and slower writing, more and more working weekends — and eventual collapse. Because we’re none of us fucking robots.
I know you want to be WordOBot 5000, but you’re not. If you were, you’d not do dumb things like take off early on a Tuesday because there’s a sale at the market. You’d be a robot who didn’t need food, but who also knew that you could shopping go after you finished that last stack of blogs. But mostly, the not eating thing.
Step 1: Ignore Outside Interference
Dudes, I know. I do. I have the worst problem with this, but with a lot of effort, it can be done.
Did you know that Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and all those other jerks are actually sites you can close to get some quiet? Did you realize that everything that happens while they’re shut stays around when you’re not looking so you can check it all at once at a time when you’re not so busy?
I’m not being an asshole. Not right now, anyway. These questions very much represented my attitude before I went on a social media diet. Even though I have a group that I’m officially in charge of, I check in a couple of times a day at best. Used to be that I was always on, always there, always lurking. Now I walk away as much as I can.
It’s hard because that’s where my coworkers, contractors and friends (often all the same person) live, so as a compromise, Messenger is open at all times. That, too, can be ignored until you’re ready for it. If it’s an emergency, someone will actually telephone or text you. I swear on my grandmother’s grave.
Other outside interference can be harder to ignore. For me, this is email. OMG, EMAIL MAKES ME ITS BITCH EVERY TIME. I treat these like emergencies. I shouldn’t. I should write a thing, then check email and repeat. That’s a much healthier way to do it. It also makes you look less desperate, even if you’re extremely desperate.
And, hey, for all the sayers of nay at Windows 10, the email notifications that pop up when one comes in helps me be less anxious when I see that number going up in a background tab. I can be like, “Oh, look, another wasted email from Amazon.” and go on with the next sentence. (It’s wasted because I buy basically everything there. We’re a little bit married.)
Step 2: Set up a Structured Schedule
You’ve turned down the noise, but cramming everything in is still proving difficult. I have a solution for that, too.
Google Calendar, 10to8 or pretty much any other calendar system is your best friend if you’ll use them. I use the two mentioned, which is probably no surprise considering the name dropping. Anyway…
You know it takes you about 75 minutes to write a short blog, three hours to write a really killer homepage for a website. You need 30 minutes for a professional email, five minutes to hit the bathroom. You know how you do.
Get in there and start blocking off time. Do you do most of your writing at night or in the morning? Even if you’re not dialed down to the minute, you can block off time for writing from, say 11 am to 4 pm. Block off things you do for yourself first: shower, gym time (this one is so important for us since we sit on our butts all day), lunch, etc. Then fill in with client calls, consultations and so forth. Last, but not least, stick in those writing blocks.
It’s kind of the reverse of that modern parable about the sand and the rocks in the jar.
Self-care, client care, the shit that makes actual money. In that order. And don’t forget to plug in some time for your bookkeeping and other business garbage. Cuz you need that, too.
Man, you’re really busy, I should let you get to it….