So. Am I a Freelance Writer or Business Owner?
A few months ago I started picking up freelance writing projects . Small ones than bigger and bigger ones — enough for me to change course and justify jettisoning my full-time job search.
I got an office space in March, and have been hanging a few new shingles every day — in the form of shelves and plants and Etsy decor— while figuring out whether or not I can make a go of it.
A couple weeks ago, I bought furniture. I ordered a loveseat.
Furniture, I feel, makes it official. I’m in a definite, long-term relationship with my (place of) business — which means I must be pretty serious about it?
It’s a remote work space centered around plants, sunlight, and minimalist Northern California zen— a super laid-back aura to soothe my high-key vibe.
When people there ask me what I do, I say I’m a freelance content writer. I don’t say small business owner or entrepreneur. I don’t say I run my own a content writing agency — even though it’s not untrue — because that boast implies a level of swagger and self-assuredness I don’t possess.
I just don’t feel like a business owner, especially when mine has a headcount of one. (And yeah, I’ve set up an LLC and TIN with my home state and the federal gov. )
Maybe it’s because I need to just boss up.
Or maybe, it’s because I like being a writer and don’t want to strip that word from my hard-won job title.
I’ve met a dozen or so individuals over the years— all non-writers — who have advised me I could not write. Because my meeting notes were too long. Or because I wasn’t of the very highest quality (i.e., winning international prizes) and never would be, so why pursue tragic mediocrity? Any praise from college professors, as an English major, was contrived deceit: liberal arts profs are paid to gush over the words of their (whiny) 20-year-old students. Why was I too pathetic and naive to grasp this?
I’ve also been asked by this same ilk if I struggled to write essays in high school, or had ever considered learning basic writing skills through free classes at a job training center.
Those direct, plain-spoken critics number 9 or 10 people in total, maybe 12.
Most people — who have read a good share of my tripe (long-winding social posts) — have praised my prowess with variations of “Wow! You’re such a good writer!”
I’d like to think so.
But I’ll admit: it wasn’t until after 30 this became true in a real, marketable business sense.
Being a good writer — relating a story with color and creativity — is not the same thing as being a good content writer or copywriter. It means you probably have the ability to become one, but that process took me a few years of on-the-job training to learn: structure, format, specific style, iterative testing, and myriad, imperceptible nuances.
Before I figured that out, I fumbled plenty in my effort to write business copy.
But now, I’ve made it. I’m a Real Paid Writer with Regular Clients. That title gives me a sense of goofy-grin, joyful, intensely happy satisfaction. Alternative titles, like Business Owner or Agency Owner, come not remotely close. They bring no giddy excitement, rather a mild sense of dread.
Yet still…
For women entrepreneurs everywhere, I should claim those more prestigious, aspirational job identifiers.
Right?
Or maybe, I’ll just be a Freelance Writer. Having reached the pinnacle of my adolescent career ambitions, I’m going to sit a spell. And just be.
