Citing Writing as A New Career: It's Now or Never!

I’m glad I have a career-related reference file in my head from which to draw. During the 30-year course of my work experience, I can easily recall the temporary, far-reaching effects of implementing career changes. In the past, regardless of the occupation in which I chose to fully engage my attention, the principles of transition remain steadfast: decide, implement, SELL, adapt and overcome. We each have to SELL ourselves, first, then SELL our wares, expertise, ideas…fill in your blank niche market.

That’s the problem: in and of itself, change may be unexpectedly imposed or calculatingly deliberate. Either way, change has always been difficult for me in the initial stages. I’ve been writing since I was a kid, publishing news stories, feature articles, instructional technical writing, scripts, poetry. 

I LOVE writing. As a supplemental career, I penciled the work and the wages in as avocational blessings. There’s a vast amount of knowledge, skill and tactics from which to tap from other writers, publishers and editors. However, on this Saturday afternoon, I’m going to tap some iced, raspberry tea as I ponder my serious ambition to soothe this nagging, fleeting condition:  My Writer’s Worth.

Last month I had business cards printed.  A few months ago, I joined the Canyon Lake Chamber of Commerce.  I’ve had a few professional pursuits, but I’ve never had a business card. Seeing my name in print as a writing professional hurled my very stable psyche into an irrepressible paradigm shift.

For about a week after I received the cards on my doorstep, I hid the box in my home office closet, sneaking occasional peeks, confirming this career realm. Granted, I looked pretty good in the photo and my name preceded the title of my profession, but I was very uncomfortable with the whole thing.

Business cards are a token, a symbol, a communiqué that one is available to conduct a specific type of transaction or to provide a specialized service. I wasn’t poised to announce my service and skill to the WORLD because my business systems aren’t set up perfectly.

 If the truth be known, I’m about as close to achieving Six Sigma as I am to winning the Academy Award for best original screenplay. In my mind, a freelance writer is akin to a starving artist. So, I finally took my business cards out of the closet and started passing them out everywhere to allay the 'starving' component of my fear.  I'm actually well-versed, well-spoken and well-fed.

Way back last summer, I devised a business and marketing plan. After all, freelance writers are entrepreneurs. Entrepreneurs must passionately sell their products and services. Those sales must generate a profit. With rare exception, most small businesses are in the red the first year out. Why? Because a growing company eats revenue as quickly as a growing, teenaged boy eats what mom puts in the fridge. This is the hallmark of most business failure: no plan, no accountability, and no cash flow to keep the company alive.

Notwithstanding my business plan, I want to see a major profit --- yesterday. My plan says otherwise and so does my accountant. I stand to learn a lot about the blessing of patience, persistence and plenitude. I’m blessed, however, with an inquisitive nature. I have a bazillion questions in my head about writing and sales at any given time. This is where my work-related, reference-file-in-my-head comes in handy.

Most of the careers I’ve had revolve around some sort of lexicon.  As an RN, the medical lexicon is Latin and Greek. So the next time your doctor speaks to you about your cholecystitis (gall bladder attack) and it sounds like Greek to you, it really is.

When I was a firefighter/paramedic, the lexicon was vaguely military. The hose evolutions, the equipment, the strategy and tactics of fire extinguishment or rescues are centered on standard operating procedures (SOP), logistics and the chain-of-command.

With First North American Serial Rights, the lexicon of legalese spins me into a dither. The paperwork is astonishing. But, like the bazillion questions I’ve had with the advent of my previous careers, I’ve found there’s always someone more experienced, more prominent and more knowledgeable than I who will help me through the maze of writing for real: contractual obligations.

The gift of learning and my humble appeal to do so comes by asking unceasing questions. The true magic lies in the collegial response of other professionals who are willing to share their priceless insight and universal tricks of the trade. Once I get the facts straight, I can better devise an SOP to suit my objectives. As a karmic corollary, when I become more adept with handling the sale of my writing wares, I’m happily obligated to help other writers.

The line of open communication is the foundation to healthy business relationships. The technology of communication is supposed to make my new job easier: WiFi, cell phones, fax, email, Websites, satellite, cable, GPS, snail mail, – you name it, you can use them to communicate more readily.

I have three offices, whether I like it or not: one at home, one where the story lies and one in my SUV. A new challenge has thus emerged: I must remember to keep all of my electronic gadgets with me to better conduct business. Where I once had the freedom to leave my cell phone, my laptop and my camera behind in my home office, those days are over. I bring them with me all of the time. I’ve ingrained a most productive habit: talking on my cell phone Bluetooth, driving on the freeway, recognizing a potential story and using GPS – all at the same time.

At the same time that I’m wrestling with improving burrowed work habits, I occasionally experience a form of anxiety that I clearly recognize. Physically, my stomach feels as though it’s churning peanut butter for the entire population of Riverside County. My mouth gets dryer than the Mojave Desert in the dead of summer; my thirst is unquenchable. The back of my neck feels like sunburned skin after a day at the beach. Mentally, I try to place my read-only-memory into perfect order. I want everything to be done right the first time.

Tremulous anxiety manifested when I first waited tables in my youth (I even cried on my first day). It reared its ugly head as I barged into my first burning building as a trainee firefighter (what a rush). It popped up when I rescued my first critical patient as a paramedic and as an RN (thank heaven for preceptors).  Even on my wedding day and later when I held my newborn son in my arms for the first time, the anxiety momentarily reappeared. This time, I know it’s just passing through.

Speaking of passing through, raspberry iced tea is coming my way. I’m going to stop and revel in this impassioned career era and all of the anxiety that goes with it. If nothing else, this harnessed enthusiasm for writing has become a navigational tool.  Thus far, I’m on the right track, looking forward with the help of retrospective glances.

Lynda StarWriter a freelance writer and public speaker. lyndastarwriter@aol.com