Creating Your Artist/Vision Statement

image courtesy of Free Photos via pixabay.com

One of my favorite parts of the business is working with creatives across disciplines honing their artist or vision statements. It gives me a chance to experience their passion for their work, and help them shape it into an active, engaging piece that can be used in grant applications, cover letters, on websites, in bios, in media kits, and more.

How do you get there? Especially if your interests and work have a wide range?

Play.

That’s right. Remember the kind of fun you had as a child, playing, without pressure to do or be anything specific.

Remember what excites you about your work. What makes you passionate about.

Write, or make a collage, or draw, or take a walk and mutter to yourself.

Remember the wonderful projects you worked on in the past, and what appealed to you about them.

Think ahead, to the kind of work you see in your future, what drives you there, what electrifies and astonishes you about it.

Is there a thread, a theme, that runs through it?

Much of my work is built around themes of loyalty to loved ones, breaking out of conformity/expectation boxes, and creating family, by choice as much as blood. The most exciting projects I worked on (even if I wasn’t a creator) have also contained those themes. It’s the type of work I’m drawn to when it’s created by others, and those are themes that keep coming up in my own work, in different ways.

Working on a theatre production is creating a family of choice, even for a limited time, and that’s where I spent the bulk of my professional career.

Once you recognize your themes, threads, and what stimulates you, look for active words to describe them.

The key here is “active.”

Avoid, or edit out passive. Phrases like “had been done” and “was hoping to achieve” derail you. You “did” and you “achieved.”

Keep your sentences short, active, and full of life.

Instead of using adverbs, use verbs, nouns, and adjectives.

The reader should experience your excitement with you as they’re reading. They should feel like you are in the room with them, in conversation. The words you choose vibrate with energy.

Keep the ego out, but the action in. Show, in active terms, what you’ve done and what you dream, while keeping out the narcissism.

Remember, too, that your artist/vision statement is a living part of you and your work. It grows and changes, as you do. It’s a roadmap, not a prison.

Revisit it often. Update, shape, hone. Reveal your love, show your soul.

Play.

The creativity you use in your statement both supports and informs the creativity in your work.

Ink-Dipped Advice: Time Blocks for Practicality and Flow

image courtesy of Clip Art Vectors via pixabay.com

Last week’s #RemoteChat was built around what we do in 4- hour time blocks, and writer Paula Hendrickson had a great question that got me thinking about how my own process has evolved.

I mentioned how vital it is for me to do my first 1K of the day early in the morning. Most often, it’s fiction, either whatever novel I’m drafting, or a play. That is my prime creative time (the time itself is getting earlier and earlier, and sometimes it winds up being what is, for other people, the middle of the night).

If I get to the desk (I often draft in longhand rather than on the computer for the first draft) right after I’ve had my first cup of coffee and fed the cats, but before I do anything else in the day, my brain is in prime creative mode. I usually write 1000 words in about an hour to an hour and a half, which is not a pace I can maintain the rest of the day. (These are first draft words – revisions are a different process and take a different amount of time).

Hendrickson asked, “Don’t you find it hard to end the creative writing part of your day and switch to work mode?”

I used to, years ago, but while I worked in theatre, I trained myself to work in creative blocks so I could create up to and around the time I needed to spend in the theatre. That translates well to my current almost-all remote writing life.

Flow, Flexibility, Working at Peak Creativity

I try to keep my work frame as holistic as possible, because I try to approach everything as creative.  It’s all work, even though novel and playwrighting tap different facets than writing a marketing email blast to launch a product, or a press release for a non-profit, or a speech for a corporate event.

When I’m really in the flow of whatever that early morning project is, in the best of all possible worlds, I would keep going until I’m written out on it for the day.

But the reality is that I often have deadlines on other projects, meetings or interviews or keeping up with admin or specific research scheduled, and I can’t just keep writing all day on one project. I have to move back and forth between them.

Writing 1-1.5K first thing (on a strong flow morning, it’s closer to 2 or 2.5K) launches me creatively. No matter what else happens, I have that 1K written, and it’s 1K more than I had the day before. Also, 1 or 1.5K usually brings me to a good stopping point where I need to take a breath. Not only does it move that particular project forward, it puts me in a good creative mindset for the rest of my day. It’s a warm-up, like stretches for an athlete or scales for a singer. It warms up m brain and my creative engine.

After that 1K is done, I do my morning yoga/meditation practice, shower, eat breakfast, etc. Then I go to my desk and start my “workday.”

At the end of the previous workday, I spent a few minutes running through, in my head, what needs to be done the next day. I used to write detailed To Do lists, but I started resenting them, so now I keep them in my head. I check my calendar (I keep a detailed calendar with project deadlines in different colors and meetings).

Time Zones, Interruptions, Creative Saboteurs

Sometimes my official workday starts very early. I’ve had instances where I needed to give a presentation to an audience in the EU when it was about 5 AM my time. That’s the exception, not the rule. In most cases, no matter what the time zone, there are enough overlapping work hours if we need to be in real-time contact. Most of what I do can be asynchronous.

One of the reasons I had already cut back on my on-site work pre-pandemic was because there are certain people who can’t stand to see others productively working. I’ve talked about how deconstructive “multi-tasking” is in earlier posts. One can handle a variety of projects on a variety of deadlines by focusing on what needs to be focused on and having uninterrupted worktime. The projects take less time to complete, and the quality of the work is higher.

No one needs to stare at me as I write. No one needs to “just pop in” while I’m working. Don’t interrupt me. Shoot me an email. I’ll respond. I only accept phone calls by appointment, and, if I’m on a Zoom call, I turn my phone off.

The pandemic changed the landscape of the workday for me, and made it even more important to have flexibility, and not have to be tied to the computer or the office for 8 consecutive hours. Essential businesses and healthcare have specific hours set aside for specific age groups. I need a certain level of flexibility in my day to deal with them.

When I approach my official workday, I know what needs to be done within the time frame of that specific day, whether it’s a completed project or a step in a project. After decades of doing this work, I have a good idea of how much time each step takes.

Appointments have specific times, but I don’t break down my blocks into 15-minute or 30-minute intervals. I give each block breathing room.

From Theatre and Writing Life to Writing Life

When I lived worked full time on Broadway, shows were at night, and on Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday matinees. Monday was dark day, my day off (although I often spent Mondays day playing on whatever television show shot in New York). But, as anyone who works in theatre knows, the work isn’t JUST the show. There are special events and prep work during the day. I usually did one or two daywork sessions on my own show, and one or two daywork sessions on a different show, because you want to stay fresh in people’s minds. That way, when your show ends, you have relationships and can move to other shows.

On a matinee day, my daywork started at 9 or 10 AM, I worked two shows, and was often home after 11 PM. Later, if we went out for a drink or to see another show or listen to music. On a “regular” show day, I might have daywork starting at 1, and then the show at night. Or I might not have to be at the theatre until an hour and a half before the evening show.

I still got up early in the morning to write.

I didn’t have word quotas at that time. It was all dictated by how much I could get done within the specific hours for that day. Early on, I felt frustrated and like I flailed.

As far as I was concerned, I worked two full-time jobs. Although, anyone who works professionally in theatre will tell you that theatre demands more than a full-time job.

I rarely wrote when I got home from the theatre, although if I had a deadline, I sucked it up and wrote until three or four in the morning. I found it harder to switch out of theatre headspace into writing headspace than the other way around. I was better off going to bed around 1 or 2 AM, getting up at 6, and hitting the desk.

On days where I didn’t have to be at the theatre until 1, I could let it flow all morning. On days when I had to be at the theatre for an evening show, I trained myself to turn off the writing spigot at 4:30, so I could transition from writing headspace to theatre headspace, eat dinner, shower, etc.

It was difficult at first (lots of setting timers or alarm clocks). Rather Pavlovian. But, doing it regularly, it became a habit.

It became a habit that serves me well now.

I found that I could stop writing on one project and let it simmer in my unconscious while I consciously worked on something else (be it a different piece of writing or the show). When I finished the project in focus, or the part of it I could do, it receded to percolate, and the other project moved to the forefront again — with progress made while it percolated. I could dive back into it because my unconscious was working on it while my conscious mind worked on the project in front of me. Neither project suffered. I could flow back and forth, and let the creative energy of each project feed the other, even when the details were different.

Once I started my transition out of full-time theatre work into part-time theatre (as a swing), it was harder to get things done writing-wise and structure my freelance day.

National Novel Writing Month helped me with the structure and flow. The early morning writing sessions worked because then I didn’t worry about that day’s word count all day. NaNoWriMo got me into the rhythm of 1-2K/day as a regular flow, and I’ve found that serves me well now.

Practical Blocks:

The official start of my workday starts with emails. I try not to get bogged down in them, and I try to keep up with them. I look through them, delete what doesn’t need attention, answer what does, organize anything that has to do with a current project.

The next practical block consists of the morning social media rounds. I have personal and business social media accounts, and I run social media accounts for clients. I visit all of those, one at a time; see what needs to be answered; post a response or a piece of content (if it hasn’t been scheduled), etc. I try not to get bogged down, although sometimes I do. Running through my own SM accounts first means I feel the pressure of the client accounts, and stay aware of time.

I do have one client who has a particular block of hours dedicated to their work each week. In that case, during those blocks, I handle all of their work – direct response emails, creating ads and email blasts, positing new content, research, audience engagement expansion, etc., during those designated hours. That is a self-contained block of time. Although the actual hours might vary per day, when I’m in that client’s block for the day, that client’s variety of work has my full attention.

For the clients for whom I schedule social media posts, I set one or two blocks of finite hours once or twice a month per client for social media scheduling.  I plan the content/images for each post in one set of practical blocks, then upload/schedule on platforms such as Tweetdeck, Hootsuite, Buffer, etc. in other practical blocks.

I do a practical block or two in the afternoon, usually right after lunch and at the end of the workday, mostly focused on email, in case something needs my immediate attention before I end my workday. I do another round of the social media accounts in the afternoon, in case anything needs response.

I used to schedule a big block of time on Fridays for admin work. That became overwhelming, so I now do admin amidst the Practical Blocks, and a late morning/early afternoon short admin session on Fridays, so Mondays aren’t so overwhelming.

Flow Blocks:

After the SM rounds in the morning, it’s time to get down to morning creative work. Maybe it’s an interview. Maybe it’s a Zoom call. Maybe I’m creating an email blast, Maybe I’m taking the information from different interviews and putting them into my article. Maybe I’m writing a press release, or working on an artist statement or client’s business brochure.

These are flow blocks. I have a basic idea of how much time each task takes, with flexibility for unexpected obstacles (computer updates, the need to get back to a source for clarification, etc.) I don’t have hard-and-fast hours set aside; I let the work ebb and flow as it needs. When I’m finished with a project, or a section of a project, I’ll stand up and stretch for a few minutes, check email/SM, clear my head for the next project.

Whatever I’m working on at the time is the most important item in my world at that moment, and everything else is blocked out of the conscious mind. Doing so allows me to give full attention and creativity, with a higher rate of productivity and a higher quality of work.

At the same time, various creative projects that are percolating are humming at the back of my brain, waiting for their turn, but not distracting me. As I stated above, they are progressing during that percolation time, even when they are not front and center in my attention.

There’s a big difference between juggling multiple projects, with complete focus as needed, and being constantly interrupted in the name of “multi-tasking” that doesn’t let you get anything done well.

Afternoons, after lunch, I prefer to do editing work or research. It uses different creative synapses than the writing. I draft stronger work in the morning; my editing eye is better in the afternoon. Whenever possible, that’s how I arrange my flow.  If I need to have another writing block later in the day, I do so. It boils down to contract deadlines and pay rate.

Reading is usually scheduled in the afternoon. Afternoons and evenings are when I usually work on the books I review, or the contest entries when I’m a judge, or research materials/background for various projects.

Some days, the flow is strong on a particular project, or that’s the only project that needs my full attention, and then I’ll flow with it all day.

Breaks, Hydration, Meals

I tend to push through for too many hours without a break and exhaust myself. Sitting for too long causes physical pain, eye strain, and emotional mush.

I’m in the process of training myself to take breaks.

Flowing with the blocks combined with listening to my body helps. When my back starts to hurt, or I get a headache, I stop. Often, I notice the physical discomfort as I’m finishing a block. When it dovetails nicely, I take a break to stretch or get something fresh to drink. I might do a few yoga asanas, to counteract a specific tension.

I usually hop on social media for a few minutes. I’ve spent much more time on social media during the pandemic, and I’m starting to scale back on it. It is an important part of my work – even the personal account has a lot to do with my writing work – but I don’t want it to overwhelm the work.

The best boundary I set is to take a real lunch break. So often, when I worked hybrid and was only onsite with a client for a few hours here or there, I skipped lunch or ate at my desk. Working remotely, I make sure I take a genuine lunch break, in a different room than my home office. I cook, I play with the cats, I might read something for pleasure.

When at all possible, after lunch, or after the next Practical Block, I take some time on the acupressure mat, about 20-40 minutes. That helps unravel knots from sitting at the computer, I can rest my eyes, I can clear my mind and re-focus for the afternoon. That break makes my afternoon far more productive and run more smoothly.

End of Day

A genuine end of day is important. I have a set time when I stop interacting with clients (unless it’s an emergency). I might stay at my desk a little past that time, to wind something up, but client contact stops until the following business day.

When I’m done, I shut everything down, and walk away from it.

We started having cocktail hour when we moved to Cape Cod, to a house with a lovely deck. It’s a nice transition time after the workday and before I start cooking dinner. There’s not always alcohol involved; it might be a Shirley Temple or white-cranberry peach juice in a festive glass. As the pandemic stretches on, I find myself drinking less alcohol.

But having a firm end of day means I have the chance to refuel, mentally and physically, for the following day. It is an investment in the next day’s work.

Technology-Free Days

I try to have one day a week where I’m not online at all. No social media, no internet muddling, no phone calls, no television. I might listen to music, but that’s it. I call it my “Day of Disconnect.” It’s vital to keeping the creative flow.

I let that fall by the wayside during the pandemic, because we were constantly living in crisis mode. I plan to start re-instating it in the coming months.

Evolving Process

Talking in terms of blocks and flow sounds contradictory, but in years of trying different techniques to point my best creative energy to specific projects, I find it works. If I make too many lists or break down my time into assigning every minute a task, it looks pretty on the page, but it sabotages my work energy.

It’s a constantly evolving process. What works well now might need adjustment in three months or six months or a year. That keeps creativity fresh. Try new tools and techniques, and see what makes sense in your particular situation.

I’ve talked about productivity too often in this post. But we have to remember that pandemic productivity is different than non-pandemic productivity. We are under enormous daily strains.  Businesses are opening too soon, and too many companies are pushing too hard for increased productivity (at higher rates for lower pay than pre-pandemic) while we’re still trying to survive a worldwide trauma. More than 500,000 people are dead in the US alone. We’re not being allowed to process, to grieve, or to find a path to healing. Healing itself will take years. Surviving is a victory. Re-defining productivity, work culture, and demands are all a process we need to participate in so that there is a sustainable future.

Ink-Dipped Advice: Interview Questions We Hate: “Where Do You See Yourself in Five Years?”

image courtesy of slightly different via pixabay.com

Hello, February! January seemed like it was about 27 months long. February is supposed to be a short month. We’ll see.

There are plenty tired old chestnuts in interview situations that need to be retired. Some are illegal, some are toxic, some are racist or misogynist or ageist, some are ableist, and many have nothing to do with the job and nothing to do with “getting to know you.”

One of these questions is “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

That’s a question your high school guidance counselor asks when they’re helping you prepare your college applications. It’s the kind of question that might come up, in a different format, with co-workers at the bar (in the years where we could actually go to a bar with co-workers without worrying it would, quite literally, kill us). It’s the kind of question you ask yourself on retreat, when you are trying to avoid or recover from burnout.

But in a professional interview situation? Inappropriate.

That question was dumb in 1985. After 2020, it’s even worse. It shows that the company asking has learned nothing from the pandemic. It sends up a big red flag.

You can type the question into an internet search engine and get a bunch of advice from corporate-leaning “experts” on how to answer it with vague softballs that don’t “threaten” the person interviewing you.

I tried those placating responses a few times, and the experience made me want to vomit. I was not being true to myself, to my core integrity. That’s no way to start a new working relationship.

There is a more direct approach.

Generally, as soon as I hear the question, I mentally cross that company off as an organization for a potential working relationship, and try to end the conversation as smoothly and pleasantly as possible.

I start flippantly. “That depends on whether or not you hire me.”

This is met with shocked silence, and then nervous laughter. Usually, some stuttering and backpedaling occurs. I let the interviewer twist in the wind for a few beats – after all, this was a “gotcha” question, with malicious intent (every “gotcha” question is designed with malicious intent), and my subtext makes that clear.

After a few beats of the interviewer flailing, I add, “Seriously, wherever I land, five years from now, I will be working with smart people who are passionate about what they do.”

They can decide if I mean their company or not.

It is a 100% genuine answer.  I seek out opportunities to work with smart people who are passionate about what they do. Some of those work relationships are long-term, some are short-term, and some are on-and-off. When I’m seeking new opportunities, everything else builds on that foundation.

Anything less wastes all our time.

Ink-Dipped Advice: Tidying Up

image courtesy of Steve Buissinne via pixabay.com

It’s often the end of the year that finds us tidying things up so that we are ready to start fresh. That includes email boxes, files, websites, portfolios, and the like.

Keeping our professional files up to date is a bit like housecleaning. It needs regular attention, the same way we need to dust, vacuum, do dishes, handle the laundry, and clean the bathrooms.

Part of the professional tidying-up is more than keeping track of what we’d done over the past few months; it’s about deciding where we want to go.

Look at your portfolio samples. Do you need to swap out older pieces for newer ones? Or do you have pieces that are older, but are more in line with the type of work you’re currently pitching, and it makes sense to put them back in?

Look at your bio information, your “about” page, profiles on various websites and social media handles. Does anything need to be updated? Do your blog sites or websites need freshening up, with a new template or a redesign?

Do you choose to use photos? If so, does it need an update?

I firmly believe that what I look like has nothing to do with the quality of my work. My work is public, my life is private. It’s not salacious or controversial, but it is MINE, and I get to choose which aspects I share, how I share them, and with whom. Also, because I publish under multiple names AND work as a ghostwriter, I use icons in place of photographs. The whole “oh, but it makes it more PERSONAL, so I know who I’m dealing with” is, in my mind, a crock. All you need to know is the quality of the WORK. If we decide to interact on a personal level, that’s apart from the work.

Also, that reasoning is usually thrown around by people who’ve never had to deal with stalkers. Forcing someone to use a photo on a public site could be a death sentence. If a person chooses not to be a public figure, they have the right not to have their photos splashed all over unless they are actively trying to harm someone else.

As you do your tidying up, consider:

–What kind of work do I want to do in the coming months?

–What new skills do I want to learn?

–Where can I stretch and find new, interesting developments?

–How do I want to integrate what I’ve learned in the past few months?

–What do I want to remove from the roster, whether it’s temporary or permanent, to make room?

Remember that these decisions can and will change as your career grows and changes. That’s positive. Make the decision that serves you best for this next cycle, and then reassess, and make new decisions for the one after that.

You’ll know when it’s time for change.

Listen to your intuition. Intuition, at its best, combines facts, potential, and the inner knowing of what is best for you. It combines the integrated information between your head, your heart, and your gut.

What kind of tidying up are you doing in the next few weeks?

Ink-Dipped Advice: The Real Costs of the One-Way Video Interview

image courtesy of Free Photos via pixabay.com

One-way interviews have become more common during the virtual interview process of pandemic. “Send us a three-minute introductory video.” My response to that is, “Are you high, sweetie?”

First of all, any interview is a two-way street, or you are the WRONG place for me. I’m interviewing you as much as you’re interviewing me.

A one-way interview is a waste of the interviewee’s time.

I am not an actor. I do not make audition tapes and perform for you.

I am a writer. I’ll write the scripts for the spokespeople in your video spots to rehearse and perform.

But I am not performing in order to “earn” an actual conversation with someone in the company.

As someone who worked in production, let me break down what it means, in terms of time, production, labor, and cost to do a three-minute video:

Script. You need to know what you’re saying, even for (especially for) an introductory video. When I started writing short corporate script videos, that paid per finished scripted minute, it was $85-110/hour. Now, it’s more likely to be $200-$300/hour. Right there, it’s a loss from $255-$600. Figure that includes 2 rounds of revisions, possibly more as you rehearse. How fast do you write? How many hours will it take you to come up with 3 minutes of material? If you’re used to corporate video shoots or short shoots, probably 3-4 hours. If not, it could take three or four times that.

Location. Where will you shoot it? Inside? Outside? We’re in a pandemic, so your options are limited. Hopefully, you won’t have to pay a location fee (if you don’t use your own premises, but there’s still the time and decision involved). On the low side, it’s another $100 .

Set. How will you decorate your surroundings? Even if the video is head-and-shoulders, what kind of chair will you sit in? How much does the camera take in? You’ll need to set decorate your workspace. Is part of the interview showing them your remote work set-up? On the low end, that’s $125/hour. Figure 2 hours to set up the space the way you want it. That’s $250.

-Props. Again, even if you’re doing a head-and-shoulders at the desk, or standing, shooting on your phone, you may need props. A pen? A notebook? You want them to see your tech? Figure at least one hour at $100.

Lighting. Good lighting is vital to a decent video. Figure $50/hour. Once you get the set, props, costume, make-up in place, you’ll need to light it, shoot tests, and relight. Remember that, unless you’re blocking out daylight, as the sun moves, it affects your video. Figure 4 hours or $200.

Wardrobe. What will you wear on camera? You need something that doesn’t wash you out, isn’t too busy or distracting, and makes you both look and feel good. If it feels uncomfortable, your body will react, and the camera will read it. A wardrobe/stylist is about $120/hour. Figure 2 hours of deciding what to wear and how to accessorize, and at least an hour of prepping the clothes – steaming, ironing. Alterations are an additional time at an additional fee. Do you have to buy something for the video? That’s another cost. But it’s at least 3 hours at $120/hour or $360.

Makeup/Hair. Again, you’ll need to play with it in the lighting, with the wardrobe and do tests.

Non-union can start as low as $25/hour. A good one will cost you a good deal more than that. You’re probably non-union. Figure an hour to play with makeup and hair to decide what you want, and then an hour to actually do it. Again, you’ll need to shoot tests, but we’ll get to that later. Figure $100.

Sound. Does your recording device have decent sound? Is it tinny or does it sound like you? Do you have to unplug anything that runs in the background, shut doors, muffle anything? Chances are you can’t/won’t need to edit the sound or add Foley. Sound techs start around $20/hour and go up from there, depending on skill level and specialty. Give yourself an hour to play with your options. $20.

Rehearsal. You’ll need time to rehearse, revise, memorize. Actor fees can start as low as $50/hour and sky’s the limit. Figure 4-6 hours rehearsal time, so $200-$300. You are your own actor/spokesperson for your brand.

Test shoots. You’ll need to shoot test footage for the look, the sound, and shoot some of the rehearsals. If you really have your act together, two hours at $50/hour, for $100. That’s lowballing A LOT, because you’re putting together all the elements you worked on.

The actual shoot.  When I production managed film, we broke it down by 1/8 of a page for the schedule. For feature film production, one hoped to get through 2 pages per day. When I worked one-hour drama television production, it’s much faster. It’s broken down the same way, but you usually need to get through 7-10 pages per day. You’ll need multiple takes, and you’ll need to look at the takes and make adjustments for other takes. Give yourself 3 hours. Since you’re wearing all the hats, and you did all the prep, and should be in good shape, figure $250/hour for 3 hours, or $750. You think three hours sounds crazy for a three-minute video, but it’s less time than you’ll probably need. You’ll note I haven’t listed a director’s fee in this set-up. If you’re lucky enough to have someone to act as your director, that’s another fee, but I’m assuming you’ll go director-less. Since this is more of an audition tape.

-Editing. Are you going to edit the video? Do you have the editing software? Do you have editing skills/experience. Direct Images Interactive talks about how a 2-minute video takes about 34 editing hours, and can cost between $3400 and $4250. If you don’t have a bunch of cuts because the entire interview is done in single takes and you don’t edit sounds or effects, dubbing, or adding music, but just shaving a few seconds here and there or adding filtering, figure 10 hours or $1000.

In order to make your “quick, 3-minute intro” you’ve put in the equivalent of:

40 hours (a full work week) AT LEAST

$3435 – $3520 unpaid physical labor

We haven’t even gotten into the unpaid emotional labor involved.

All your work HAS value and needs to be valued. This attitude of “well, everyone has a YouTube Channel” and “everyone is slapping up videos” — no. Putting together a production is skilled work with many aspects, all of which have a price tag and deserve to be valued. In the age of COVID, there are many more one-person production teams. Again, ALL of the elements must be valued.

Even if the job pays $60K/year, you’ve put in the equivalent of nearly 2 weeks’ worth of salary to submit something that will never be reimbursed, and where you don’t get to have a conversation/ask questions/get a sense if this is a place you want to be.

“Make an introductory video” robs you of $3500 worth of billable hours with zero promise of return. For a job that is unlikely to have any video production involved in it.

Because if it WAS a video production job – they’d look at your reel, and not expect you to create something “introductory” for them without pay.

Because professionals should not demand unpaid labor, especially not as part of the interview process.

Basically, you’re being asked to audition like an actor, but without the benefits an actor gets from making an audition tape. And yes, plenty of actors spend this much time, money, and effort on audition tapes. Which is a form of unpaid labor inherent in the acting profession, and can lead to a labor conversation on a different post.

Beverlyboy.com, which deals in professional video services, suggests figuring $1500 to $10,000 PER FINISHED MINUTE for a video. A three-minute video would cost $4500-$30,000. Yes, it’s for something polished with a professional crew. They have a great breakdown, and show some terrific examples of their work.

“But it’s not professional, it’s just an introductory video.”

If it looks like crap, you won’t go any further in the process. Even if you’re doing it yourself, you’re wearing all the hats. Every job you undertake to put together the video needs to be costed out and deserves payment.

If you like the idea of an introductory interview/audition tape, now you know what you need to create one that’s unique to YOU, not a particular job. Put it on your website. You do it once, and then use the link to send potential clients/employers to it. But it is about YOU — not specific to any given company.

If you start your relationship with a new-to-you company by doing this kind of work for free, it does not bode well for your future relationship. You’ve already said you are willing to be overworked and underpaid (not paid) for maybe-someday getting rewarded. Which doesn’t happen.

Don’t do it. When you see the demand for a one-way video interview in the job description, click away. It’s not worth it. The real test they’re giving you is to see if you’re willing to let them take advantage of you.

Assess, Recalibrate, Plan

image courtesy of DariuszSankowski via pixabay.com

It’s that time of year again, where we look back and evaluate the year.

The whole pandemic has been a time of daily re-evaluation and re-assessment. But now, it’s time to sit down, with pen and paper, and be honest with yourself.

–What worked? What didn’t?

–Where did you feel you had no choices?

–What can you do to open options?

–What do you need to get rid of?

–What do you want and need moving forward?

In addition to all this practicality, you need to take some time to dream. This year taught us we can make all the strategic plans, all the three-year/five-year/ten-year plans the “experts” tell us we need – and then we have to throw them out when the unexpected comes our way.

I’m going to use the questions on the Goals, Dreams, and Resolutions site to help me plan.

We need to be versatile, flexible, resourceful, creative.

All those are positive skills.

Now that we’ve discovered we’re far more capable than we realized, we need to decide how we’re going to use these skills moving forward that best serve OUR vision for our lives.

I’m Not Begging You For work

image courtesy of Gerd Altmann via pixabay.com

Perhaps it’s because so many people are unemployed, so many employers are feeling smug. Or perhaps the HR departments simply don’t care any more. But there’s an unfortunate trend in expecting talented candidates to return to a company again and again to beg for work.

Yet companies complain there aren’t enough talented/skilled workers out there, which is simply not true. Companies are driving them away during the initial screening process – a longer post on this is in the works.

One of the most annoying paragraphs HR sends out to potential candidates is the “keep checking our careers page and apply to us again.”

No, honey.

YOU are supposed to be Human Resources. That means, if you do your job well (and yes, I’ve worked in human resources, so I actually know how to do this job and have done this job), your mission is to find talented people whose skills will lift the company to the next level. If you get more talent than openings, you court those you can’t hire in the moment, so when there’s an opening, you already have relationships with skilled workers and can bring them in.

You HAVE the candidate’s resume, work samples, references. Chances are, you’ve spoken to them a few times. In preliminary interviews.

Now, it is YOUR job to remember them, remember their talents, keep in touch or respond pleasantly if they choose to keep in touch with you, and YOU contact THEM when there’s an opening. Not expect them to start at the beginning of the process again.

That doesn’t mean you don’t post the job again and perhaps find even more skilled talent out there who wasn’t available/didn’t hear about it/weren’t looking the first time around.

If you are actually in HUMAN Resources, and not just trying to fill a compliant body into a company slot, you’re constantly trying to find great talent for a company in which you believe. When you find it, even if you can’t hire that individual at that moment, you make sure you keep track of them so you can hire them the next time or two down the road.

You DON’T expect a talented, skilled candidate to wait around refreshing your page once a week and beg for another chance. A truly talented, skilled candidate will move on to a company – and an HR department – who actually values the resources that make them a good HUMAN investment for the company.

Skill and talent are ALWAYS in demand.

Don’t lose the best candidates because you can’t be bothered to keep track of talent. No company is that busy and has that much talent knocking on the door that they can’t keep in touch with great candidates. If you don’t have a system that works well to do so, then change your system.

Better yet, create a new one, patent it, sell it, and train others to use it.

Remember the HUMAN in “human resources.”

If you don’t treat your talent well, no matter what the field, the talent will gravitate to those who do.

Ink-Dipped Advice: Positive Career Re-Shaping

image courtesy of Free Photos via pixabay.com

I realized that last week’s post was more tied to the piece I’m working on about how employers are driving away the skilled workers they claim they want than actually about re-shaping my career.

I’ve re-shaped my career often. I’ve made my living in the arts since I was 18. Sure, I took temp jobs and office jobs in between, and even earned rent a few times betting the horses out at Aqueduct. But the bulk of it was in the arts, and the arts were always my focus.

Any job outside the arts ONLY served to get me through until I had another job inside the arts that paid me enough to live. Then I quit the other job.

If the job got in the way of the career, the job was eliminated when I got a good career opportunity.

A PAID opportunity.

NOT an “exposure” opportunity,

Remember, people die of exposure. Insist on the cash.

I started in lighting, for theatre and rock and roll. I wanted to work more closely with actors, so I moved into stage management.

From stage management, I moved into wardrobe (so I wasn’t on call 24/7 and could have a life and keep writing – through all of this, I always wrote).

I stayed, happily, in wardrobe, working my way up to Broadway, until I started aging out of the physical demands and decided I wanted to leave while I still loved it. I watched too many people age in the jobs, afraid to leave, in pain, unhappy, and bitter. I didn’t want to be one of them.

I moved away from New York to a place I’d always loved. Unfortunately, it’s a place that supports the arts in name only.  They love it when prominent artists come in to visit and do special programs and have second homes here; they don’t believe artists in their community deserve a living wage to do what they do.

I took a job that I thought would be a dream job, but turned out to be a two-year nightmare, with a boss that loved to sabotage anything I did and daily told me that “something” was wrong with me. Because anyone who disagreed with her must have “something” wrong with them.

Still, when I was fired from that job (technically, the position was “eliminated”), I was devastated. I’ve only recently realized how deep the psychological damage is. The boss tried to break me; she didn’t succeed, but it will take a long time before the wounds are just scars.

I went back to a local theatre for a quick summer gig – bad situation in a lot of respects, and woefully underpaid, but still worth it.

Then, I worked to rebuild what I wanted and needed from my career, focusing more on business and marketing writing, which I enjoy. I love to work with people in different fields who are smart and passionate about what they do, and I love to communicate that passion to engage a larger audience. I find it joyful.

All of this time, I was still meeting contract deadlines on books, writing new books, switching publishers, attending and/or teaching at conferences, writing plays, writing radio plays, and so forth and so on.

I found some local clients, and did a mix of onsite and remote work, although, writing-wise, I firmly believe the writer does not need to be in someone else’s office.  Many were one-and-done, some because that’s all they needed; others because they balked at paying, insisted I work onsite, but would not provide me with a professional working environment. A laptop on a board set over two overturned oil drums is not an acceptable desk.

I spent more and more time with clients farther afield. I put a lot of miles on my car, driving for in-person meetings all over New England as I pitched across the country and the world. Interestingly enough, it was easier to land international remote clients when I lived in NYC than where I live now. Part of that is the current political situation, because more and more international companies don’t want to work with Americans right now.  I worked with a mix of profit and non-profits. I worked with solopreneurs and artists. Still writing novels, plays, radio plays. I took the bus into Boston more often.

I was actually willing to set up a regular commuting situation into Boston, even though it meant being up by 4:30 in the morning to be on a 6:15 bus and not getting home until 10 or 11 at night. Boston is only 65 miles from here, but the commute can take anywhere from 2 to 5 hours in each direction, depending on traffic.

On the bus, I could write my 1000 words a day, and read the books I was sent for review. I couldn’t do much more than that, but the clients who paid appropriately for my skills were in Boston, not where I am.

I was at that turning point earlier this spring – ready to commit to ridiculously long commuting hours for at least the next year or two.

Then, the pandemic hit, and we were on Stay-At-Home order. Let me make this clear – people are dancing around talking saying how we were in “quarantine” – we were NOT. Here in MA, it was a stay-at-home order. Yes, offices and stores and libraries and museums and performance venues and schools were closed. But we were not quarantined, and there was no enforcement. We were encouraged to only grocery shop once every 14 days, but we weren’t FORCED so to do. There was (and is) a mask mandate in the state, which too many people ignored, and more and more are failing to fulfil.

The positive part of the pandemic was that, for those of us who already worked remotely, at least a good portion of the time, and for those who prefer it, it proved that working remotely is viable for many “office” jobs.

Now that they’re forcing us back out, without a plan, to Die For Our Employers, those of us who can work well remotely and got a lot of push-back for it are re-shaping our careers so to do. We’re supported and encouraged by those who have worked remotely full-time for years.

It means I can re-shape my career yet again. I am more productive, more creative, and more focused in my home office. I have it set up for maximum benefit, in a way NO office in this area has ever served. (I admit, I’ve had some pretty sweet offices in both New York and San Francisco).

It also means I can live anywhere I choose, as long as there’s a good internet connection – and one I can afford.

When I worked on Broadway, I had to live in a commutable distance from Broadway in order to work there. When I moved, it was a conscious choice to move beyond a commutable distance, because I knew I wouldn’t really give it up unless I couldn’t physically get there.

I’m also looking at different types of work.

I write.

I’m not a graphic designer, although I can put together ads and social media posts. I work WITH graphic designers well. So when I see a listing that tries to give the position a fancy title, but really wants to save money by hiring one person to do two or more jobs at less than that one person should earn, I skip it.

I’ve managed plenty of teams – I’ve been a wardrobe supervisor, I’ve been a production manager in both theatre and film. I can manage a full production, so managing a content calendar and other writers is cake.

But I don’t necessarily want to.

I want to write stuff.

Given the right circumstances, environment, team, and, most importantly, PAY – yes, I’d be a manager. But a lot of different factors would be involved. There are theatres, arts organizations, and museums for which I’d be willing to work onsite, once it’s safe so to do. It won’t be safe for a good long while, especially with the way the numbers are going up.

I’m more cautious about working for non-profits. When I worked in NY and SF, I often temped or even long-term temped at non-profits. They were run like businesses and understood that you pay for the skills you need.

Here? The constant dirge is “you should be honored we demand you to work for free.”

Um, no.

Some positions that I would have thought were fun and interesting and exciting even a year ago no longer grab me. They contain elements on which I no longer want to spend time. That’s nothing against the companies – they need what they need. But it means companies to whom I would have sent an LOI or a proposal packet even a year ago are no longer on my list.

I grappled with this for a few months. I felt that I was failing, that I was “less than” or that I was being lazy.

Then, I realized most of that was the voice of the toxic ex-boss still running a subscript in my subconscious.

People grow and change, and so do their careers.

It’s not a failure.

It’s a natural process.

Growing and changing is a positive, not a negative.

It doesn’t mean you have to start in the mailroom and wind up as an executive. It means you add skills and credentials and experience, take that, and CHOOSE what and where you go next.

Yes, there’s an element of privilege in that choice, and our current government wants to make sure we have NO choices and are the peasants to their feudal lords. Which is another reason we need to get out the vote and overthrow these dictators-in-training.

But deciding to take one’s career in a different direction is not a failure.

It means you are integrating all of what you’ve done, learned, and experienced, and turning it into something wonderful. It doesn’t have to conform to someone else’s agenda or convenience. It means you’ve outgrown where you are and it’s time to move on.

It also means that when you find that next career situation, you are more productive and engaged, which is better for both you and your employer.

One would think/hope companies would be excited to find enthusiastic, engaged workers rather than someone who just shows up every day.

You look at your life and decide what you want and need. Work is such a large part of our lives that how and what and where we work factors in a great deal.

Maybe you can’t change your situation today. But you can start figuring out what you want and need, do some research, and take small steps regularly.

Small steps lead to big change.

That’s a good thing.

How have you re-shaped your career?

Room to Re-Shape One’s Career

image courtesy of FreePhotos via pixabay.com

Yes, I’m back. I’m still working on the article about how companies are driving away skilled workers, even as they scream they can’t find them. But I didn’t want to be off this blog for too long, and there’s something else I’ve been grappling with and coming to terms with over the past weeks that I decided to share.

I noticed, as I research companies with whom I might like to work, that I’m drawn to different areas that I was eight or nine months ago.

More and more often, the title of the job turns me off. I don’t even need to read the description. Or, I get about two paragraphs in and say, “Nope. This isn’t for me” then click away and move on.

When a company genuinely captures my attention, whatever positions they claim to look for, I dig into the research, find the right person, and send an LOI, telling them why I think I’d be a good choice for their company, either for a particular project, or in general.

I wrote a guest post a few years back about not waiting for the job you want, but creating it.

In the past couple of years, I’d moved away from that, but now I’m going back to it.

The layers between the people one would actually work with have become more convoluted. Notice I say “work with” and not “work for”. That is deliberate. I’m not at the start of my career. I am interested in “working with” even when I technically have a boss.

The issue of layers is especially deep when third party recruiters are involved, which is something I go into the other article I’m working on for this space. I have to say, all of the third party recruiters I’ve encountered in the past ten years have been a waste of space, and have certainly wasted my time (and therefore, I’m sure, the company’s time). As I track the listings for companies using third party recruiters for the past year or so, I notice they fill a job, and then a few short months later, they’re looking again to fill the same job. I suppose that keeps recruiters in business, but it doesn’t do the client companies much good.

As I noted above, I’m looking for something different now than I even was at the top of the pandemic. I’m more focused, and less flexible. Part of this is due to a recalibration of what I want and need out of my work; part of this is that I am not twenty begging for my first job, but someone with decades of experience and skills. I no longer have an interest in working FOR a company that does not value either of those, by underpaying me or by trying to shove me into a position that’s more about work no one else wants to do than about my skills.

The SEO keywords used in the position descriptions are just as likely to turn me away from a company as engage my interest.

(This article turns out to be tied to the one I’m still working on, about companies driving away skilled workers).

But even when the descriptions are accurate and the company is interesting, there are roles in companies that no longer interest me, even though they used to.

In the past, if I was interested in a company, I was willing to take on tasks out of my wheelhouse in order to expand my skills, or do something that’s uncomfortable if they agreed it was temporary. Of course, it never is; once you take on more than your job, it becomes your job. But if I overall liked and respected the company’s mission and vision, especially if it was a nonprofit, I was more likely to accept a broader range of tasks.

That is no longer true.

I know what I want my tasks within a role to encompass. If the company is trying to cut corners by hiring one person with strong skills in one area, but minimal skills along a wide range of areas instead of multiple skilled individuals, that position – and that company – is no longer a good fit. Because let’s face it, most companies WON’T train, no matter what they promise. They expect you to figure it out on your own without additional compensation. Usually on your own time.

At twenty-three, it was an interesting challenge, especially if I thought I had a future with the company.  In theatre jobs, I was always willing to take on more, because I knew the theatre was my career, and I would progress. I did. I made it to Broadway.

In non-profit work, I often took on extra tasks because everyone was working flat out more hours for less pay. But after awhile, there’s burnout. Resentment builds, no matter how committed one is to the mission, because that way of working is unsustainable.

Boundaries need to be set going in, by both parties, held, and respected. Most managers will keep assigning as many tasks as they can get away with, no matter what you agreed upon when you started.

As a freelancer, it’s often easier to hold and set boundaries. I have a contract that spells out boundaries, payments, etc. When scope creep threatens, I can point to the contract and say, “Sure, I’ll take that on; this is how much it’s going to cost.” I can also say, “That’s not part of the agreement, no.”

But as I’ve been researching a putting together LOIs and pitch letters to companies these last months, I’ve noticed what keywords turn me off instantly, or, as I read a description, I realize, “no, that’s not for me.”

At first, I was worried that I narrowed my options. I could hear the toxic reprimands we’ve all had at times: “You need to be a team player” or “Where’s your commitment to the company?” or “You need to take this on right now to get us through this rough patch” or “How can you succeed if you won’t do what’s needed?” or “Your job is to make me look good.”

Notice all of these are demands. None of them are questions to negotiate or navigate new needs as a company grows and changes.

They’re about guilt and manipulation rather than problem-solving, which is unsustainable.

 I’ve since made peace with it. Trusting my gut has always been the best choice. I’ve paid for it every time I let myself “logic” a way out of what my gut told me.

As a professional, I’ve grown in skills, knowledge, experience, over a wide range of topics. Some of those skills I enjoy using; others were hard-won and are painful to implement. Why would I make choices that increase my pain load instead of choices that make it exciting to get up in the morning and get to work?

We all hit periods where we have to take whatever’s offered in order to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. But we keep growing, searching, changing for what is better for us and for our situations.

It is okay to discover that what worked for you five years, ten years ago, or even ten weeks ago, no longer does. That knowledge gives you a foundation to make new discoveries and make decisions based on what makes your life better.

Liz Ryan, at the Human Workplace, emphasizes how we are the CEOs of our own companies. That’s so important to both remember and to implement. Right-to-work means companies have made the choice their workers aren’t worth loyalty. So workers need to make the choices that serve their lives best.

How have you found what you want and need from your work evolving over the past months?

Controlling Scope Creep

image courtesy of GLady via pixabay.com

Freelancers talk a lot about “scope creep.” That’s when a project starts with one set of parameters, and they keep expanding.

One of the joyful parts of creative collaboration is how a project grows and changes. When you’re writing a musical, it’s one thing – you have a development process, you’re being paid for the changes along the way, and your goal at the end is to have a viable musical where people walk out of the theatre humming the tunes, buy the CD, and sing it in the shower for the foreseeable future.

To get there, you need the project to grow and change.

But the “scope” and the vision are there from the beginning, and is covered by your contract.

There – the contract. That’s how you control scope creep.

I’m seeing more and more job descriptions stating “tasks will be added as needed” or “this description in no way encompasses all the tasks the job entails.”

Why not?

Why aren’t companies being upfront about what they want in the position?

Two answers:

The first is that the person who wrote the description has no idea what the job actually entails, which is common.

The second is that the company wants the option of dumping whatever they want into the position whenever they want, without additional compensation. Which is not acceptable.

As a freelancer, you have the protection of your contract. Because, as freelancers, who set our own hours and meet deadlines, we work on contract (or letter of agreement), which gives us protections that a salaried employee often does not have.

Contract Provisions

Your contract can protect you from scope creep.

Your contract will grow and change as your business does.

After your initial conversation with a new client, when you are setting terms, take some time and think about the parameters of the project as discussed, potential direction for “scope creep” and how much each direction will cost. Then, put those possibilities into the contract.

For example, I have a clause in the contract that states I include two rounds of revisions in the scope of the project; additional revisions are at an hourly rate.

When I receive the second round of revisions, I send a reminder that this is the second round of revisions, and anything beyond that will be at the hourly fee.

Often, far too often, I get this response: “Oh, this isn’t really a ‘revision.’ It’s just a few tweaks.”

No, it’s a revision. Changes are revisions. I have had clients where I actually put the definitions of “revision” and “tweak” in the contract.

Dates and Turnaround Times

I put in turnaround times for revisions, too. If I hit my deadline to turn in material (and I do), the party on the other end needs to get back to me in X amount of time with any revisions. Projects can’t drag on interminably, so a series of dates within the contract is vital:

–Deposit is due on X date

–When deposit clears, I start the project

–I get my first portion done on Y date

–Notes/revision requests are back to me by Z date

–My next revision is due on L date

–Response is due on M date

–Final work is due on N date

–Acceptance or additional requests for changes is due on O date

–final payment is due on P date

–late payments are changed with R fee, cumulative every 30 days (I start late payments at 20% of original fee)

Longer projects may have payments broken up over three, four, or even five dates. If payment doesn’t arrive on the date, work stops on the project until payment arrives.

“This is business, not personal” works both ways. Far too many companies expect you to take their business personally as far as emotional investment at higher stakes than they do, but if they default on payment or otherwise treat you poorly, it’s “just business.”

Works both ways.

Change of Direction

I also have a clause in my contract about “change of direction.” If a project changes direction from our initial agreement (and the parameters are listed in the contract), I have a clause that lists the fee. Sometimes it is necessary to come up with a new agreement, if the change of direction is going to change turnaround dates and deadlines.

Late Fees/Rush Fees

I have a clause for late fees. Late fees (more than 30 days after original due date) are at 20% of the project fee, cumulative. Which means if it’s 60 days late, it’s the original fee + 20% + the total of that.

Rush fees are for work turned around in less than three business days start at $35, depending on the project’s complexity, and whether I can move other work around or just have to stay up extra hours and push through.

I do make an exception on rush fees for script coverage, because industry protocol is often one or two-day turnaround.

When the Client Provides the Contract

In some cases, the client provides the contract, read it over. Negotiate changes. Remember that the first contract either side offers is the start of the negotiation. So yes, when I provide a client, often I will hear back on points the client wants to negotiate. I can decide if I want to change the contract to meet their request, meet them halfway, or walk away.

A client who offers a contract needs to expect negotiation on changes. If they won’t budge, decide if what they demand is worth it to you or walk away. Many magazines won’t negotiate their contracts for freelance writers, so again, you have to make the decision if having the byline in that particular publication is worth any aggravation caused by the contract.

What About Job Descriptions?

As we’ve discussed over the past weeks and months, the pandemic is changing the way we work, which can be an improvement. We, as the people actually doing the work, have to make sure that we help shape new work styles.

I’ve seen an array of articles in publications such as THE WALL STREET JOURNAL, BLOOMBERG, and FORBES pushing the negative aspects of remote work. Remember, these businesses are trying to protect their standard way of working, and how they see their bottom line affected. Far too many companies have useless middle managers who try to micro-manage and terrorize their “teams”.

There’s plenty of work that does not need to be done in someone else’s office with the countless interruptions and managers “checking up” on you every five minutes. I know I am far more productive in my home office. I need large blocks of uninterrupted time to be my most creative. I have set up my office to support the peak of my creativity.

There’s not a cubicle on the planet that could provide conditions even close.

Negotiation

If you are looking for a job as a salaried employee, you still have the right to negotiate. For decades, companies have pushed the toxic narrative that they get to decide everything and employees have no say in it.

Remember: companies need employees to do the work. Otherwise, their useless middle managers, or maybe even some executives, would have to do the work their damn selves.

Oh, horrors.

They push the “if you don’t take this, we’ll hire someone else.”

Go ahead.

Don’t be afraid of AI, either. That’s another narrative they push – that soon, jobs will be replaced by AI.

There are plenty of jobs that could and should be replaced by AI, especially repetitive ones. That frees creative human beings to learn new skills, to find their passions, and to do and create work that no robot could ever come up with.

With all the wonderful resources such as Coursera and FutureLearn and other online learning opportunities, people can try out different arenas and find their passions.

Yes, you might have to accept a drudge job in the interim to pay the rent and bills. But make sure it’s temporary.

When I made the commitment to a life in the theatre, I took temp office jobs as a way to keep a roof over my head between shows. But I stuck to my commitment that, if a corporate job got in the way of a paid theatre job, I ALWAYS quit the corporate job. Even knowing the theatre job was transient. That made it possible for me to work my way up to a career on Broadway.

If I’d stayed in a corporate job out of fear, I would have always been a “wanna be.”

Instead, I DID.

So, when you are in negotiations for a job, make a complete job description part of it.

You can choose not to answer ads that include language indicated scope creep. Or, early in the interview process, you can ask for more definition.

The other thing you can do is ask for a contract, rather than being an at-will employee.

There was an article on line (I’m not sure if it was BLOOMBERG, I think it was, or FORBES) touting hiring freelancers as the wave of the future, because then companies don’t have to pay for office space, health insurance, or benefits and can save money.

What they neglect to explore in the article is that savvy freelancers, with the level of skill many of these companies are looking for, will charge enough to cover those expenses.

And savvy freelancers work on contract, which means they’re not “at will” and can’t be just let go any old time the company feels like it. There’s usually a clause in the contract about how to end the work relationship if it doesn’t work out.

If there’s room for scope creep in the job description – negotiate it.

If the job description says you have to have certain computer hardware or software or phone or any other equipment – either the company pays for it/provides it and it is exclusive to the work you do for that company, or the company provides you a kit fee that covers the wear and tear on your own equipment.

If the job description demands that you have “reliable transportation” or a driver’s license – sweetly ask what kind of car they provide.

Negotiate.

Negotiations aren’t just about money.

We will talk about that in a future post.

How do you control scope creep? What points do your contracts over?