XVIII: In Which I Consider Declaring Independence From Independence

I do not like the term "independent contractor." To me, it sounds like someone in the homebuilding business. Also, it emphasizes the part of my job--i.e. the search for and procurement of contracts that allow me to work--that I enjoy least and at which I am least skilled. Calling me an independent contractor is like calling Mario Batali a hand washer; it confuses what we must do before we work with the work we actually do.

What I am is a freelance writer. In many ways it is a very cool way to earn a living. I work at home, I do something I'm reasonably good at and which can be reasonably remunerative, and I work whenever I damn well please so long as I hit my deadlines. Do I feel like playing golf this morning? Then why not? No one cares whether I write from 9-to-5 or from 4-to-midnight or even, so long as nothing's due tomorrow, I decide to blow off work for the entire day, or for two days. It is a freedom worth cherishing, and I do.

People tell me that they can't imagine themselves having the discipline to work at home. For me, that's never been the problem; my heretofore disinclination to work in an office has been all the impetus I need to get my work done. That, and the fact that a freelance writer never knows when the next project is coming, so it behooves him to work as quickly as he can to create the opportunity to take on more work, should the opportunity arise. The freelancer can never forget that he could at any moment hit one of those stretches where there is no work for weeks or even months at a time.

And therein lies the big problem with freelancing. You must live your life in a perpetual state of squirrel-in-autumn mode, which can be extraordinarily enervating. And stressful, too; there are long nights during those rough stretches when you wake up convinced you will never, ever get a writing assignment again, and sleep is thereafter unattainable. The next day you send queries to a couple dozen editors, and not one bothers to write you back, and you start to feel invisible or loathsome or both, and by the time more work finally arrives you are pretty much a basket case. This is a permanent state of being for freelancers, and it sucks. It'll drive you to take a stultifying six-month project because, well, it means you won't be stressed about finding work for six months. Instead, you'll only be stressed about doing the work you've signed on for.

Even when you find work, it's not a sure thing that you'll be working any time soon. Writing projects in my field, education, are invariably slow coming through the pipeline. It is not uncommon to sign a contract for work that you foolishly assume will start up within a few days, only to wait around for weeks or even months before the assignment starts trickling in. I am currently signed on for two such assignments, and they have convinced me that Tom Petty holds the secrets of the universe. The waiting is indeed the hardest part. That, and the watching while your bank account dwindles.

And then there's the fact that you have to pay for your own health insurance, a hefty bill that comes every month regardless of whether you've worked. The self-employment tax is another backbreaker; it's the freelancer's version of social security tax, but it's double the payroll FICA deduction because you have to cover both your and your employer's (that'd be you, Mr. Independent Contractor) contributions. Finally, there's that nasty business of going about looking for work. This involves being assertive, not one of my better-developed skills. I suspect I'm not alone among my peers in this regard. One reason people choose to be writers is because writing is a job that can be done alone, without a lot of confrontation or negotiation. If we were good at being assertive, we'd all be motivational speakers or used car salesmen or panhandlers instead of writers.

The freelance writer must periodically make his neurotic rounds from editor to editor, continually working a calculus to determine whether (a) he hasn't been assertive enough and will therefore lose whatever job comes up to another, more assertive writer, or (b) he has been too assertive, thereby pissing off the editor and losing an opportunity to work. The solitude of a freelancer's life does not help; we don't get a lot of practice with work-related interactions, and as a result we are prone to weird fantasies regarding the innumerable ways in which The Work Givers are conspiring to destroy us. We convince ourselves that they are doing so because they hate us, because we get to work at home while they have to go to their offices.

Well, I think I'm finally ready to join their ranks. After 25 years of going it alone, I am plumb wore out, as we say here in the Tar Heel State. It has gotten so bad that I suddenly find myself wanting to be forced to wake up at a specific hour each morning, put on some respectable duds, and travel to a place where I'll be required to stay for eight hours even when there's nothing for me to do. I want a career, I want a chance for advancement, I want benefits, and most of all I want to have someone other than my dogs to talk to during the workday. Not that my dogs aren't fascinating company; it's just that their interests are rather limited. They will gladly discourse all day on chasing things, or barking at the cat in the backyard, or the smell of each others' sphincters. On the movie we watched the night before or the prospects for a successful Obama presidency or pretty much anything of interest to humans, however… eh, not so much.

I have applied for a couple of jobs at the local university. They are writing jobs, so if I get one of them I won't have to learn a new skill. I put my applications in nearly three weeks ago and so far haven't heard boo from the school.

I'm beginning to wonder whether this finding "honest work" thing isn't all that different from begging for freelance gigs.

[Sigh]

So there you go.