Category Archives: Life

On the heels of the post where I show off my brand-new business cards that advertise that, yes, I am a writer and blogger, and it is real enough to print on paper, I have a post detailing the things I’ve learned that clients need to learn when working with freelance writers.

Yep, this is about right.

Have realistic expectations

Fortunately, many clients realize that the piddly price they’re paying for word isn’t enough for us to research a project, add HTML to their specifications, add images and promote the content. Do as much for the writer as possible to get a faster return rate and higher-quality writing.

We do what you tell us to

So tell us exactly what you want — the first time! Don’t send something back because we didn’t meet expectations that you didn’t tell us existed. It’s no fair, and it wastes both of our time. Don’t write the entire article, unless you’re looking for a rewrite, but give us enough information to produce what you want. Assume that writers know nothing about the topic at hand.

Differentiate between suggestions and guidelines

If you want us to write like Wired.com, tell us. If you want us to use the exact same points in what is, essentially, a rewrite of an article from Wired.com, tell us! Lots of clients provide suggestions and examples, and some people want something a little closer to the source. We can do either, but we need to know what you want, first. Similarly, don’t tell us to cover specific points if you actually want those to be the headings.

Your article might be one in a stack twenty high

You get just as much priority as the next. You might even be going through dozens or hundreds of articles submitted from writers yourself, so you can probably understand.

Web content/copywriting isn’t like writing a book

Blog posts are casual. They use slang. If you ask for a blog post but reject articles because they’re too casual, then you aren’t asking for the right thing. If you’re outsourcing chapters for your written book, then using writing broker sites doesn’t make sense. It will be a poor fit.

Writers don’t always see the same thing you do

I see this all the time on certain broker websites. I send HTML, it breaks. You send a link, it gets cut off. You add a note, but I can’t see it. I might not be able to see your name, client number or even the article I just submitted. When in doubt, send a message.

Don’t be afraid of being communicative

At best, we’ll ignore you or opt out of your messages, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Enough with the damned keywords already

We’re sick of adding 16 instances of the same keyword in 200 words. It’s not readable, and some of your phrases are impossible to work into an article grammatically. Let writers use connecting words or, even better, focus on quality instead of search engine optimization.

Not everyone knows HTML

Yes, you’re using this content on your website. No, your writer isn’t responsible for adding all the tags. Many writers aren’t also bloggers. Markup is your responsibility, and just because I happen to be a writer who knows HTML doesn’t mean that I will do your job.

So, writers, what do you have to add to this list?

I took a walk tonight. It wasn’t especially long, but it was longer than I intended it to be. The air was cool and clear. It felt good in my lungs even if my cheeks were cold. I walked up the hill, along sidewalks that I have walked many time. I only live about three blocks from the house we lived in when I was in high school. I haven’t lived their for eight years, and my mother has since moved, but I think I’ve avoided going up that hill for reasons other than it’s a bitch on the knees. Seriously. How did I do that for four years?

In some ways, moving so close to my previous home made me feel as though I’d returned right back where I started with nothing to show for it. I thought to myself that ten years to the day, I might have been walking some of the same steps. Wouldn’t that be something? But I also realize that I’m not exactly where I was before. While I might be in a similar location, I’m not the same person.

When I walked those sidewalks in high school, I was angry and alone, and the music I listened to reflected that. I walked as an escape, and I looked upon the world cruelly. Tonight, I had a sense of wonder as I admired the Christmas decorations, many of which just went up. I also took time to look at the architecture. Wausau’s upper east side has many large, old homes. The styles range, too. There’s many victorians, but houses that would fit in at a Lousiana plantation or Spain also exist there. I even saw one that looked inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright (edit: it was a FLW house!). I’d forgotten how pretty parts of this city are.

As I climbed, I was able to look down through the trees. It was really spectacular. I couldn’t help but think that this walk would be quite romantic with someone by my side, holding my hand.

On my walk, I stumbled across a deer who was stumbling across the road. I saw a randomly-decorated tree in an alley and I discovered and apparent passion for architecture. But most importantly, I realized that I have not made the return home unscathed or unchanged. I am absolutely better. I am older, wiser. I appreciate more, yet I retain wide-eyed wonder.

What does it mean? I can’t pretend to know, but I can acknowledge that I am content with this.

1. The kitchen timer
2. The doorbell
3. People in the hall
4. My headphone cord
5. The phone ringing
6. The MGM lion

Ooh, so scary!

i’m so sad to finish the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. In fact, I may be finished with the book by the time this post goes live. You see, I’ve enjoyed reading it, but I’ve enjoyed reading about it even more. Each night, after I turned off the Kindle, I drift away to a world where I am Watson, and Sherlock and I are solving intricate mysteries. There’s such a sense of calm about them, though. They’re not troublesome mysteries.

I can’t remember what I dreamed about in the morning. I only recall the vague ambiance of the dreams themselves. I don’t even think we’ve solved a mystery yet, but my slumbertime travel to and travails in London is fantastic. I rarely have dreams that feel like interesting adventures rather than worrisome chases. My anxiety is no more lenient on me during my sleeping hours than it is during my waking ones.

I’m afraid to leave the world of Holmes and Watson when my eyes are open and when they’re closed. There is something about this world that I love so much, and it’s something due to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s writing. I’ve seen the movie. I’ve watched multiple shows (Elementary is turning out to be quite interesting!), but neither of them leave me quite so smitten and breathless.

I had no idea the effect the words on the screen would have on me. It’s so rare that I am so taken with anything or anyone. I think I may understand how Irene Adler felt to be Sherlocked.

The last time I wrote a post talking about how I’d gotten drunk the night before, it wasn’t so happy. It’s different this time. Friday was my best friend’s birthday and she asked if  I wanted to go out after she finished work. I figured it would be fun and had no better plans, anyway, so we headed to a bar with her husband to meet her cousin. For some reason, probably an empty stomach, my drinks really hit me and I was soon feeling the alcohol. I had no more than two shots and two mixed drinks, but they did me in.

However, I was with friends, so instead of freaking out, I was laughing  bubbly and silly. I entertained everyone and was entertain myself. It was really the first time that drinking was any fun, and it was all an accident. It made me want to go out and drink with friends again. Perhaps I just hadn’t been with the right people before. Unfortunately, several of my friends are now pregnant. What’s up with that?

The night produced some quotes that seemed funny at the time. You can tell me if they’re still funny.

I’d be a dick, too, if my vagina was full of sand.

I’m trying to add ‘fucked’ but it’s hard.

I feel all wibbly wobbly. Will David Tennant have sex with me?

I have to pee. Don’t eat my cheese.