Him: Hey Sean — love your writing! Long time reader!
Me: Thanks! Appreciate you.
Him: By the way — if we can align our calendars, do you have time for a short intro call? I’d love to talk shop.
I agreed under the assumption that talk shop meant we’d be discussing potential business. Talking shop turned into me handing over 45 minutes of free consulting, because I was too nice to stick it to him. I’m not entirely bitter, though I am still here writing about it. I chalked the call up as a teachable moment, and a write-off. I’d gone full-time with writing only a few months prior, after doing it for years on the side. I’d banked on making a few mistakes.
However, I vowed these talking shop episodes would be exceedingly rare and only with good friends. But it hasn’t been without a fight—that you may well relate to.
Invasion of my LinkedIn Inbox
“Hey, can you look at my writing and provide some feedback?”
“Want to come on my podcast and we can analyze my writing?”
Welcome to my inbox. This is a good chunk of the messages. There’s a noticeable brazenness in the writing profession, a willingness to hound professionals for free stuff. And this extends well outside my domain. Heck, a psychotherapist I know refuses to tell people at dinner parties what he does (and asks me not to say as well). I remember a man corning him by the guacamole and asking, “I keep dating women who remind me of my mom—do you think that means something?”
My uncle, who was a brain surgeon, often had people in everyday life showing him their swollen moles and asking if they were cancerous. He’d smile and say, “You should see a doctor for that.”
With my profession, I suspect the brazenness is because anyone can write sentences and everyone has written essays in school, occasionally scoring a good grade. They assume writing has this airy, easy, tangible quality, like picking up a pen someone just dropped.
Other times, their inquiry is more calculated. That’s when my claws come out. They’ll say, “I would love to pick your brain” or “meet for coffee” when they are just looking for free coaching. How about I buy my own coffee and charge my fee?
Back in my ad agency days, clients occasionally kicked and screamed about their billings. There was the old, “Why am I paying this much for something your graphic designer can do in two hours?”
The blunter version of our response was, “You are paying for the years of experience that enabled them to do it in two hours. And for the fact that this designer is very talented.”
This disconnect, the lack of value for artistic merit isn’t a new phenomenon. It’s also why most company blogs are little more than the walking dead. Their marketing team bottom-feeds on penny bloggers who are on their way out. And —they get what they pay for.
Anyone can type words. And anyone can wield a paintbrush.
“There is no such thing as a free cat.”
My spouse is a huge cat person. She loves to talks to them like they are little babies in cat costumes, often forgetting they fantasize about murder for much of the day.
When she was a little girl, she started begging for her first cat. Finally, she saw one she loved. She ran to her parents. They resisted at first. Laura persisted, “But daddy! The cat is free! They are giving it away!”
Her dad smiled and lovingly replied, “There is no such thing as a free cat, Laura.” She eventually got the cat and learned that lesson as she cleaned its kitty litter and fixed the screen door it destroyed. She contemplated her decision as she cleaned neon-red Kool-Aid stains off the carpet after the cat knocked an entire pitcher over in a boredom-induced premeditated act of chaos.
There’s no such thing as a free cat.
And there’s also no such thing as free advice. Writers, and professionals in general: protect your craft. Your generosity comes at the price of your energy levels, motivation, and the opportunity cost of writing or working with an actual client.
Later, when you’re dragging through your own work, I want you to remember that hour you burned earlier, handing out charity to a total internet stranger or friend of your second cousin, who you’ll likely never hear from again.
Next time, say, “No. I don’t want to review your 47 page novella about mermaid vampires.”
Say, “No, I don’t want to read your coming of age tale about a tax auditor with a heart of gold.”
You can be a kind and gracious person without playing Santa Claus with your day job. If you are going to be a professional, market yourself like a professional. Charge for your work.
Want free advice?
If you want to write, join a writers group, or any group related to your aspiration. They come in many forms and are typically easy to look up. Peer groups are fantastic places to build skills and camaraderie, which helps with motivation.
Being new (and bad) at something can be a rough, clunky experience. Sharing that pain with others is enormously useful.
For example, I’m in several Slack groups with other full-time writers. We rant and share thoughts on the state of the industry. We scratch each other’s back all the time, analyzing each other’s work and giving feedback. Reviewing peers at comparable level is a fantastic exercise that helps you grow. It isn’t a coincidence that most graduate writing programs involve intensive peer reviews.
One thing I’ve always told people who are taking up a new hobby: invest in a few lessons.
Whether it’s sewing, blacksmithing, golf, anything. Starting on the right footing, and crystallizing good habits will go a long, long way in helping you improve and save you from so much heartburn.
Think of it this way: You value your time right? Well, if you’re going to be spending tons of hours on this new thing—don’t just wing it. Or ask other people for simple solutions to get good quickly.
Expertise isn’t out of reach. Many writers and domain experts sell courses (I don’t sell any). If you want help, invest in getting help. Put simply: Those who do tend to have better outcomes than those who don’t.
A parting thought
Strangers asking for free advice is, and forgive the expression, the “sending nudes” of the writing profession: shockingly common, unneeded, and a bit too brazen.
If we don’t offer the invitation, don’t send it. It even follows the same pattern as those unexpected dick pics too. You’re having a normal conversation on a dating app. You think things are going well. You think, “Hey! This person is cool! I’m so glad they reached out.”
Then, out of nowhere, boom, “Hey so do you mind if I send you a draft to review?”
Dick pic.
Don’t take pictures of your privates and send them to strangers. And don’t ask strangers for free writing advice.
All of my love,
Sean
I don't know about that, a 47 page novella about mermaid vampires sounds pretty interesting to me ;) Knowing the climate, it'll probably be a massive bestseller and movie blockbuster. You win some, you lose some.
But what if you gave them, ah, "just the tip"?
Seriously though, all of this.