Literally. Dammit.

Over a dozen years ago, I came down with an inner ear infection at work. At the time, I was working at a giant IBM site, and when I was struck with a sudden intense dizziness in the ladies’ bathroom, one of my colleagues called our on-site paramedics. I was terribly embarrassed by the whole thing; they started checking me for things like signs of a stroke, and I was in my early 20s. It turned out to be an inner ear thing, though, which pretty much just disturbs equilibrium and is annoying.

I’d totally forgotten about that until yesterday, when the same thing happened again. Fortunately, now I work at home, alone, with no one to ask me if I can stick out my tongue straight except the dog, and come to think of it, she doesn’t talk no matter how dizzy I get.
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About four years ago I decided it was time to make a go of freelancing full-time, and I have worked hard since then to make my dream a reality. In just about every respect—if I do say so myself, heh—I think mine is a success story. At this point I enjoy a steady income, fulfilling work, a flexible schedule, and the satisfaction of knowing I made it all happen.

Which is why I am really struggling right now.

I am a product of public schools. I believe in public schools; not just because they’re the route I took, but because I think the principles behind them are good ones and that there are laws in place which should, theoretically, make them a viable path to success for everyone. My children attend public school. But I am currently somewhere I never expected to be: I am considering homeschooling.
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The wonderful thing about the Internet and all of the so-called “new media” we’re enjoying as a result of it is that it’s easier than ever to make your living as a writer—there’s plenty of places willing to pay for quality work, and if you’re ambitious and savvy enough, you can even create your own site(s) to generate revenue.

The terrible thing about the Internet and all of the so-called “new media” we’re enjoying as a result of it is that either there’s more theft of others’ work than there used to be or people just lack a basic understanding of what constitutes improper or illegal use of words belonging to someone else. Maybe a combination of those two things, actually.

And what this means for a lot of writers who work online is that we have to be vigilant about possible content theft. What it means for me is that I feel angry about having to spend time on stopping people from stealing my work, and it makes me very grumpy.
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To further confuse this metaphor, I’ve included a handy photo of a pothole, even though I really did mean a slothole. Which is, of course, an imaginary thing.

Some of the very best advice I’ve ever received on writing for a living without losing your ever-lovin’ mind has come to me by way of my dear friend Joshilyn Jackson. Joshilyn—in addition to being one of my favorite people—is a NY Times bestselling novelist, so when she talks about the writerly life and how to succeed in this business, I listen. She knows whereof she speaks, is my point. And my favorite piece of advice from her, bar none, is this admonition: Don’t be slotty.

I was reminded of this because of a recent post on her blog where she mentioned it, but really the best summation comes from this post of hers which is now several years old. She says:
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I spend an inordinate part of my day reading and answering emails. On that rare occasion (oh, modern connectivity, what a blessing and a curse you are) when I’m away from email for a good-ish chunk of time—say, 12 or even 24 hours—I return to a deluge of messages. Like, several hundred.

This is not because I’m so popular. It’s because some people are just email-happy. I mean, I’m not even counting the stuff that lands in my Spam filter (on the order of 300+ messages per day, in case you’re wondering), but I do get plenty of “let me tell you about our great new product” or “have you checked out this new site yet” sorts of emails. Also, I appear to be permanently stuck on a mailing list for press events in New York City, try as I may to get myself removed. But that’s another topic entirely.

No, the point I want to make today is that there is a right way and a wrong way to approach someone when you’re hoping they’ll respond to you with some advice. And I always thought this stuff was common sense, but given the number of emails I receive which seem to overlook some basic principles, I figured it was time to share.
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This weekend the kids and I took a day to lounge around in our pajamas and do little more than eat and watch television. It was divine. I hadn’t realized how badly we’d all needed it, until we did it. And even though it meant some things didn’t get done and I had some scrambling to do to catch up, I’d do it again. Because sometimes we just need to stop and breathe and just be.

I think that no matter your profession—whether you work out of the home, from home, or not at all—it is in the nature of child-raising that just when you’ve pretty much gotten things figured out, something changes. Grooves were meant to be interrupted, and children have a way of transforming weekly or even daily. So although it’s true that just about everyone runs into work/life balance issue, I think as parents we’re much more prone to “chasing a shifting target” sorts of issues.

I know I am, anyway.
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A few days ago, this was going to be a post about what a hypocrite I am. I was—still am, really—ready to hang my head and confess what an awful thing I’d done.

I’ve written here how many times about setting rates and valuing your work? About how your time is valuable and you deserve to be paid well for it? And I do think that most freelancers who cannot make a living struggle not necessarily because their work is poor, but because they have difficulty valuing their time appropriately. It’s an issue about which I’m really passionate, quite frankly.

And yet, last week I engaged the services of another freelancer and then blanched at the cost. Not because the cost wasn’t fair, mind you, but just because I was feeling overwhelmed. And she offered to let me pay less, and so I did. And then I felt extremely crappy about it.
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After agonizing over our Houdini dog disaster a month ago, I continued looking for a dog for our family, but started thinking it just might not happen. And then we found Licorice.

(It’s okay if you just started cooing at the screen and talking to that little face in babytalk. I do it to her all the time.)

You would think—after all the time it took for us to get to this point—that I would’ve realized exactly what I was getting myself into with a new pet. And I did. Mostly. But even though Licorice is three, the fact that she’s new to our home and a relatively recent rescue means that in many ways, she’s a puppy. And having a puppy is not all that different from having a baby, it turns out.

So let’s check in on how my typical day has changed.
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I bought an elliptical machine this weekend. I did it the way any (cheap) good American does—I found it on Craigslist and then drove over and handed cash to a couple who’s made peace with the fact that they’re simply not going to use it. My husband and I have vowed to Do Better but let’s fact it, good habits are hard to form, and in this arena, we are experts at bad habits.

Hey, we work hard. We both work full time and also try to be as present as possible for the kids and make sure that the house stays relatively clean and that we have home-cooked meals to eat. We get up at 6:00 and by the time the kids are in bed at 8:30ish, all we want to do is sit on the couch for a little while before we head to bed, ourselves.

This is the area where my life is most out of balance. I’ve known it for years. Can I finally change, now?
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You know that old routine with the damsel and the villain where he says, “You must pay the rent!” and she says, “I can’t pay the rent!” and they go back and forth until the swarthy hero appears and says, “I’ll pay the rent!”? That’s sort of the conversation that goes on in my head about volunteering at my kids’ schools. Except that I’m both the villain and the damsel, and no one ever swoops in and offers to pay my rent.

Okay, maybe it’s a lousy metaphor.

Except that it’s not, because I’ve always said that one of the biggest perks of working from home is that I’m free to be really involved in my kids’ activities and to pitch in where I’m needed. When we moved to Georgia two years ago I dove in head-first: PTA, other parent committees, classroom volunteer, event staff for various school functions, etc. I was happy to be able to do it.

Until I started resenting it all.
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