If you have ever owned a business of any kind, for any length of time, then you are familiar with the following concept:
Supply and Demand is a [w]itch.
One moment you're scrambling to keep up with projects and firing off text messages to friends and family to the tune of, "Maybe next month!" every time your presence is solicited in the social realm. You're flying at the peak of performance, charging expenses at the speed of a trust-fund child, and envisioning yourself on the cover of Forbes.
The next moment, you clap the dust off your hands, survey the magnificence of your handiwork, and say, "Oh, crap! There's nothing left!"
Did I mention that you quit your day job to invest all your time in this business?
(collective groan)
Both your leads and your revenue stream have dried up. You're scrambling on the brink of bankruptcy and wondering how all the other entrepreneurs did it.
You, my dear friend, are a noob.
I'm a noob, too. Clink my travel mug cuz you're in good company.
For those of you who aren't tuned in to my noob story, I recently took the entrepreneurial leap of faith by branding myself as a freelance editor and proofreader. I started small, taking projects in my free time, and, finding myself suddenly and gloriously inundated with editing work, left my part-time job so that I could become a full-time freelancer.
I got entrepreneur fever and burned rubber down Branding Boulevard—which, in my naive mind, is like a Bourbon Street for desktop publishing enthusiasts. Whores on every corner are hawking logo designs and promotional products, web hosting and webinars, memberships and workshops guaranteed to springboard you to the top of the industry in 30 days or your money back.
You better believe I've already got a killer t-shirt design in the holster. But a t-shirt won't get me work.
The real trouble with being a noob is not having enough experience to underwrite your competency—especially if you're in a service industry. Most of us who have worked a day know the age-old cycle: "Nobody would hire me because I lacked experience, but I can't get experience if nobody hires me."
So, today, as I was slogging through lead generation to start refilling my empty project hopper, I threw my hat into the ring of a local publisher in hopes of making it into their freelance pool. While reading the application, I landed on the phrase, "Inexperienced editors need not apply."
Ugh.
You know what I did? I applied anyway. I decided to be the squeaky wheel, a skill I've never been good at, and make enough noise to "get the grease."
What I wanted to tell them was, "I'm a good editor. I know I'm good. My clients, few though they may be, enjoyed working with me. I can and will give you excellent results." But we all know how fruitful that would be.
After I submitted my application, knowing full well that it would probably go straight to the the publisher's reject pile, I hopped in the shower and did something that I never do.
(And it's not that.)
I composed a manifesto. I, Megan, engaged in positive, enriching self-talk that will help extract the ridiculously amazing professional editor that I know is inside me and bring it to the surface to show the world.
You need to do this, too. It sounds stupid and it feels like you're setting yourself up for disappointment, but really, who's going to believe in you if you don't believe in yourself?
If you aren't ready to say these things about yourself or the quality of your work, then maybe you need more training or practice. Maybe you're in the wrong business. Or maybe you just need to sack up—ladies included—and admit to yourself that you are worth taking a chance on.
So, without further ado, the Manifesto of the Noob. . . .
I am poised to be the most dynamic, most discerning, most accurate, and most sought-after literary editor in the Midwest. I am uniquely suited to be an editor that has the compassion to work with writers of all levels while making a comfortable living at my craft. I have the capacity to do all the jobs that have been entrusted into my care, including being a wife, a mother, a homemaker, a writer, and an editor. And I will do them all while taking care of myself and looking smokin' hot.
Not only that, but I will be a widely successful author. Readers will buy my books and excitedly share dog-eared copies with their friends. Book clubs will savor my words and discuss them over cheap wine and overpriced coffee. My name will be the biggest one in the historical fiction section at Barnes and Noble, not because I can crank out a new novel every three months but because my stories have depth and value that can be appreciated by generations.
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