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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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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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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My children are pretty well past the Dr. Seuss stage, but we all still find it endlessly amusing to frame discussions involving choices in the manner of Green Eggs and Ham. Could you, would you, in a boat? Could you, would you, with a goat?

Using this context for a discussion that’s apt to make my head explode is a nice way to attempt to keep it light, I think. And so, today, I ask my fellow writers:

Would you write crap and append your name?
Would you extol a product that’s lame?
Could you, would you, on your blog?
Could you, would you, for a client’s dog?
Where’s the line when “selling out?”
Does it make you want to scream and shout?

(And yes, I’m aware that it’s a very good thing I’m not being paid for my poetry.)
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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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When people talk about the perks of freelancing, they often cite the flexible schedule as one of the biggest benefits. I’d have to agree; it’s extremely gratifying not to have to angst over running my kids to appointments or volunteering or school or—occasionally—even just taking a much-needed mental health day without having to worry about someone thinking I’m slacking. If you do it right, freelancing can afford you a flexibility in your scheduling that most conventional office jobs never can.

What’s talked about less often, though, is the flexibility a freelancer needs to have when it comes to dealing with clients. Clients are human, of course, and sometimes have changing needs. And particularly in today’s economic climate (I love that phrase, like today calls for a recession with periods of layoffs and possibly some rain), the freelancer who can roll with the punches is the one who survives. One of the things that means is that you can’t take anything personally.

I don’t know about you, but that’s easier said than done, sometimes.
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I’ve taken my laptop into the family room, today, even though I usually stay in my office all day long and never turn on the television. Today’s an exception, though, because today is President-Elect Obama’s inauguration, and while I can’t just chuck my work for the day, I can work while I watch CNN.

You’d be hard-pressed to find someone in this country who doesn’t believe that 2009 is going to be a year of change. Not everyone is excited about it, I guess, but I think we all realize that things are going to be different this year. Between the economy (I won’t use the “R” word, and certainly won’t utter the “D” word), the changeover in power in the White House, reorganization on Wall Street, etc., very few people are doing “business as usual,” these days.

Watching the Inauguration festivities is giving me chills.
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I’d like you to meet my new arch-nemesis. I like to call her Wiilma. She’s perky, she’s fit, and she talks without moving her lips.

She’s my Wii Fit trainer.

I’ve never really been one of those “Oh, this year I’m going to get in shape” sorts of people. I never really thought about it much; I was naturally slender, I pretty much abhor all exercise, and resolutions are for suckers. Except that as I approach 40 my metabolism has become a bit old and tired, and my children no longer require all that much chasing, and I spend every day sitting at my desk. So maybe I’ve decided to become a sucker.

Preferably a sucker who weighs a little less, and is a little more in shape.
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The stockings are hung by the chimney with care, and the presents are wrapped, and we’ve driven two days through the snow to come be with family, and soon Christmas will be here.

I am, of course, still working. While everyone else eats cookies. (Grumble, grumble.) But in addition to getting ready for a big dose of family togetherness and trying to stay on top of my workload, this is traditionally also the week when I become reflective. I start rifling through my accounting registers and thinking about my various contracts and generally trying to take stock of the year that’s nearly over.

Back in the early days, it was easy: Did I make any money this year? Yes? Yay! And then: Did I make more money this year than last year? Yes? Yay!

It’s… a little more complicated, now.
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It’s nearly that time.

Tomorrow I will split my time—not necessarily equally—between tending to the kids, getting some work done, and hopefully doing enough meal preparation that I won’t be completely crazed on Thursday with cooking for a houseful of people.

Our preparation for our annual family trek back up north is in full swing, as well, complete with my car having developed a mystery ailment, and multiple discussions between my husband and myself about whether it might just be time to get a new car. You know, because this is the time of year that I like nothing more than spending a really big hunk of money.

Sorry; do I sound cranky? I guess I’m a little cranky.
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