Here’s the scoop: I can write practically anything in a couple hours. Brochures, space advertisements, blogs, annual reports, newsletters, eblasts, promo copy, whatever. Longer pieces, longer hours, but I can get it done. I’m apparently still good at it and people pay me. Go figure! I’m on the road again! I’m working! I’m a copywriter!
Bad timing for me. Back when I opted out, the internet was just taking off. Cutting edge as I was, I had written for one, count ‘em: one website before quitting. That’s it, that’s all there was. And working from home wasn’t like it is now.
Way back when, I couldn’t reach clients because dial-up was busy. I had a second line installed so I could write and take calls. I never left the house because a client might call. I had FedEx pick up floppies and overnight them to clients. There was no google. MACs were for losers (I was a proud loser).
Attempting to once again contribute to the economic well-being of my family, I’ve found I’ve been left not in the slow lane, but am actually the disabled vehicle in the center lane. A rusty, oil-leaking, gas-guzzling am/fm cassette heap of a clunker with too many miles on it, blocking traffic from every which way. Causing accidents, rubbernecking, and bottle-neck congestion that make clients cringe. That’s me.
The thing is, yes, I can still write just about anything you need, when you need it for a fraction of the cost of a contemporary, hip, eblasting, search engine optimizing copy webmeister. However, I have one itsy-bitsy problem: I can’t seem to get it to you.
I can write it, I just can’t send it. Attach it. PDF it. Hyper-cyber whatever it. I even tried I Dream of Jeannie-ing it. No can do. Not to you. Or your designers. Or your agency. I seem to have email under control, so if they really, really Sally Field like me, I can, and have, successfully responded to: “JUST DUMP IT IN THE EMAIL MESSAGE AND HIT SEND,” as clients have calmly encouraged me to do. That seems to work.
I’m working on it. Kids 3 and 4 are helping me; 1 and 2 just laugh. Husband tried, but to no avail. It’s worse than hanging wallpaper together. We’d never survive. I’ll kill him, make no mistake about it.
So when prospective clients ask if I’m computer savvy, I lie, lie, lie through my teeth, hoping to get a foot in the door. I’m hoping we’ll hit it off and that’ll buy me a little time while I figure out how to get them the words they need.
I know it sounds barbaric to those of you still out there in the workforce. To those of you who opted back in when I stepped aside, you are technologically fortunate. But there’s a whole lot of women out there just like me. A generation of us. Sitting around, waiting for the kids to get home from school so they can help their poor old moms get up to speed. But when we do . . .