An issue I’ve gone back and forth on for a long time and it’s been on my mind to an alarmingly distracting extent recently, including right now in the early hours of Tuesday morning. Employment. The freelance chancing, carefree (ish) hours and alleged freedom vs a boring old salaried job.
Everything about being freelance sounds kinda cool in theory. But it’s only kinda cool if you crack the formula—meaning you never, ever, go a month (or six) enduring a dry spell. Because when it works it’s great; when it doesn’t work it’s a complete bastard.
A little over a year ago I had a middling job offer in London, you’ll recall, and fell flat at the point of finding somewhere to live down there on a mediocre budget. And then I got ill, just to make matters worse. I learned something about viable London budgets from that, at least. I’ve applied for jobs since then, had one interview (a fail) and a couple-three interview offers, but nothing much. So, the back and forth thing again.
I want better security. I want to be able to move out of this dump. I don’t want to do it when I’m 60 years old and that’s how it feels sometimes.
Creatively there are things I want to do on the side, and if at least one of those schemes pays off, I’ll be a happy bunny. But I also want something approximating normality, stability, etc. Too much pressure, to my mind, is the antithesis of creativity. Sometimes it’s the biggest downer possible.
But where? London? Birmingham? How about I just try any place that seems like it’d be okay.
I’m not giving up the creative stuff, although I feel inclined to phase out the comics stuff to some extent. (What comics stuff? I’ve hardly done any since that London job went tits-up! But you know what I mean.)
Meanwhile, Fred also had a haircut a couple weeks ago. Here’s a before and after.