Jan. 9th, 2016

rinue: (Default)
This week I:
- pitched 2 heavily-researched listicles to Cracked
- wrote an (already accepted) heavily-researched article for Atlas Obscura, which I turned in early, but that didn't matter because my editor's on vacation
- wrote the first draft of an on-spec essay for The Billfold
- wrote and sent an on-spec essay to BuzzFeed Life, where an editor likes me
- outlined another essay for I haven't decided who
- queried a book agent
- wrote the usual number of postorbitals
- worked on an unfinished short story
- subbed another short story
- subbed 10 poems
- advised on a pitch of a TV show I helped develop
- plus all the usual stuff in my life that is necessary to keep the household running, continued to study Italian pretty intensively, and researched what tax preparation is available to me as an American citizen living in Italy

Since I only have 20 hours a week in which to write, I should feel pretty good and accomplished except none of these things involved somebody saying to me "hey great job" (except the tv pitch, and it was my co-creator who was was the main one who did the work this week, which all right was still nice to hear) and then handing me money or promising to soon hand me money. Which is awful because I'm working very hard right now to write things which make money; I need dollar money to hit my U.S. bank account as soon as yesterday. (For complicated reasons I don't want to get into here, I can't use Euros to pay U.S. bills at the moment.)

These are not the conditions under which I do my best work, although I'm still doing good work. I get nervous that my writing sounds desperate, even though it probably doesn't, or that I'm wasting time writing stuff when I should be writing other stuff (this motivates me to add more jokes, which tends to be a good idea). I'm sleeping very badly. Maybe not even because of the writing; maybe because I'm congested.

Basically, I think freelance writing is a lot like dating, where if you're perfectly happy to not go home with someone, it's much easier to be sexy confident and relaxed. Even though I think a slight edge of neuroticism is appealing in an essayist, flop sweat isn't. Normally, I'm not desperate, and I enjoy working on stuff because even if it takes a while to sell, I have a good time with the stuff itself. This month, I'm desperate, and will remain desperate until I know I have at least four sales in the can. I'm so tired. I can't tell right now whether it's the money pressure or the congestion or the sleeplessness or the decongestants. (I hate being on decongestants.)

It was a pretty day, though, warm enough I opened the windows. In January.


rinue: (Default)

August 2017


Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 09:55 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios