I can write! I can entertain! I have stories to tell!
Dear Person and/or Company Who Could Really Benefit from My Skill Set:
The confidence in saying that I kick ass at what I do is there, because I am a great writer, and I’m great onstage. But! I don’t know how to ask you for money.
I’m a storyteller, see. I have written SO MANY THINGS. I have been in front of SO MANY PEOPLE, captivating them with my words through honesty, vulnerability, and a pretty fantastic sense of humor. Furthermore, I’m pretty great to work with — I play well with others. I respect your time. I’m as professional as you need me to be. I create great content. I am dependable. People legitimately like me.
I am not an asshole.
However, by and large, I haven’t asked you to pay me to write for you; furthermore, I haven’t invited you to pay me to speak for you. In fact, forget the by and large. I have spent the majority of my lifetime believing that my ability to tell stories in print and on stage has been a service undeserving of payment. Eh, undeserving is wrong. I’ve never expected it.
I was raised to do corporate work at a corporate job and save the creative stuff for later. And the later stuff is not a job, it’s a hobby. And people like you don’t pay people like me for hobbies.
Why not, you ask? IT’S BECAUSE I GREW UP ASSUMING YOU WOULDN’T WANT TO.
Ugh. Just ended that sentence poorly. Moving forward.
I want you to want me. I need you to need me. That song was clearly meant as a pitching tool, yes?
Hire me. Pay me. I’m worth it. I’ll rock the cape once I can afford the materials, I swear. Did I mention I’m crafty? ADD-ON.
PS — I am not weak. I do not expect things to fall into my lap. I will figure this shit out, and I will get paid what I’m worth. If someone suggests they’ve never felt insecure or unworthy, they’re lying. Or they’re a cocky white dude.
I’d say YOLO, but I’m a 42-year old woman, and that just seems weird.