Portable Office

Being a compulsive sort of person, when I packed for my “vacation,” the most critical items were computer related—laptop, multiple cords, flash drive, iPod, a USB hub. When I unpacked all of my electronics, my daughter asked, “Where is your ergonomic keyboard?” Nine hundred miles from home is not the time to discover that little oversight. Oh well, the MacBook keyboard if wider than most and really not difficult to use. “It’s all fine,” I said, trying to sound hip. I got by with it.

“Where should I set up my office,” I asked, thinking surely someone would say, “Oh use my desk. I’m not home all day.” No one did. “The kitchen is fine. How about the table?” So, Plan A was the kitchen table. Wrong height. Chair uncomfortable. Hmmm. “How about pillows?” my son in law suggested and plopped a couple behind me. Better. “Or this massaging seat cover?” my daughter offered, setting it up and plugging it in. Nice, but hard to concentrate with that thing hitting me up and down my back.

Plan B was the kitchen counter. It looked like a good height, and the chair was in the right place. So, I spread out all over the kitchen island. Someone who shall remain nameless commented on the mess. In truth, it was pretty bad. Next, I tried my daughter’s office. She had a cute little table that looked perfect. Two hours later, I was all hunched over and had crick in my neck. So much for Plan C.

Plan D was my son in law’s couch, which was good for one afternoon. I used a cutting board for a desk. It worked fine, but by now, my back was in knots. Plan E was my bed with four pillows supporting me. Didn’t work. Way too soft. On the “great room” couch (a Florida term, I think), with my cutting board on my lap and my feet on the bottom of the coffee table, things were looking up. The problem was I stayed in the same position for hours and could barely walk when I got up.

Next and I hope the last stop: back to the kitchen island. But this time, I have the laptop on a phone book, and I am standing. This could really be the solution … except that standing for long periods of time is problematic with a bad back. Maybe, if I put on walking shoes, or stand on a cushion, or take breaks every once in a while, it could work.

My daughter observes my new arrangement. “I don’t understand why you don’t just use my desk,” she says. “It would be SO much more comfortable than that set up.”

Right.

Hitting the Wall: Remedies for Writers Block

To tell the truth, this hasn’t happened to me in so long I’ve forgotten that I’m just as susceptible to writer’s block as anyone else. In fact, I didn’t even notice that I had come to a complete standstill — writing-wise — until someone asked me if I had “retired.” Well, in truth, writer’s block is like retirement, only with guilt. Lots of guilt, especially when this is how you earn your living. What to do? Here are some things I have tried and will now pass along to you, just in case you ever need them.

1. Clean up your office, top to bottom. File or pitch every piece of paper. Use Windex or Mr. Clean or Pledge on all surfaces. Vacuum or sweep or wash and wax the floor. Wash your keyboard. OK. Your universe is clean. Now, you can get to work.

2. No, not yet? The next trick is to remove distractions, which include all the things you have to do that are keeping you from doing what your really have to do, which is write. If it’s paying bills, pay them. If it’s laundry, do it all. If it’s calling your mother or designing a flyer or checking every piece of e-mail, get it all out of the way. After all, who can work with a mind that looks like a messy to-do list?

3. Still not ready? Acknowledge it, accept it, forget it. Unplug the computer. Take at least 24 hours off. Go for a walk or a bike ride. Take a nap. Take a bath. Meditate. Go to a movie. Read a trashy novel. Call your best friend. Work out. Go dancing. Eat ice cream or whatever you consider really sinful. But do not think about work.

4. Refreshed and ready to go yet? No? Enough of this nonsense. It’s time to get tough with yourself. This isn't a game, my friend; this is what you do. You’re a pro. You don’t wait for inspiration; you do what has to be done, when it has to be done. So, as the saying goes, just do it. Put on your most comfortable writing clothes; fix yourself a cup of coffee; turn off the phone; flex your fingers; and put them on the keys.

5. Now, write.

Love/Hate Relationships

Being a freelance writer is all about relationships — relationships with editors, agents, clients, designers, photographers, printers, computer experts, interview sources, and other writers. It’s an understatement to say that such a career requires well-honed people skills and that developing and sustaining relationships are essential to success.

“Love/Hate Relationships” not only covers both scenarios, it captures the ambiguous nature of our feelings towards those who pay our “salaries.” I hope you have encountered at least one or two clients or editors who fall into the too-good-to-be-true category. When you do, you probably pinch yourself, simply because they are such a rare breed. These are the people who return phone calls, respond to query or marketing letters, respect your work, pay you what you’re worth time), and try not to make unreasonable demands. They are all candidates for sainthood, in my opinion.

At the other extreme are those who are rude, arrogant, disrespectful, demanding, unrealistic, over-controlling, and penny pinching. Working for them is stress squared because they leave you feeling diminished and drained. On the bright side (yes, there is a bright side), as a freelancer, you do not have to do business with people like that. You can turn down the job at the outset; address the problems when they surface; and, if you choose to, resign from the project. My feeling is that, no matter how much you think you need the money, nobody needs it that much.

When I was a full-time employee, I can’t even count the number of times I bit my tongue, compromised a principle, or tolerated unacceptable behavior from a boss; because, I told myself, I didn’t want to risk my livelihood. Jobs like mine were not that easy to come by ... I had two children to support ... I would never live down the humiliation ... and on and on and on. Getting fired was the worst possible thing I could imagine; and then, one day, the worst possible thing happened.

Amazingly, I did not die; my children did not starve or become homeless; I did get over it; and I felt free for the first time in my career. The worst possible thing turned out to be the best possible thing. One of the reasons was knowing that I would never again remain in an abusive situation. I knew there would always be another assignment, another client, or another job, just around the corner. In the last 20 years, I have had to test that assumption on more than one occasion. I have walked out of a meeting; I have confronted a client who was way out of line. I have even stated, unequivocally, that I found the person’s behavior unacceptable and, if it didn’t stop, I would leave immediately. It stopped.

These, of course, are worse-case scenarios, but they illustrate the underside of freelancing. Not everyone you encounter will be professional or even civil. Some people are very difficult, if not impossible, to work with (See Solving People Problems (Amacom) for an entire book on this subject). But nowhere is it written that you have to grin and bear it. You don’t.

In between these two extremes are the people you are more likely to work with or for. They are neither saints nor villains; they are just regular folks. They run the gamut of quirks and personalities, good days and bad, consistency and professionalism. For the most part, you won’t love them or hate them. You may develop relationships with them, or you may never get past being seen as a “vendor.” You may admire some things about them and dislike others. And you may even put up with less-than-optimum working conditions from time to time. But that is the reality of the world of work and certainly of freelance work.

Years ago, when I was working for a large corporation and having a particularly bad day, I was crying the blues to my printing salesman. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Well Bobbi, that’s why they call it work and not sandbox.” I've often thought of having that put on a banner and hanging it over my desk.