I started freelance writing back in 2007, I believe. Just little articles here and there that brought in a little extra cash flow. I let that languish and lost that client, which was ultimately unfortunate. I really could have gone full time with that particular client (not as in hired, but there was enough work to keep me busy for a very long time and make lots of money).
At the time, I didn’t want to relegate my writing to things I wasn’t overly interested in. It seemed counter to my desire to become a published author. The truth of it is, now seven years later, I probably should have done that and I might be earning quite the living as a freelancer now.
As it is, I’ve got long pauses between bouts of work, though the same clients continue to come back to me and refer me. I would love to find enough work so that I could set up my office at the local coffeehouse and spend my days working on freelance stuff, and my nights working on my fiction. It seems like such a basic wish to have, like something that should be attainable.
Certainly m0re attainable than my desire to make a living off my novels.
It’s certainly not that I hate my job. I rather enjoy my current position working in IT for a school district. It provides me an opportunity to make a difference in the lives of children, as corny as that may read. It is a rare thing that public school districts are able to afford the level of knowledge and service that I have. I know I’m taking quite the hit on my paycheck by not working in the private sector, but I really don’t care all that much.
I have complaints, but I think that everybody has complaints about their work. I have complaints about my freelance work as well, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to do it, even if I’m working on a topic that I don’t find interesting, or that I completely disagree with.
I’m good at my job.
I’m better at writing.