But how do you build tourism off your dark history when the man responsible for the most disturbing chapter in modern Suriname is not just alive, but the president.
the cojones Julie has in writing stories like this is one of the reasons I love her.
Because writing—that first leap into taking your idea and making it a Thing People Read—isn’t really about wording. It’s about thinking. And if you can tell the difference between an article that knows what it’s about and one that exists purely to sell ad space, then you’re pretty good at that already… Choosing the words to describe your work means you’re doing it on purpose. You’re going on the record as someone who thinks about why they do what they do, and understands how each decision affects the results. And developing this knack for critical thinking will also make you better at what you do.
I try to gently nudge him in another conversational direction by saying something mild and loving, like, “Please shut the fuck up right now.”
"Is this a good idea? What do you think? Can you help me? Do you want to publish this? What would you change?"
… you’re standing there saying, “Well? What should this be? What should I be? Who the fuck am I anyway? Do you even love me anymore?”
And sometimes, in order to take total, true creative responsibility, you have to shut people out for a while. You have to stop walking around like a giant fucking question mark. You have to stop looking for reassurance from half-interested friends, and you have to stop asking other people to help you shape your work from start to finish. Calm the fuck down and get back to work. Talking in circles is just a form of procrastination. Asking for guidance but not actually wanting guidance is a way of justifying inaction and self-pity. Letting it out is one thing; repeating yourself indefinitely is another.
"Shut up. Go finish your shit and then edit it again and again and again until it’s great. When you’re done, then we can talk some more."
even if you “make it”, you’ve still got to eat.
I write for free. a lot of times. most times. for fun. and here’s why: thought leadership. it’s a super buzzy term that just means I contribute a ton of pieces on subjects I consider (or others consider me) myself to know a thing or two about. usually the subjects are: social media, food and travel, and entrepreneurship. usually it’s for sites I like or friends who work at related sites.
another reason I write for free: publicity. I’m a PR person, so consistently being “in the know” and relevant and on top of topical subjects is super important. I have a running spreadsheet of every single place I’ve been quoted, done an interview for, or written for. I’ve been doing this for myself since I can remember, and it allows me to keep track of my online presence and my brand if you will. I can see what time of year I get a ton of press opportunities, and what types of readers I attract from that, or even how opportunities came about. not to be self-involved here, but I try to land a press piece about myself once or twice a quarter (meaning 3 months). the more I can promote myself, the more people find out about me and the work I do, and come to me for consulting.
one major note in all of this: I never expected to make money from writing. I know too many people who are professionals and make nothing. I’ve seen first hand how little writing pays, so for me, it didn’t matter because I never set out to make a career out of being a writer. I’ve always had OTHER gigs that took precedence so that writing would be a fun SIDE thing to do.
another major note: I actually have been paid for writing. you know who paid me? content farms. shitty startup websites who needed someone to churn out the most basic and existing listicles and tips to get traffic and sell some ads. and ya know what? it was awful and I never lasted more than a month on those sites. I got my little check, I wrote a ton of crap that took me no time, and moved on. I haven’t done this type of work in a long time, and don’t plan on doing it ever again.
like I said, if I like you (the editor) or your site, I don’t mind not getting paid. however, there are little bonuses I look for. like you keep me in mind for more articles, or you recommend me for another gig, or you make sure to promote me and my writing through social, or you take me out to lunch (I prefer burgers), or buy me a beer (or 50) or a cup of coffee (latte please), etc. since I know I can’t pay rent NOT getting paid from that article (or many articles), at least feed me, na’mean?
here’s some quotes that I share sentiment with and maybe you will to:
Paid by traffic? Bleurgh. Traffic is for editors to fret over, not contributors, so that measure seems better aimed at who gets assignments, rather than what they’re paid for them.
The point of my piece is that the concept of “a writer” is becoming increasingly outdated.
I don’t make a living off of freelance article writing—how could I?—but would love a base rate supplemented by traffic-driven bonuses with performance reports and strong social media promotion. The platform for promotion *IS* worth something to me. So give it up a little please.Tell your zillion Twitter followers to follow MEEEEEEEEEE. Do the things that make me feel special, like you’d do for a millennial or a rich person. Then the promise of “platform” is real and worthwhile.
For people who don’t need to pay rent from their freelance writing income, I’m a fan of paying in things like boozy lunches or cases of wine. It costs less and means more.
there is no ladder. Especially if you’re just starting out now, you’ve got to find creative ways to prove you’re smart and competent as substantive entry-level jobs are scarce.
Find a subject you care about and which you in your heart feel others should care about. It is this genuine caring, not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.
what’s another word for “those restaurants in Bogota that are LITERALLY hole in the wall places with super tiny tables and chairs all lined up street after street”? I’m having severe writer’s block. and cannot go past this one fucking sentence.