A freelance writer’s manifesto

So, you want to hire a freelancer?

I’m as happy as a clam!

Let me start off by telling you

All you need to know about who I am.

I’m an economist and writer,

Poet and author

Who loves data and research

Just as much as prose and verse

I am a professional with a desk and a chair

And the occasional pencil shaving in her hair

I have a pretty hectic schedule

So respecting my time: that’s kind of an unspoken rule

I can assure you that my quality of work is exceptional

And that I pay great attention to every detail

There’s no need to panic if, to your latest message, I haven’t replied

I promise I won’t miss a single deadline

I like emails, contracts

And impactful, interesting projects

I also appreciate clear, open communication.

Don’t worry — I bring my own inspiration and self-motivation.

Whether it’s a blog, whitepaper, marketing copy, or a script

Just tell me briefly about what you’re looking to create,

And I’ll conjure up something wonderful

In my own signature way.

Before we go any further,

These things must be clear

We don’t want to be caught in a tough spot

So let me just tell you who I am absolutely not:

I’m not a street vendor with whom you can bargain,

My prices are fixed based on expertise I’ve gained

I am not a friend you can call at 3 AM

I work 8 hours and the rest of the day is ‘Carpe Diem’

I am not someone who can lend you a helping hand

A personal editor or a proofreader on-demand

I’m not a substitute for spell check or a thesaurus

I’m running a business, thank you very much

I’m not a newbie who is figuring all this out

I had a comfortable, stable job but chose to take this route

I don’t need the ‘exposure’ — I need to be paid what I’m owed

Half upfront and half in the end — yep, that’s how this goes.

I can’t wait to work with you and help your brand grow

And I hope this partnership leads to so much more!

I love what I do and I want to do the best I can

So please respect what I’m good at and understand

That writing is more than just words — it is truly an art.

Now that we’re on the same page, we’ll be off to a great start!

Work & Whiplash

It is both painful and glorious.

To do the work for which your heart burns.

To pour out, day after day.

Effort, words, presence.

And at night you fall into a deep slumber

Your dreams filled with a sense of being seen. Acknowledged. Celebrated.

Somedays they come true.

Most often, they don’t. And it stings.

But this is the very blessing of the whiplash.

The noise, the inconvenience, the sharp snap

Commanding you to sit up and take notice.

Inviting intentional breathing exercises to get through it all.

Inhale gratitude. Exhale promise.

Like fuel for the road, it floods your bones.

On these days, my dreams are of a different kind.

I dream of solitude, comfort, anonymity.

Where I make maps in my mind.

Travel the roads in my own thoughts at ease.

You can’t have one without the other.

Split it right in the middle.

And right at the core,

That is where you find your joy.

Proof

You lit a match and left me burning
Was it really as easy as that?
Took a lazy stroll and won’t be returning
How do I win you back?
You say earnestly that you loved me
And maybe still do
But your eyes give it away, all stony red
And I know these words are easier said,

You see my love is still here
as firm as when you left
You need look no further
than the tears that I have shed
Although I am no fortuneteller
I know what will happen now
You will swear you love me
But I hear the flatlining
And baby, we are dead.

so close, and yet..

we broke apart

just for a second

and i knew

that you could still see me

from where you stood.

 

we only had to travel

the distance between mind

and heart

it’s too bad

that neither of us would.

whole

even bread

needs yeast

to rise.

self-destruction

she was a girl

that picked at her own flesh

and cried wolf

setting the demons of her mind

on those around her

not knowing that

they were chained to her wrist

like dogs.

the barking drover her mad

the ropes tore her skin

and the stench of her own frustration

beckoned the ravens.

consequences

for a short while

you can turn your face away

from the blisters and bruises

that your words have inflicted on me

but when you wake from the denial

and the anesthesia of your ego wears off

you must face your own sickness

and the truth

that my forgiveness is the only cure.

head in the clouds

to wait for you

was like waiting for rain

it couldn’t be forced

couldn’t be conjured.

all i could do

was lift my dry heart

to the heavens

and pray.

exits

if you’ve walked away,

but still linger in these thoughts of mine

what good is good-bye?

Hope

all broken hearts

make full recoveries.