Here’s the deal: I don’t work for free. I don’t work for publicity. I don’t work for exposure. I don’t work for promises and pipe dreams. The price tag for any of my work, be it writing, editing, or the occasional drawing, has a price tag attached to it. Hint: it doesn’t say “free.” I work for real, solid money even if it’s the digital sort deposited into my PayPal account. Unless I’m volunteering my time and talents, which I do, I expect to be paid with the sort of revenue that can be used to pay bills and purchase essential items like diabetes supplies and groceries.
Don’t get me wrong; I fell for the “publicity” scheme when I first started and didn’t know better. I didn’t think I could charge for the writing experience I gained while in school. I also doubted the usefulness of my work experience; after all, it was discounted by most of the places where I interviewed simply because the work occurred in one of the university’s departments. It was a bad move on my part. That work and the hours spent on school assignments count. I became a better writer, editor, and artist because of them.
These days if I’m approached with offers of publicity in exchange for time, talent, and effort, I meet them with a sterner backbone. I scoff at emails and messages that ask me to share my talent on a new site – “It’s brand new, but it has a lot of promise, and I’m going to promote everyone on Facebook and Twitter!” – in exchange for promotions that I know may not be seen or heard. More importantly, they may not be seen or heard by the right audience, and it’s that audience that needs to see and hear me, not the five people who are following a new site because they’re related to the site owner.
No, I won’t accept publicity in lieu of payment. The bank refuses the check every time I try to pay my mortgage with that fluff.
Image: CameliaTWU (CC BY NC SA 2.0)