What freelance life is really like

I spill the beans on the pros and cons of the freelance existence

That’s a coffee shop cappuccino, if ever I saw one. You can’t make that at home. Photo by Sincerely Media on Unsplash.

Last January, I quit my job as editor of an interiors website. It was a difficult decision to make. The status! The money! The nice colleagues whom I’ve not seen since!

But it was time to leave, and if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have secured the commission to write my upcoming biography The Real Sinéad O’Connor - nor made fast friends of three amazing music journalists as a result.

However: I’ve had a series of day jobs throughout my life, and I’m applying for more now. So I thought I’d explain exactly what freelance life is like, and why I’m choosing to dive back into the 9-5 fray. First, here are the bad bits of being freelance…

It’s a bit lonely

It’s impossible not to feel a bit isolated. Photo by Martin Wyall on Unsplash.

To start with, going freelance was very solitary, especially compared to working in a busy and lively office. Then I started dating a greengrocer. He started work at 3am so could see me in the afternoons, and my mood improved - though I didn’t get much work done.

When I split up with him, I made three great friends who were also freelance writers, so we met up occasionally for coffee in the daytimes to gossip and put the world to rights. But that wasn’t enough.

I’m a very gregarious and social person, and I do miss having fun colleagues to shoot the breeze with.

In the past two months, I’m pleased to say I’ve had three pieces published in Metro and one in the Daily Mail, and have filed my first proof edits with my book publisher at White Owl. But I’ve never met any of my editors. I’ve only spoken to one of them on the phone, very briefly, and it was a work-based conversation to set up an urgent commission, not “Tell me about your day, Ari!”

(To be fair, I didn’t ask her about her day either, as there was no time to waste, the same way Tom Cruise doesn’t chat to strangers about their well-being in Mission Impossible.)

The money sucks like a brand new Dyson

Why are there no stock images of Dysons? Photo by Mishaal Zahed on Unsplash.

I did a budget last week, because I was panicking about my finances, and my essential outgoings (food, bills, council tax, travel, mobile, etc) are roughly £920 a month. And that’s literally if I don’t buy any coffees, or food out of the house, or postage, or birthday presents for friends, etc.

Last year, I made nearly £7,400 before expenses. It doesn’t take Rachel Riley to work out that this is just under £620 a month, giving me a monthly shortfall of over £300.

This failure to achieve the numbers and please my bank manager is not for want of trying, I can assure you. I write my weekly Substack, send three Patreon emails a week, pitch to editors (sometimes successfully, as with the Metro and Mail) and am writing a comic novel as fast as I can.

But if money were easy to come by, everyone would be rich. And the best way to make money as a writer is to take a full-time job.

You get ignored quite a lot

“No one ever listens to me.” “Sorry, what did you say?!” Photo by Kari Shea on Unsplash.

Every freelance journo I know sends pitches into the ether for the most part. I know from my last editing role that it’s not that editors are being rude when they ghost you - it’s that they just don’t have time to reply to unsuccessful pitches, especially as responding is likely to prompt further emails. Their inboxes are full to bursting.

It’s ‘the law of the seed’, really - in the same way that not all seeds you sow will grow into plants, you have to send numerous pitches for one to be accepted. And it’s a truly great feeling when you get that email commissioning you.

But being ignored is also immensely frustrating, especially when you’re confident that you’ve written a great pitch which will land.

You don’t feel very wanted

How many pictures of laptops can I squeeze into this blog? Three so far! Photo by James McKinven on Unsplash.

When you’re in a full-time role, you’re constantly being asked to do things, or whether you need anything done for you. You’re part of a team, something bigger than yourself, and feel wanted and needed. People rely on you to get the job done, and your effort is usually recognised.

When you work as a freelancer, this just isn’t the case. Sure, sometimes editors approach you as to whether you want to write a piece for them, but 90% of the time it’s you pitching for commissions, and 70% of that time, being told they’re not wanted. Which is not great for the old self-esteem.