A Story of Breakers and Fixers

Once upon a time, my father said something that has hung with me.  Essentially, it was that there are two kinds of people in the world: the ones that fix things and the ones that break things.

As a writer, you’ve almost certainly encountered the second type of people, though maybe not directly.  They leave a path of destruction in their wake. Sometimes that means bad content, outdated SEO practices, awful customer service, but it can really be anything that leads to the tearing down of a project and the trust that goes with it.

Obviously, we need to try to never be this kind of person, the destructive kind.  We’re creators and by our own nature, we should be the sort that fix things. But sometimes, even the most well-intentioned fixers turn into habitual destroyers.

Today I challenge you to take a good long look at yourself and your behavior.  Are you a fixer or are you a breaker?

It’s About So Much More Than Money

I’ve met lots of people in this writing life, many that are starry-eyed and dream of “being a writer,” not really understanding what that means.  For some, they imagine it’s the ultimate in professional self-expression. It’s the pinnacle of their art. It’s everything. For them.

For others, it’s a means to an end.  They’ve read that they can make a living on the beach!  They can work two hours a week and have a glamorous life.  They can write one half-hearted book and get a movie deal.

Both of these types are missing the point entirely.  

Writing isn’t about you.  It never was.

It’s not about bylines or paychecks (though both of those things are helpful to keeping you in sandwiches).  Writing is a service job. We are in service to our reading public, whoever that happens to be. We’re probably also in service to a client or multiple clients.

This is a service job, and the moment you forget it, you’re sunk.  We are as much part of the service industry as the guy at McD’s dishing out the French fries.  What we serve is different, but we still serve.

That, I think, is what the most destructive among us forget.  They, too, are in service.

But wait, I hear you thinking, I’m in charge of my destiny.  I own a small business, I’m a gig worker, I am free to be.

No, you’re not free to be.  If you were, you’d not be worrying about how much this job pays.  None of us are free to be. We have to work this like a real job and recognize what kind of job it is.  Like accountants and mechanics and fucking stockers at Lowe’s, we’re in service.

In fact, it might be argued that most people, simply by being employed, are in service, even if they don’t work directly with the public.  We’re in service to one another, we owe a debt to our communities, our households, our families. But this is about us and the writing life today.

Improve Your Service Skills

There are so many things we have to learn how to do as writers.  We have to nail new and exciting voices, push out content that we’re not necessarily 100% behind idealistically, we have to know the client and its audience in and out.  We have to deliver on time, because when we don’t, we fail more than ourselves.

Improving your service skills doesn’t take a lot, but it will make a huge difference to your ability to do your job well.  It will also help you gain a reputation for excellence, no matter who is asking.

You can make immediate leaps by:

  • Checking your work.  Believe it or not, you can’t just bang the keys and submit whatever shit comes out.  You have to check your work. Check your facts. Check your words and your style guides.  I’ve worked with a lot of writers over the years and there are too many still skipping their pre-flight checks.  They think they’re saving time, but the truth is that they’re hurting themselves. It only takes a minute to look back over everything when you’re done.  It’s not your editor’s job to rewrite your sloppy work.
  • Meeting deadlines.  We’ve all had those days when nothing wants to come together right and even weeks when those days ooze together.  But the bottom line is that if you miss deadlines, you’re telling your client and their readers that you don’t really think they’re a priority.  Sure, there are clients who will understand if there’s a bit of a hiccup. There are companies that will work around this sort of thing. But you have to hit more than you miss or you put even these types in major jeopardy.
  • Learning to communicate.  It’s funny how many people in our industry, who should all be masters of communication, fair miserably in keeping people in the loop.  If you need something, ask for it. If you’re going to be late, say so. If you need the barrage of emails to stop, make it clear. Communication is vital, and it’s what keeps teams functioning.  When we don’t or won’t talk to each other about projects, those projects are doomed. Say no when you mean no. Be clear.

Look, I don’t want to be breaking your balls here, but the truth is that you guys can really suck as a community.  And a lot of you spend more time breaking things than you do fixing them. The good news is that the year is still young and you have plenty of time to turn this thing around, so what’ll it be?  

In 2020, are you going to be the kind of person who breaks things or the kind of person who fixes them?

A Day In The Life of a Freelance Writer

Hand open the jalousie. Element of design.Once upon a time, I was a normal person, just like you or your buddy or your boss.  I woke up, ate my fucking Wheaties, caught the school bus and went to my after school job.  Then I screamed “FUCK THIS!,” toppled a table to demonstrate my rage and walked out of that life.

I’ve been a professional writer since I was 15 years old.  What this means is that I’m probably not the best reference for what it’s like to be a writer — because I’ve never been anything else, unless you count that 9 1/2 year stint as a Realtor (which, honestly, isn’t much different).  Those disclosures being made, I’m really fucking sick of what people expect this life to be, so I’m going to walk you through my day.

A Day in the Life

I get up at the crack of fucking dawn.  It’s still dark outside this time of year and that just blows my mind and pisses me off.  While eat my breakfast (oatmeal with a tablespoon of butter — don’t judge) and get ready for the day, I’m already checking my social media and emails and shoving things around on my calendar.  I feed my little Android pigs (really), feed the fish (real fish), pat the dogs and go sit down at my desk.

All morning I’m scheduling meetings, talking to potential clients, building up blog posts for this fucking blog and feeding my social media.  I have an alarm that goes off at 10 am for my second round of pain meds that typically also alerts me to the giant amount of non-writing I’ve done so far.  Since I have lunch at 11, this is usually when I do a good deal of fucking around.

After lunch, I sit back down and I start to bang out copy.  Sometimes nothing comes and I fucking scream and pound the keys and thrash around like a bug that’s been crushed until the words shake lose.  My telecommuting husband finds this quite disturbing.  Once all the theatrics are done, I write.  And I write.  And I write.  Until the alarm goes off at 5:30 pm.

During that time I’m writing, I’m not thinking grand fucking fancy thoughts, I’m not smelling my own farts, I’m not elevating humanity to new levels.  None of that shit is happening.  Like a runner (I assume), I’m putting one key in front of the other, building outlines in my head and fucking writing.  This is what this life is: accounting and writing and booking your own gigs.

There are a lot of days, too many of them some months, where all I do is administrative bullshit.  In fact, I still have to my fucking taxes and send out 1099s to writers who have worked for me.  This is what the writing life is.  It’s a real job, it’s a small business, it’s a skill.  And that’s the same whether you’re writing web content or crafting a literary masterpiece.

I don’t know how hard I have to pound his idea in your heads.  Writing is work.  It’s a job.  It’s not sexy, it never ends and even when you go to bed, you’re still thinking about what you have to do tomorrow to keep up with the never-ending flow.  Few of us get to be JD Salingers — even Stephen King isn’t a JD Salinger (and frankly, The Catcher in the Rye is one of the biggest piles of shit I’ve ever read) — and we can’t afford to lock ourselves away to write a one and only novel that makes us famous in countries we’ve never even heard of and rich enough to never work again.

So, in short: The words are endless, hunting for new work is endless, your life isn’t your own, you give your soul away for nickels on the dollar and yet, you’ll undoubtedly form some weird attachment to the life.  #TheWritingLife isn’t glamorous, it’s not intellectual and profound, it’s just work.  If you’re considering leaving a 9 to 5 for this, I highly recommend that you screw yourself back down to your fucking cubicle and get over it.