writer, editor, type-A Midwesterner
Painting my nails on a Wednesday afternoon always feels a little scandalous. Never mind that the last 48 hours were an intense marathon of working from waking up through Daily Show time. Or the fact that painting my nails takes ten minutes, and I’lll go back to working when I’m done. It seems indulgent. And I feel guilty about it.
Even though freedom is the number one reason freelancers cite for choosing to work for themselves, it’s difficult to get cozy with it.
Confession: I don’t get the Amtrak writer’s residency thing. I know I’m supposed to be losing my mind over it, as I can clearly see the rest of the internet has. Numerous people have shared the link with me, excitedly pointing to this as possibly the best thing the internet has ever produced for me. And I’m just not interested.
Sorry! It’s totally cool that everyone else is, but here’s why I, a full-time, professional writer, won’t be applying:
At 10am today, I was congratulating myself for being so on top of things on a Monday morning. Just two hours in, I had one task nearly done, and the rest so carefully planned that I was already reveling in my success. Wee! I’m the best at this!
It’s now 1pm, and, like many Mondays, nothing has gone according to my brilliant plans and I’m failing at everything. Don’t feel too sad for me. This happens all the time, and I (nearly) always pull it all off anyway. That’s what freelancing is: working without a net. Building a parachute on the way down.
Natalie Burg 