Exit Stage Left—Or How I Quit My Day Job

by Sandra Smith

Some people might think the title is a stage reference. And if I were smart, I’d probably leave it at that. But hey, I was born a smartass—ya gotta go with your talent. It’s really a reference to old Snaggletooth, a cartoon cat, who was always exiting stage left or right when things got tough. It strikes me funny as I leave my safe, secure cocoon in the corporate world to begin my lifelong dream of becoming a freelance writer.

I probably look like a lunatic to most of the people I know. It was not an easy decision. I’m single, with no other source of income. I don’t own my house, and I’ll be living for an indeterminate length of time on my savings. And I don't have buckets of cash. I really tried to follow the usual advice to do it the sensible way. I couldn’t. Once I lost the joy in what I was doing, it was only a matter of time before I had to move on.

I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to become a freelance writer. The idea isn’t completely nuts. I remind myself I bring experience to the table. And many years of study. I’ve been doing technical writing and copywriting for years. I wrote for a small local paper and I write poetry, which has given me a solid foundation in writing short. I also published a successful literary magazine.

Some people praise my courage to take such a leap at my age. But my age has everything to do with it. "If not now, when?" echoes in the back of my mind. Equal measures of terror and delight shudder up and down my spine as I struggle not to worry about where my next dollar is coming from. And the inner debate about buying that new rug for my living room while it’s on sale is making me crazy.

Who will win the argument? The whimpering, cringing what have I done, have I lost my mind side? Or the courageous, never-say-die me that croons I deserve to be surrounded by beauty and good things because I’ll be a great success? Or the practical, common sense part of me that advises it will go on sale again (that side must have been on sabbatical when I quit my job).

And then there’s all this business stuff: figuring out what to charge per hour for projects; how much of the day should be spent marketing, researching, administrating, and actually writing? And let’s not forget to factor in worrying about everything—and, by the way, when will I start earning money? Scary. I have to learn about tax deductions, figure out how to keep my office neat, how to keep filing from piling up, what do I do about health insurance, and figure out how to be creative in the middle of all this stuff. The list goes on.

The temptation to do anything besides write is everywhere. The Internet’s siren call would eat up a days on end if I let it. There are phone calls to make, business to attend to, dishes to wash, and errands to run. But I don’t get paid for any of that. I must continually remind myself this is a business.

I can’t even pretend I’m going to write The Great American Novel. Although I’d sure like to. I’ll probably never get rich freelance writing, but I should be able to earn a decent living. But today, all that is in the future. Today I’m facing the computer monitor wondering if anyone at all will be interested in what I have to say about anything.

I live in fear I’ll be forced to write lists because that’s what you see in most magazines: 5 Ways to Avoid Distractions Doing Freelance Writing; 6 Ways to Get Started Doing Freelance Writing; 3 Ways to Clear Your Brain So You Can Do Freelance Writing; 100 Markets for Freelance Writers That Pay a Teeny Bit, etc.

I really want to write about the uniqueness of people. I dream of interviewing interesting people and getting paid for it. I’m not talking about celebrities, I’m talking about people just walking down the street who all have at least one fascinating story to tell. I want to celebrate ordinary people, because really, they aren’t ordinary at all.

People’s reactions to my career change have been interesting. They either think I’ll become a bag lady in downtown Santa Cruz (hmmm, great material) or have this strange idea I’ll become wealthy in a short period of time. And friends who wouldn’t dream of asking how much my salary is think nothing of asking how much I’ll get paid for an article. It’s the same thing, folks!

I explained to an engineer where I used to work that after fifteen years of working as a tech writer/graphic designer, I was burnt out and a change was long past due. He said he felt the same way sometimes. I started to grab his arm in appreciation that he understood. Then he said, "You need windows. I look out there in the fields at those people bent over picking crops and am grateful I have a good job." I have yet to decide if that comment shows a certain lack of imagination or too much.

Once my decision to quit the corporate life was irrevocable, I noticed a distinct shift of focus in my attitude towards everything. I began analyzing every friend, minor acquaintance, and complete strangers to see if I could learn something interesting from their lives. Every conversation, every television show, every newspaper read, EVERYTHING happened in terms of would it make an interesting article.

This makes me a little uncomfortable. It feels opportunistic. It shouldn’t because ideas have to come from somewhere, and if this were the corporate world, it would be called networking. No one would think twice about my ghoulish interest in minute details in that case. I suppose I’ll get over it, but I do worry that my friends will stop confiding in me in fear of winding up in an essay or article.

Maybe I could just take up eavesdropping. I overheard a conversation in a movie theater during a showing of The Blair Witch Project: "The kind of boys that are always attracted to me are such losers. They think I’m a good listener and that I can help make them feel better so they want to hang with me. Losers. They say they don’t like themselves and I don’t understand because I just LOVE myself. I think I’m great." With material like that who needs Shakespeare.

I haven’t even addressed the issue of working alone in a quiet house. I’m used to having people around and being bothered often by someone who wants something. I can just see my calendar. Appointment at 8:00 am with self to discuss marketing opportunities. Take a meeting with self at 11:00 am to reprimand self for getting crumbs on the copy. Wake up at 3:00 am in the morning from a nightmare and keep self awake the rest of the night worrying. Wait, maybe it won’t be that different.

I must continue to remind myself that for me change is necessary, not optional; that I haven’t just jumped off into the deep end with little thought behind it. The moment I made the decision to quit, I felt that old zingy feeling return. Once again, it’s incredible to be alive and loving what I do. Indigestion and panic attacks aside, life is really good.

Well, I’d better go now. I need to schedule some meetings with myself before I get booked up. Exit stage right.