Flashes of Panic

Every so often I promise myself that I'm going to get out of the freelance writing gig, but it never happens. I keep coming back for a byline hit. What keeps me going, probably in this order: seeing a chunk of text in a widely-read location with my name on it. The ego-boost that comes from being asked to write something by someone who, presumably, has some opinions about quality work. And, last but not insignificant, the checks cover any number of minor budgetary sins.

Oh, yes, the checks. I'm coming to realize a few things about the checks. One, work for websites tends to be more interesting than work for print. Two, work for websites pays in peanuts, work for print pays in whole bags of walnuts. So to speak. If I do two hundred words for a widely-read magazine, it pays ten times as well as six hundred for a relatively-widely-read website—but the magazine has ten times the advertising revenue of the website. And those two hundred words will have barely a spark of life in them, while I can (sometimes) develop and communicate a strong argument with six hundred. We won't even speak of the ridiculous next step up to television, which I have touched once or twice.

Do I ever feel like I'm doing my best work for those who would least appreciate it? Yes, but so what—nobody seems to care much about a standards-compliant website, either, but it gives me some satisfaction.

The problem is that the work is not just going to a track meet and talking with athletes, intelligent observers of the sport, and other reporters. It's also getting home late at night and transcribing the recordings (a mess of stuff with background noise that has me tearing my hair out) during the free time I should be using for better things like sweeping the kitchen, unpacking the last boxes, or relaxing with a book. And when I've finished off one set of recordings, it's time to take off for the next one. I'm not sure when I get to do my laundry. Then I need to track these bits, invoice for them, send proposals to editors for other pieces... if I had to do this to buy groceries, I'd starve, and I'm consistently impressed by people (like one of my former housemates from Pennsylvania) who are not only able to stay afloat writing for several years at a stretch, but to manage it in New York City.