Freelance not free lunch

I seem to be angrier or more upset or just driven to blog this week than any other week. But this one has been a long time coming, and it was finally propelled onto the page because someone tweeted my wife Stella, saying she is privileged to do what she does. She’s out there, in the public eye, speaking on behalf of those who cannot speak out, or are not given the chance to speak out and the person said she should do more of this, spend more of her time speaking out, for them. But she’s a writer, and she has to write in order to be where she is, and try and make a difference.

ANYWAY

She really isn’t privileged. Neither am I. I can only speak for me, so for those of you who think me (and she) might be privileged, here’s a brief history of me!

Left my secondary modern with three o-levels. First job ever, age 17 at Her Majesty’s Theatre as a dresser. I was earning the grand sum of @ £34 a week, plus tips! I LOVED MY JOB. I got it by sheer determination, I made the phone calls, wrote the letters (yeah, we had to do it the old-fashioned way, and it took time and patience, the latter of which I have very little of these days, technology has made me impatient). I did that work for some time, went to drama school, worked during all my holidays as a dresser and later as a receptionist at the Pineapple Dance Studios, and as a motor cycle messenger, (albeit for one day), and in my local chemist and then I thought PR looked like fun, so managed to secure a job with a technical PR company (I know what ball valves and actuators are, do you?). Then I worked for Townsend Thoresen (I was there when the Zeebrugge ferry disaster happened), then I worked for a woman’s magazine (where I had some short stories published – and rejected), worked my way from secretary to assistant fiction editor, left (actually was forced to leave), returned a year later to be fiction editor of another title (YES!). Did this for ages, worked in casting, as a casting assistant, which I had actually done before (in a small office in Soho with Beth Charkham, while her sister Esta was casting something big).

Applied for an English degree at Birkbeck, did that for four years (all paid for by me!) while working full-time. On to an MA in Creative writing, applied and received an award for my fees and maintenance, though I was still working full-time. By now I was in my late 30s. I started writing, but worked full-time, and gradually gave up the full-time work to write. And I have been freelance for about 15 years.

The word freelance makes some people think you don’t actually have a job, while others think, ooh, you’re so lucky, you can do what you want when you want, you can choose to get up late and go away when you want, you can watch day time TV (I never have) you don’t have to shop with everyone else at the weekend, when the supermarkets are packed with tired people with proper jobs. You can welcome the washing machine, dishwasher (we’ve only had one for 3 1/2 years, we’re not that posh) central heating repairman whenever it suits you. Yes, granted we freelancers can do all of this, and we do. But we don’t get sick pay or holiday pay or compassionate leave, or a guaranteed wage or a pension (my total pension will I think last 6 months). And if we wait for the washing machine, dishwasher, central heating repairman to turn up when he says he will, and mostly they don’t, we still have to do the work, we still have to create and finish our work in order to hope to be paid. And can I just add that often the pay comes months later.

I work whenever I can. I had intended to work on a play when I returned from university today, but I had some family business to attend to and then decided to write this blog!

I like continuity, I like to wake up, have two cups of tea, some breakfast, check my mail, tweet and Facebook and then work. All of that is a warm up for me. I prefer to have everything clear before I write and I like peace and quiet. So when we had major building work next door (six months on one side and three on the other), it was at times impossible to think, let alone write. But we did. Because we had to.

For the past two years I have been in the fortunate position of having a guaranteed income, not a great amount, but it has made an enormous difference to my otherwise financially unstable working life. I have a job at a university two days a week, and I love it. At the end of May, this job stops, and then I’m back to my financially unstable working life. Right now, apart from this lovely job, I am waiting to hear about six projects all in some stage of development, a mix of theatre, radio and TV and all with no money yet. I am also working on a new play, written on spec – that means with no advance, commission, with no money yet. Many of us do this all the time. It’s just the way this profession is for some of us. Some of you may ask why, why would you work for no money? Because the possibility of making some proper money is always there, and things could change for me over night. And mostly, I love what I do. And I’d rather do the thing I love which has the possibility of making it big, than settle for less with no change to my working life or finances. I wouldn’t change it for anything.

And yes, there are writers who get huge advances and rolling commissions, but they still work hard and they had to start somewhere. So next time you have a paid day off to welcome the washing machine, dishwasher, central heating repairman, think of me, who is not getting paid to welcome any of these workers into my house, who does not have a technical department to sort out my computer as soon as I ask for help and not have to pay for it, who has to fit in other work around my actual work, teaching and talks and talking to new writers who want advice and events which we all have to go to, it’s just part of our job. And sometimes the events are glorious and sometimes they are dull, but it is part of what we do, and making an effort counts.

I know everyone thinks we have a glamorous life, (right now I am sitting in my claret dressing gown and pyjamas) and occasionally we do, we meet inspiring people and go to wonderful events. Most writers, book writers particularly, have to go to great lengths to promote their work, which include library talks, readings and interviews and sometimes TV and radio appearances, occasionally at very late notice, (sometimes for little money, sometimes for no money, hey it’s publicity, you want them to be paid as well?).

And then there are the meetings, ones which take up a whole morning or a whole afternoon or a whole day, which put an end to any real work, because when you return home you think about the meeting, and write up those great ideas you talked about, and answer 101 e-mails. Often those meetings could be taken on the phone or Skype, but the people with proper jobs like to go out and have a coffee or a glass of wine, it’s time away from their work, why wouldn’t they? Do you know how many meetings I’ve been to which have taken up so much time and amounted to nothing?

And then there’s the back ache from sitting, and not complaining (well, maybe a little) and booking expensive time with the osteopath to help your back ache so you can sit at your desk and work and get another back ache, and so it goes on. Do you know how many times people assume I can just sit down and write and keep writing, I can switch it on? I am not a light bulb. I have flashes of inspiration, but ideas have to be developed and worked on, and that takes times, and if you’ve stuck with this blog, you will see that writers often do not have time to do the thing that makes them money, the thing that will make them money. Those writers who are in the public eye, got there because of their work, and some of them do good in the world, but they have to keep working to keep their profile so they can keep making a difference. If they stopped working, the public would forget about them and that would be it! There are those who do take time to make change in the world, but we cannot do it 24/7. We have to work, it feeds us and it feeds you.

Talking of which, I might just get an hour of writing in before dinner and TV! Then again, I have just written over 1600 words. Mushroom soup tonight. Ah, privileged me.