This is a topic I keep coming back to because I see it coming up again and again, in various forums, and it’s something about which I feel very passionate. I talked about steps to setting your freelancing rates last year, and now I’m going to do it again.

On a discussion list for writers I frequent, it came up innocently enough: “A major parenting publication has asked me to blog for them,” wrote a fellow writer, “and they want to know how much I’ll charge. How do I decide? I’ve heard everything from $5 a post to $25 a post.”

And then I put my head down on the desk and wept in frustration, because I don’t want to hear “major parenting publication” and “$25 a post” in the same sentence. Ever. Yet it’s still very common, and that’s because writers are not demanding their worth. So consider me your esteem coach for the day. Ready? You might want to have a mirror handy.
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My office is located at the side entrance to our house, which means that anyone familiar (read: everyone except people who want to stop by and sell us some Jesus) comes in through the door, here. This is to say that my office tends to be a main thoroughfare, in addition to being a fairly sunny space (which I enjoy). Nevertheless, I often refer to the office as My Cave. As in, “I just need to get back to hiding in my cave so that I can get some work done.”

I’m well-suited to working from home; I like being alone, and other than the, erm, occasional baking session, I’m fairly disciplined about tending to my work when I’m here. I’m able to bury my head so deeply in what I’m doing that sometimes when the kids get home from school, I’m still in my bathrobe. I’m not saying this is a good thing, just that it happens. I get lost in my work, and I enjoy it.

But I fear I’m starting to become a Weird Writer.
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I’ve been doing a lot of baking recently. And while I don’t intend it to be a form of self-torture, it really kind of is, because I’m on my first serious diet in… well, ever. So I’m baking, but not eating. And I’ll pull a couple of loaves of bread out of the oven and think, “Okay, now I’m done for a while.” But then a few hours later I’ll find myself staring at a new recipe and thinking, “Well… I could just go ahead and whip this one up, too, and throw it in the freezer! For later! For when I don’t have time to bake!”

The thing is, I don’t have time to bake now. Because I’m working on something, and I should be working, not baking.

Here’s something I believe without reservation: There is no such thing as writer’s block. I don’t believe that it exists. I have never not been able to write; often what I write is complete crap, but I write it. I push through. Later I go back and weed through the crap and make it into something better. But it’s not like I can’t write. On the other hand… after I reach a certain number of words that make me want to stab myself in the eyes repeatedly, I know it’s time to start baking.
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It seems like just last week that I was complaining about not paying my husband and home enough attention, so wrapped up as I’ve been in work, lately. Oh, wait—that’s because it was just last week. Huh.

Sure, I was complaining mostly about not having enough time for my husband, but really, deep down I was feeling like work was taking center stage in my attention more and more. And I was determined to restore balance. It started with the previously-discussed date night; fortunately, the sitter we hired was awesome (and I can’t wait to have her back again) and our night out was a lot of fun. I will definitely be trying to make that more a part of our routine.

But then—as so often happens—I swung right past “balanced” into nearly tipping off the other end of the scale. Moderation: I find it elusive.
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