It's been a very good week, despite the puke.
Intrepid may have barfed down the side of the playroom couch and been home for the last two days, but the rest of mid-to-late-February has been pretty awesome.
Let's start with the reason I haven't blogged in a week: I was applying for writing contracts, and then I got one.
I got one!
Just like that, someone decided to hire me - and this was after I directed them to my blog. I'm not too sure what that means, and sadly I forgot to ask. Either they liked my writing style or they thought that any womancrazy energetic enough to raise three boys full-time can pull off pretty much anything.
It was like a dream job in so many ways. It looked like something I could easily do, be creative with, and actually learn something new in the process.
However, the odds were clearly against me: I applied for it on a site where I had yet to be hired by anyone, had no feedback scores from previous clients (that would require having previous clients on said site), and had a big fat $0 in my 'total earnings' box. Basically, I looked like a complete newbie in Bigwig Freelancer Land, and it was a long shot.
But I won it, likely because my awesomeness transcended even my newbieness, and it became clear to the clients that hiring me was the only logical choice.
...Or maybe it was the blog.
Nah, it was totally my awesomeness.
Anyway, I had a phone call with the project manager on Monday to discuss the work. Right before it ended, he asked me how I got into this freelance writing thing.
Wouldn't you know it? Normally witty Maven went off on a business tangent about how I've been writing for a while, and I have a background in IT but this suits my lifestyle better, and I've done a fair bit of local work, etc. I was trying to act all professional-like, and tripping all over myself in the process.
Lame, and oh-so-boring.
Hindsight is, of course, always 20/20. The minute the call ended I came up with many other, far better answers to the question, like:
"The orthodontist made me do it."
"It was either this or I go back to the meth lab, you know?"
"I used to sell black market babies, but with the economy the way it is people are skipping the middleman these days..."
"I used to be a rodeo clown, but PETA's been looking for me."
"Actually, I just find the contracts- I make my kids do the writing. You don't mind a few typos, do you?"
"Well, it sure beats hooking!"
It's probably best I didn't use any of those...
In the end, I did a good job, was finished early, and the customer was happy. I got paid, and the now Intrepid's undoubtedly starving orthodontist can buy some groceries for his family. I'm feeling all professional and full of myself.
And if anyone said "When do you not feel full of yourself?" I'm going to lock you up in the meth lab. Don't think I won't do it.
Tomorrow -- if I'm not puking (so far so good) -- I'll write about an amazing seminar I went to on Monday night that dealt with tantrums, which was the other highlight this week. I'm pleased to say that since then, when Gutsy or Spawnling start throwing a fit, I have far less desire to repeatedly run myself into the patio doors until I black out. This is a good thing.
Intrepid may have barfed down the side of the playroom couch and been home for the last two days, but the rest of mid-to-late-February has been pretty awesome.
Let's start with the reason I haven't blogged in a week: I was applying for writing contracts, and then I got one.
I got one!
Just like that, someone decided to hire me - and this was after I directed them to my blog. I'm not too sure what that means, and sadly I forgot to ask. Either they liked my writing style or they thought that any woman
It was like a dream job in so many ways. It looked like something I could easily do, be creative with, and actually learn something new in the process.
However, the odds were clearly against me: I applied for it on a site where I had yet to be hired by anyone, had no feedback scores from previous clients (that would require having previous clients on said site), and had a big fat $0 in my 'total earnings' box. Basically, I looked like a complete newbie in Bigwig Freelancer Land, and it was a long shot.
But I won it, likely because my awesomeness transcended even my newbieness, and it became clear to the clients that hiring me was the only logical choice.
...Or maybe it was the blog.
Nah, it was totally my awesomeness.
Anyway, I had a phone call with the project manager on Monday to discuss the work. Right before it ended, he asked me how I got into this freelance writing thing.
Wouldn't you know it? Normally witty Maven went off on a business tangent about how I've been writing for a while, and I have a background in IT but this suits my lifestyle better, and I've done a fair bit of local work, etc. I was trying to act all professional-like, and tripping all over myself in the process.
Lame, and oh-so-boring.
Hindsight is, of course, always 20/20. The minute the call ended I came up with many other, far better answers to the question, like:
"The orthodontist made me do it."
"It was either this or I go back to the meth lab, you know?"
"I used to sell black market babies, but with the economy the way it is people are skipping the middleman these days..."
"I used to be a rodeo clown, but PETA's been looking for me."
"Actually, I just find the contracts- I make my kids do the writing. You don't mind a few typos, do you?"
"Well, it sure beats hooking!"
It's probably best I didn't use any of those...
In the end, I did a good job, was finished early, and the customer was happy. I got paid, and the now Intrepid's undoubtedly starving orthodontist can buy some groceries for his family. I'm feeling all professional and full of myself.
And if anyone said "When do you not feel full of yourself?" I'm going to lock you up in the meth lab. Don't think I won't do it.
Tomorrow -- if I'm not puking (so far so good) -- I'll write about an amazing seminar I went to on Monday night that dealt with tantrums, which was the other highlight this week. I'm pleased to say that since then, when Gutsy or Spawnling start throwing a fit, I have far less desire to repeatedly run myself into the patio doors until I black out. This is a good thing.