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The Time Clock

07 Aug

Eleven years ago, I was pregnant with my oldest. I was married and looking at houses and interviewed for a phenomenal job (I thought) where I was going to be doing Java development. Life seemed absolutely perfect.

I had no idea when I accepted the offer to switch jobs what was ahead of me. I couldn’t imagine bed rest for three months, laying on my side in my bedroom and being positively thrilled to watch a tree taken down just to break up the monotony of my day. Most of all, what I couldn’t fathom was how I would feel after spending all that time in bed only to have a baby and then go back to a job where I’d be working 60 hour weeks.

I couldn’t do it.

So I made what felt like a sensible choice; I went back to work part-time. Only problem is, no one wants a part-time developer. They want someone who’s willing to code in her sleep if asked, and I was no longer in that mindset. After a lot of crying, and late-night discussions, the decision was made that I would stay home. And a freelance career began.

In the past 10-1/2 years, I’ve written everything imaginable, from online catalog copy to web content that paid pennies to tech reporting, and even when the clients were annoying or the subject matter was mind-numbingly boring, I loved having a job where I had the freedom to set my own hours and choose my own temporary bosses.

Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end.

Being a single mom of four kids takes a lot of time and energy. Finding freelance gigs that are willing to pay more than they would for a writing mill takes a lot of time and energy as well. In this economy, I found I was spending way more time finding work than I was actually working, and that wasn’t good for anyone: not me, not the kids, and certainly not my weeping bank accounts.

I bit the bullet. I applied for (and got) a job working for a great company with some people I’ve respected for a long time. I’ll still be able to work out of the house, so I’ll be there for the kids when they get off the bus in the afternoon, and be able to be with them if they are sick.

What’s odd, though, is that, for the first time in nearly 11 years, I have set work hours.

How do people do this? It’s exhausting, knowing people rely on me to be where I’m supposed to be at certain times. In all honesty, it’s the mental adjustment that’s the hardest for me, and the kids are getting used to it as well. Mommy can’t put work away for a couple of hours for an impromptu library trip. Everything will be scheduled now.

I’ll still take some freelance work on the side (the bread-and-butter stuff I call it): the one-off quickie gigs that I can crank out in no time at all. I’ll adapt to having a structure to my days, and the interconnection between co-workers (wow, that’s a weird word for me to be typing in reference to myself). Maybe now that I’m not writing as much, I can do that novel rewrite I’ve had waiting not-so-patiently for me.

It’s strange, though, watching this last vestige of my married life change. Everything’s different now, and I wonder how much I’m still the same, if I am at all.

 
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Posted in stream of consciousness

 

Censorship

31 Jul

It was an interesting week, to say the least, but what’s sticking out in my head right now is that I had two conversations about online censorship.

It’s a topic that comes up a lot, I imagine, but I don’t think of it very often. At least, I don’t anymore. I’m sure at one point I did, but as I’ve gotten older and being online has become part of daily life instead of something shiny and new as it once was, it doesn’t factor into my life at all.

In one instance, I was asked by a college student in a writing program how I felt about online censorship, especially as it pertains to posting your work online. I told her I think it simply doesn’t exist. No matter where you’re posting your words, you are agreeing to a terms of service agreement, whether it’s a web application that allows you to post your words, or a blog you host on a co-lo. Even if you have your blog running out of your house on your own domain on your own hardware, you are still bound by the terms of your service provider. If you need more freedom than that, odds are whatever you really need to say is probably illegal in some other manner, but you can always stand on your doorstep and shout it to passersby.

In the other instance, the censorship issue came up when discussing how much of someone’s personal life should be online. I’ve blogged about oversharing online more than once, I’m sure, and my feelings on the subject haven’t changed. I don’t think that showing self-restraint is censorship, but I also think that people need to make that decision for themselves.

I had a personal, anonymous blog for over seven years. I used pseudonyms for the kids and for my ex-husband (as I do even in my real-name online activities). I never mentioned company names or specific people, or anything that should have been identifiable. Twice I had to deal with arguments over what I was blogging, even without any identifying details ever appearing, and, as a matter of course, I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. Every personal blog and Twitter account that I had aside from my publicly acknowledged ones were deleted.

I don’t view that as censorship at all. I view it as self-preservation. At one point, I was okay with posting my innermost thoughts and feelings. I blogged about unplanned pregnancies and marital strife and all sorts of things that I am glad I never did under my “professional” identity. I’m no longer comfortable being in that place, and I’m happy that I kept my personal life private in that way, so the tracks aren’t left all over the Internet to dissect later.

There are days when I’m envious of the bloggers who just let it all hang out online. Who are comfortable posting pictures of their children and sharing their names and everything else. There were many times over the years when I’ve been tempted to do that, and some would say I’ve done it in some small manner with Pete, whose exposure two summers ago was accidental and yet freeing for me, because I felt like I could finally talk about at least one of my kids online like everyone else does.

That being said, however, I’m still happy I did what I did. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’ve spent the past year and a half getting a divorce. It’s not something I’m happy about, and my radio silence was the result of wanting to keep a very private and very painful part of my life offline. There were days when I’d have loved nothing more than to vent to my online friends, but in the overall scheme of things, I’m happier being on the other side with little evidence of that time scattered about. I wonder sometimes, if those who let everything play out online would feel the same; if those moments that so needed to be shared still feel that way when they are frozen in time out there on a server.

I met my ex online. I had websites for my two older kids when they were babies, and had blogs for news of them before we really called them blogs. So much of my adult life has been woven with the fabric of the Internet, and yet I’m happy to have this relatively clean slate on which it will continue. Some may call it self-censorship, but it’s the only way left to maintain any sense of privacy, and I’m happy that I did it.

 
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Posted in stream of consciousness

 

What Form Rejection Means to Me

23 Jul

Okay, so, admittedly, The Rejectionist’s call to arms to blog about form rejections is the impetus for this post, but I’ve been struggling with my feelings about form rejections for months.

Welcome to my self-administered therapy session.

I think when any of us begins to query, we intellectually understand that form rejection is part and parcel of the process. Everyone gets rejected. We hold the stories of favorite authors, and bestselling authors, and even award-winning authors who were rejected time and time again close to our bosom.

Still, we send off our query letters and our sample pages and wait with baited breath, telling ourselves we are prepared for rejection, but secretly hoping that every last agent will come back begging to represent such brilliance. For free, even, since it’s such a fantastic work of art.

Instead, what we get is an inbox full of self-perpetuating neuroses. Every form rejection letter is dissected over and over again, looking for some small clue that maybe we aren’t doing this in vain. Did she think I had any talent? Does he mean I should give up and pack it in?

Even worse is when the form rejection follows an actual submission, and not the query letter. Hoping for some kind of feedback, even if it’s a secret passcode letting us into a club where we’ll learn how to make it good, make it better, make it representable.

Instead, all that hard work and effort, and making it past that first hurdle–getting someone interested–meets the same brush off as the query. And again, we look for answers in the form. Was she bored? Did he hate it? Why can’t querying be like American Idol? With a Simon Cowell to tell you to give it all up and find a better job?

My first round of querying was met with nothing but form rejections. Sure, I had a couple of requests, but when even those found me left with the constant nitpicking banging around in my head, I put the ms away. I’ve been tempted a few times to pull it out, to pick at it again, but right now I’m listening to what the form rejections told me: Not ready yet. Take a step back. There was some interest, just fix it. Look at it later and you’ll see. Try again. It wasn’t awful enough to end up on an agent’s blog as an example of what not to do, so don’t give up.

 
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Posted in stream of consciousness, writing

 

Writing in a Vacuum

19 Jul

When IDG folded The Standard last year, I put in a bit of a half-hearted effort to get another tech gig, and then moved past it, picking up a few bread-and-butter one-off gigs in the interim. There wasn’t any specific reason behind my decision. It was based more on the economy, the number of jobs out there in this incestuous business, and trying to find my feet again after my marriage broke up.

I’ve kept up with most of my tech feeds, even if I didn’t read them as zealously as I did before. I dip my toes in and out of the Twitter stream, usually when big debates crop up, like Gizmodo’s iPhone 4 prototype exposé.

Tonight, as I was playing with a tech article for the first time in months, it felt alien to me. It wasn’t because it had been so long since I was head-down in this arena, but rather, because I’m still not used to writing things alone. My ex would have been here for me to bounce ideas off or argue theories with. Instead, it was me, fifteen browser tabs, and a blank document.

I started writing HTML using pico back in 1995. When I finally started doing development, my then-boyfriend was already living with me. My very first website featured graphics he’d made. I think until tonight, I didn’t feel truly independent. Until now, there has been no tech on my own.

Now, maybe, there is.

 
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Posted in stream of consciousness

 

Who I Don’t Want to Be

14 Jul

I read (and commented on, because I’m blunt like that) Nathan Bransford’s post on what makes writing good. In the usual back-and-forth in the comments, some people referred to bestsellers as “trash” and Mr. Bransford got defensive.

I don’t think they are necessarily trash, but I definitely don’t want to ever be Dan Brown or Janet Evanovich.

I’ve read every one of Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum novels. Well, with the exception of the “between the numbers” books because I can’t go that far. I just read the sixteenth, and I hated it. Hated.

It’s not because the book was terrible; it really wasn’t. Someone new to the series may be able to pick it up and love it. There are probably even people out there who’ve read all the others and will still love this one. She’s a best-selling author for a reason.

However, you couldn’t pay me enough money to be her. Why? Because she’s stuck.

By being a bestselling author, Evanovich has to keep churning out the same thing, book after book. Every summer, we expect a new one, and the majority of the book-buying public doesn’t want surprises, it seems. They want the familiar, like a cuddly blanket they had when they were children. They want an indecisive, barely competent Stephanie. They want cars to blow up, funeral parlor visits to take place, kidnappings to happen…

You have to wonder if Ms. Evanovich ever wants to write something different. If she ever lays in bed at night with plot bunnies racing around in her brain, only to wake up the next morning knowing that Lula has to shoot something and Stephanie needs to eat more doughnuts.

I wouldn’t be able to do that. That’s like freelancing, or any other write-for-hire. I don’t think anyone ever dreams of cranking out formulaic writing, whether it’s how-to articles for a Web site owner or novels that have the same plot time after time.

Stephenie Meyer may never get to write anything other than vampires from now on. Dan Brown has the Catholic Church. J.K. Rowling… well, she has enough money now that she can do anything she darn well pleases, can’t she?

Still, it’s less about calling something trash and more about calling something undesirable. No one wants to have to follow a formula, even if the formula turns lead into gold.



 
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Posted in writing

 

Are you a former Nigerian Prince?

23 May

There are some hilarious job ads out there for freelancers, but this one today just took the cake:

Do you understand offshore banking or tax havens? (No, what you gleaned from suspense novels or Hollywood films doesn’t count.) Are you intimately familiar with the types of topics covered in International Living magazine, the writings of perpetual traveler lifestyle author W.G. Hill (of the now-defunct Scope International)or the work of Adam Starchild? Happen to find foreign real estate, expatriate living or the idea of second passports or noble titles fascinating? Are you well-traveled with a knack for unearthing things typical tourists can’t?: trustworthy English-speaking local professionals, people/places to avoid, little-known investment opportunities, or high-interest bank accounts with low opening deposits? (Well, it doesn’t hurt to dream, does it?)

I realize that it takes all kinds, but really. If someone knew all this and could readily hide their money in the Cayman Islands, why on earth would they be on the hunt for a pay-by-the-word or “future profit sharing” blog gig?

 
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Posted in freelance vents

 

Now Accepting Applications

17 May

I’ve decided I’m done applying for freelancing gigs.

For whatever reason, the sheer awesomeness of my skills can apparently not be conveyed in a cover letter and resume submitted among a thousand others via email. I have an incredibly varied job history (most likely the result of the Peter Pan syndrome I suffered for a few years), which some employers may think signifies I don’t have enough experience as it applies to their idea of a candidate.

I’ve worked as a systems administrator, technical writer, administrative assistant, tape pool operator (yes, with VAX tapes), web developer, business analyst, marketing communications wonk, problogger, and probably a raft of other things I’ve forgotten. As such, I don’t fit neatly into any of the posted gigs I continually apply to, and I’m tired of attempting to craft a cover letter and finagle my resume in such a way that I can shoehorn myself into a posted gig description.

This is all a long-winded way of saying that I’m now accepting applications for employing. Yes, you read that correctly. You, as someone looking for a person with great writing skills, amazing social media skills, and a winning personality, can submit an application to employ me. I am currently an editor/writer/evangelist at Profy, and am seeking other part-time or per-gig employment, but I’ll go all out and say I’m willing to take a look at anything. Unlike the gigs I’ve been applying for, I have no narrow preconceived idea of what I’d like a potential employer to do. For those who may prefer a more traditional idea of my employment history, I can direct you to my LinkedIn profile.

For the purposes of this Employ Me Posting, I require nothing specific. Feel free to tell me in email (fourlittlebees (at) gmail (dot) com, Twitpitch, multimedia, or crayon drawing how you feel you could use me. I’m a gadget freak, tech early adopter, parent, writer, evangelist, speaker, political junkie.

 
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Posted in stream of consciousness

 

And I’m Back

16 May

It took me long enough, but with a new domain, a brand-spanking-new Wordpress install, and a little bit of effort, I’m back to having an actual web presence of my very own. I haven’t been able to get all my comments yet, but in due time! It only took me five months to get this far!

 
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Posted in stream of consciousness

 

I’m Glad I Work for Myself

07 Aug

The Net Nanny state is once again upon us.

I’m glad I work for myself. I wouldn’t do well in this type of corporate environment.

You never know where an article idea is going to come from. I’ve had political posts linked by friends on bulletin boards. I’ve found Web 2.0 technology ideas on celebrity gossip blogs. And I have friends email and IM me things all the time.

I know that my husband works the same way when he’s programming. It may not be a workflow that works for everyone, but it does, and CAN work. And I don’t need Joe Corporate who doesn’t have a clue determining what I use in my daily work.

 
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On the Stupidity of a “Bloggers Union”

06 Aug

My husband sent me a link to the Wired article on a proposed “Bloggers Union” today and my eyes rolled so far up into my head that I had to wait for them to descend so I could even write about it.

I assumed that any professional writer would feel the same way: that it was redundant, un-necessary, and best of all, ridiculous to single out bloggers as needing their own union. Apparently, one of my fellow contributors at Profy disagrees.

As a freelance writer, I’m already a member of the Freelancers Union, formerly the NY Freelancers Union. Most of my colleagues are members of the National Writers’ Union. So why, pray tell, is yet another union needed? The quick answer there is that it isn’t. Boo hoo… bloggers aren’t paid well and don’t have medical insurance. So join one of the existing unions and figure out how that works.

The reason that so many bloggers are underpaid is that there are too damn many blogs. Period. And any hack who thinks they can string three words together to make a sentence ends up thinking they can be a professional blogger, and then answers those ads promising “free exposure” for writing. If these folks really took writing seriously as a profession, they’d do more to ACT like professionals, which is to realize that if they are actually writers, they already belong to an industry.

Reading the articles I’ve seen online today, it seems like these folks believe that if they are unionized, medical insurance will magically be granted unto them. I’m guessing a few of them skipped classes when unions were covered in American history. You pay for it. Sure, you can get group rates WHICH IS WHY THERE ARE ALREADY UNIONS FOR WRITERS. And if you can’t afford to buy medical insurance because you are blogging for free? How are you going to pay union dues on top of it? Or is that free in this magical blogger world as well?

 
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Posted in freelance vents, writer rights

 
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