Writing Boots

Faithful Boots reader Joan Hope write a comment to an earlier post that's so totally inappropriately off that topic–and such a sincere howl of pain–that I've decided it deserves its own post.

Joan, take it away:

I am going to go totally off topic because I just want to whine a little. I used to like being an Alaskan. We were different–oddballs, the sort of people you notice but aren't sure you want to talk to. A strange niche of kooks who live where it's always cold and vacation in Hawaii or Mexico (which is so totally backwards, when I reflect on this: shouldn't we live in a warm place and visit the cold ones? But I digress…).

Wasilla is full of reporters. And there's plenty that's interesting in the Matanuska Valley, don't get me wrong: the guy up north of Talkeetna who befriends bears; the legions of dog mushers and their odd culture; the meth labs; the survivalists; the Slopers; the old-timers. Like every community, there's texture, good things and bad.

And then Sarah came along and turned us into what feels like some drugged-out nightmare; it's so unreal, this spotlight on us. Remember how Frodo felt when that big bright eye would stare at him and scare the bejeezus out of him? It feels like that. I don't even want to go buy bell peppers anymore because you don't know who's watching or what they want. This is not fun.

And I'm going to commit the deadly sin and come out and say it: there's no way that woman should be where she is. I thought it was impossible to become more jaded about the political process than I already was, but this has pushed me over the edge. It's all Hollywood, there's nothing of substance. If this is how it works, then it's so broken it's beyond repair. This is so wrong.

I feel as though we (Alaskans) have been made ridiculous. We all know we're a bubble off, but nobody ever cared, because we're all up here, and you have to make significant effort to get up here where you'd notice, and so we've gone along, happy in our obscurity; but now we're cartoons, gun-toting, moose-killing, salmon-smoking nuts who can't tell fact from fiction (probably because we've all been smoking too much of that famous Matanuska Thunderf**k that some among us are so proud to grow) and we've unleashed our governor upon the world–literally upon the world. We have reporters from Al Jazeera up here.

This is too weird for words. Help me.

I doubt it, because my colleagues at McMurry just launched them, billing them as the only awards program "strictly devoted to showcasting the most effective employee communication."

Employee communication God Roger D'Aprix is senior judge and a host of employee communication superstars back him up. The program is cool because it's simple and straightforward:

All categories—from Best Employee Communication Program to Best Employee Newsletter—will be won by the entrant who writes the most persuasive short essay demonstrating how they used communication to achieve their goals.

And don't tell my Inner Bohemian, but I'm the program director. (I think need a fez.) And don't tell my Inner Smart Ass, but I'm really looking forward to reading all the entries. (A fez with a propeller on top.)

Find out all about the E2E Communication Awards here. And find out now, as the entry deadline is Oct. 17.

Rita Rudner said, "I work for myself, which is fun. Except for when I call in sick—I know I'm lying."

Communication consultant and teacher Les Potter recently offered some good tips for dealing well with "The Unbearable Lightness of Being a Sole Proprietor."

To which I can add only a few, all of them having to do with what I believe is the key to being a happy freelancer: Emotional endurance.

1. You need structure. A freelancer without a daily routine is lost. Every day will be different enough from every other day: Your ambition, your courage, your energy, your mood—they'll all vary, sometimes wildly. Something must be solid. You need a standard lunch time, maybe a regular workout routine, a nap—or all three.

I say that every workday here at Murray's Freelance Writing is two work days and a personal day. Work Day One in the morning, 6:00-11:00. Personal Day—for workout, lunch, shower, catnap—from 11:00-1:00. Work Day Two in the afternoon, 1:00-4:30.

Those times vary—and sometimes the personal day doesn't happen at all—but they're the loose agenda that holds things together around here and keeps us from having to hire a human resources person.

2. You need to monitor and manage your emotions constantly. When you work by yourself, there's no office banter to crowd out the existential questions. Some days you'll be happily cranking out work. Other days you'll be searching in vain for flattering references to yourself on Google.

On those days you need to either: Get the hell out of the office and play golf; or, better yet, do something you're a little afraid of, like finally pitching Sports Illustrated on that gonzo story you've been boring people about at cocktail parties for two years. On days when you're excited, write.

On days when you're glum, edit. When you're angry, clean your desk. When you're nervous, do some marketing. And when you're happy—and this is important—enjoy it.

3. Accept that this may not be the life for you. There's a kind of tyranny in some circles, that says independence is necessarily better than working someplace. Yet, I've seen freelancers return to corporate life like fish thrown back in the lake.

Some people need forced socializing. Some people prefer team sports. Some people worry too much to run their own shops. Freelancers get tired of asking the draining job-seeker's questions every day: What do I want to do with myself? And: Who cares?

I'd love to hear from other solo pros, about what works for you, what doesn't, and what you do when you suddenly realize you haven't seen your wallet in four days.