A Room of One’s Own

November 10, 2009 at 10:22 pm Leave a comment

It took me a looooong time to go 100% freelance. As far back as 1997, I was doing freelance work off the side of my desk.

When I left Vancouver Opera to go work for the Cultch, I did it because the gig at the Cultch was part-time, and I used the extra time to build up my client list. Of course, I loved it there, and I would like to think that they loved me, and they became one of my big, sustaining clients for a number of years.

For my first year as a freelancer, I worked in the basement. The cold, dark, creepy basement. In a year that set records for rain and lack of light. In a neighbourhood that only recently got a coffee shop. By spring, Mr. Dame was convinced I’d gone mental. The dank, plus the fact that I could hear the business line ringing at all times, really did send me ’round the twist.

So I moved. I moved to my office, which I love. In a sweet little heritage flatiron building on the corner of Kingsway and Broadway, above an excellent coffee shop (plus 13 others within a 5 block radius–isn’t that nuts?), with a community acupuncture clinic on the ground floor, reasonable rent, many splendid lunch and cocktail options nearby, and an absolutely awesome landlord.

What is the point of this, you may ask? A couple of spaces in the building came up, and I told a friend (who is in business with her partner in life, as well as business) to have a look at them. These two are bleeding money every month on a downtown space; money they don’t have. But little Mr. decided the space was too ghetto. And I am offended. (Not seriously, but it gave me pause. Do I go to work each day in some kind of rat-hole?)

So, when you are suffering from self-doubt, where can you turn? That’s right. The internet. So, everyone. Tell me. Does my space look ghetto? Be honest. I can take it.

There’s a window through to the next room on the other side of those fabric panels. Wacky! Also, the walls are magnetic. Which is handy!

Okay, there’s a neon luggage store sign on the other side of that bookshelf. Ghetto, yes, but invisible to me.

Windows on three sides. It’s plant paradise! Also, loud.

When last I looked, fax machines were not a huge part of ghetto life. Or any life for that matter. Damn hand-writing actors. If not for them, I’d recycle it.

It might be ghetto, but it’s MINE damn it. And I worked really hard to get here. And I’m not leaving.


Entry filed under: Angst, NaBloPoMo.

I Celebrate My Lameness Handmade Holiday

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