By Hal Walter
This should not be taken as whining, but rather as philosophical exploration. The question is this: Why can’t I consistently make money?
Over my life I’ve developed skill levels at a variety of vocations and avocations. In fact I seem able to find success at most things I really apply myself to. Acquiring money is not one of these things.
I can write, and edit. I’m OK with a camera. I design print publications ranging from newsletters to books. Even when I’ve had real jobs practicing these skills it’s never led to financial abundance.
Then there’s the bliss-ninny notion that wealth follows when you do what you love. I’ve also found success at distance running, pack-burro racing and other endurance sports; I can pack a burro for a backcountry trek and cast a fly to a trout. But no real money has ever come from practically ruining my life with sport.
Sure, I’ve been financially successful to some degree over the years or I probably wouldn’t have a roof over my head and a computer to type this on. But none of this has ever made me anything approaching wealthy or even what most people would consider well-off. Instead of living paycheck-to-paycheck, it’s more like living job-to-job.
Two months into this new year I’ve made far more money ranching than I have through my chosen career of word-wrangling. In this parallel professional universe I’ve managed a small ranch for seven years, and cared for dozens of animals large and small for vacationing neighbors. But none of this work has been easy. In fact this winter has been a blur of treading on thick ice, wrestling with frozen hoses and hydrants, dwindling hay supplies, downed fences, loose animals, a cantankerous tractor, and bone-numbing wind chill. You know it’s colder than the thermometer indicates when there’s an inch of ice on a heated stock tank.
But what really iced my bank account this winter was an adventure with Corporate America. Last year, through a longtime business contact, I was drafted to write an annual review for an affiliate of one of the country’s major banking institutions. They were on a tight schedule and I produced the words needed on very short notice. I’m good at this sort of thing but it does take a toll on my brain.
They liked what I did so much that I was contacted this past fall about writing this year’s review. Only this time they needed to get me “officially into their system.” No problem, said I, you should have my name, address and social security number on file. Let me know whatever else you need.
I was asked to prepare a Scope of Work, known as a “SOW” in the corporate vernacular. So I carefully crafted a proposal projecting I’d get the job done in about 30 total hours, would deliver it by the end of February and that these services would cost the company a bit over two grand – pocket change for them but enough to help keep me afloat until the next job surfaces.
And thus began an epic fiasco. Regardless of how well things went the previous year, the human resources people now just couldn’t process that I was a freelance writer, worked independently, needed a check made out to me, etc. What’s more, they had begun to “background” me and had stumbled upon www.hardscrabbletimes.com, sorting through my eclectic resume, my short biography that probably seems like fiction to a corporate executive, writings about pack-burro racing, local food and cooking, the trials and tribulations of being an autism parent, photographs of the local scenery and links to recent columns in Colorado Central. Probably not exactly the corporate image they were hoping to find.
Hardscrabble Times, indeed.
My “case” went all the way to the chief legal beagle, who decreed that if I were to take any directions from someone within the company, then technically and legally, I would be considered an “employee” and could not be hired as a “contractor.” This of course is ridiculous as I have worked as a freelance writer/editor for numerous companies over the past two decades and all of them have given me direction to some degree.
It was then decided they could hire me through a creative agency. There was discussion of a trip to the agency’s branch in Colorado Springs to fill out paperwork, and to produce two photo IDs, undergo a background check, fingerprinting, etc. All of this so I could write what amounted to five anonymous articles involving no sensitive information whatsoever from my home office and e-mail these to them.
Then came the game of phone tag with the agency person that went on for days, until finally one morning she caught me when I was actually here, trying to thaw my hands from my latest adventure with a stock tank and 200 feet of frozen hose. She offered right off that she’d make the process as simple as possible, and I have to say in the final analysis she delivered on this promise. Our conversation went something like this:
Had I discussed my rate with the company?
Sure.
And, well …?
I told them $75 an hour.
A moment of silence followed.
Would I consider doing this for less, since the agency would be withholding taxes and providing a W-2?
I hadn’t considered that. Though I had considered that this job was heading toward rush-fee territory with the deadline looming.
More contemplative silence.
How many hours is this?
30.
The next question suggested perhaps she wasn’t sure whether she had just discovered a commission gold mine or an empty prospect pit.
Is this per week?
Uh, no – it’s a one-time project.
Oh … OK … I’ll have to talk to them and get back to you.
Well, I never heard back from her, but I did from the company. They decided they were running out of time and would have to source the job “in-house.”
In all honesty, I was relieved. Sure, I could have used the money, but I wasn’t really all that eager for the brain damage. Perhaps there’s a good reason I’ve gravitated toward ranch work. I know real B.S. when I see it, for one thing. I also know that spring will come. And so will the next job. It always does.
Hal Walter writes and edits from the Wet Mountains.You can keep up with him regularly at his blog: www.hardscrabbletimes.com
