I have been a little nervous recently. Nervous that my best-kept secret seems to be steadily uncovered; people chipping away at my potential profit. I was always the exception to the rule in my group; the avid traveler, the commitment phobic, the freelance writer. Making coin on the internet was my thing; people showed genuine curiosity in my ability to earn online, albeit even it was a meager amount. Now everyone is at it; wannabe bloggers and web entrepreneurs are popping up all over the place, and it’s making me edgy. My future is freelance writing; it has to be. I am 31, temping in shitty office jobs, wishing away each second of my day. The 9 to 5 existence is a dismal one, and I find myself questioning the point of life more regularly than is normal. Completely dramatic I know, but sitting in an open plan office, with a headset and the constant sound of false professional telephone voices and tapping keyboards is the soundtrack of this humdrum existence.
For the past couple of years, I have carved out a reputation as a writer amongst friends and community, and have managed to earn a semi part time living from it. I have worked for almost nothing, sometimes zilch just to build a name. And now it is on the cusp of being snatched away by some 17-year-old millennial who has been reared by the internet. These young cats know the game inside out; their existence has been predominately web based and networking a la zee world wide web is second nature. They are rolling with the times, adapting to the transient change that comes with the internet. They understand what’s hot and what’s not. Me? I am struggling to keep up. I began to write in my teens because I loved it; no tools at my disposal except a pen and paper. Seeing commercial gain potential in my talent, I decided to work what I love, but the playing field has altered substantially. Insta-influencers, affiliate marketing, and SE ******* O are where it’s at, and I’m not there just yet. A well over-due certificate course in writing and editing is my way of fighting against the inevitable.
None of this sounds too positive for the enthusiastic freelancer reading this right now. I’m not here to sell the dream; I’m here to paint the reality. There is light though. Between the shitty temp job, I work the keys of my laptop tirelessly. My future is freelance and nobody, especially not some selfie loving little shit is taking that from me. While I put in the hard graft, they will be derping, twerking, dabbing or whatever the next ******* fad is. I guess being a bit more “seasoned” has its upside. CONSISTENCY IS essential.