Quiet Rebel Writer

The beautiful, glorious, appreciated clients are those who get it. They understand that just like any other business service, like design or IT consulting, writing is valuable, necessary, and worth the cash. They’re the ones I want to hug, who don’t blink when I quote them my hourly or project rate and agree that I’m worth it. I’d give them wet sloppy kisses if I could, but I’d probably erase all that good will and receive a restraining order instead.

Then there are the other clients. The people who try to negotiate on small fee projects when you know they’re making ridiculous profits. The clients who may desperately need the writing assistance, but seem comfortable with their ignorance on marketing language (or even simple grammar). The folks that are hard to get, hard to handle, and then hard to catch on the phone when the invoices are weeks late.

I’ve had some great luck with clients, and most are wonderful partners happy to pay my fees for good service. That said, the sheer jackassery that certain contacts do exhibit, in addition to providing great fodder for cocktail hour stories, indicate the stunning disregard that often exists for creative work. It’s a disregard that the WGA couldn’t take any longer and took drastic measures to correct, a gutsy move that came to successful fruition this week. It’s a disregard that’s always been around, since writing is intangible and ephemeral, and therefore suspect by many.

So we freelancers often deal with blatant low-balling and attempted manipulation. But the dirty little secret? The disregard towards writers isn’t just from the cruel, cold, mean external world. It often begins with us.

Think about it. We’re writers, with reverential italics attached. We view ourselves as the purveyors of creativity and thoughtfulness, and stand above the petty concerns of money and consumer culture. We’re supposed to be deep, man. So how do you put a price on that? Plus (goes the voice inside our head)…are we really good enough to get paid for what we do?

But we try, because we got the damn bills to pay, and we want to continue this career of ours. Despite our deep-seated hesitations and insecurities, we do put numbers to our writing efforts, and come up with figures to toss by clients. And for many novices and seasoned freelancers both, that’s when the painfully awkward dance commences:

“And what are your rates?” says the pleasant sounding voice on the other end of the line.
“Oh, right,” you say, feeling the sweat pool in the small of your back. “My rates. Well, my hourly rate is, um, e-e-e-e-e-e-eighty dollars. An hour. Or, that is, if that’s ok with you…”

Since many of us writers are constantly uncomfortable with the very thought of putting monetary figures to our work, we may inadvertently encourage others in their devaluation of writing. I’m guilty of it. I am much more confident in my pricing and my discussions of pricing today, but occasionally I still take a look at a carefully prepared estimate with reasonable prices and the insecurity strikes. Am I really worth that? Is writing really worth that?

And the answer is one that every working writer should repeat ad nauseaum until it finally sinks in: Hell yeah, writing is worth it. Effin’ right, your writing is worth it.

…Once more, with feeling.