Hey everyone,
By the time you read this, I’ll be in India! Actually, I’ll probably have been in India for a few days, but I’m writing this ahead of schedule so I don’t miss an issue.
Some of you might not know this, but I became a freelance journalist when I was still a college student in New Delhi. I was studying IT and hating it, so I started writing on the side. By the time I graduated, I was making a full-time living as a writer.
Back in the day, working from home was an anomaly. People questioned my sanity, what kind of career I really had (and whether I had one at all), and what I did all day. Was I so unemployable that I had to sit alone all day at home? I had an online business, but no one understood what that meant back then, and so, even though I loved my life and was proud of what I was achieving, I often couldn’t explain it.
I spent most of my time online, of course, where other freelancers like me gathered. We talked about whether to put banner ads on our sites, and which Yahoo Groups to subscribe to, and how to deal with families who didn’t understand what we did on the computer all day long. We all followed the same blogs, read the same websites, and took the same courses. And one of the most common pieces of advice we got back then was to treat your online business like a job. That each morning, you should get up, get dressed, and put on make-up, as if you were going to a “real job.”
I hated that advice, and I could never get behind it. The entire point of having my own business and working from home was so I didn’t have to do all the shit other people had to do when they worked for someone else. I considered my writing a “real job,” even when I was barely making any money. I wanted to sit at home in comfortable clothes, work at my own pace, and live by my own schedule.
But I get it—societal mindset was stuck in the corporate world. Even the freedom we’d chosen was in the context of what society expected from a productive member of society.
In 2024, this is laughable. Thankfully, we’ve learned. We’ve evolved. And we’ve learned to prioritize our wellbeing, not the systems we were programmed into.
I was thinking about this recently because sometimes we’re so caught up in this cultural programming that we don’t even realize how bizarre it is until it’s finally behind us.
My interest—and where I’m seeing this pattern repeat itself—is in online education. The launch model. The high prices. The systematization.
Last month, I wanted to learn how to write a better sales page. Spent $200. The basics of a funnel. Another $300. Advertising? $450. For my business, I can justify these costs. I will make it back as my business becomes even more profitable. But as a writer, I find it a lot harder. The return on investment isn’t always there. When I looked at my own courses, some of which will help you make money immediately (30 Days, 30 Queries, Higher-Paying Freelancer Clients, Content Marketing for Journalists), some will help you make money eventually (Write 5K a Day, Fix Your Broken Novel, Success Habits for Writers), and some of which may never (Finish That Damn Book), I had to truly think about costs.
The writing industry is failing writers. The industry (including publishers, agents, and platforms) is making money from the work of writers, while writers themselves are (usually) not.
My mission is to empower all writers to have excellent careers doing whatever they want—writing stories, building an audience, making money. It starts with education and training at a reasonable price that is accessible.
And Wordling Plus is my first step towards that goal.
Check it out, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to get in touch.
Cheers,
Natasha