On charging fees

Before Monday, I'll pull out my checkbook and write a couple of hefty checks for quarterly taxes. Those of you who work for others most likely have money taken out of your paycheck for taxes, but the self-employed have to shell out a percentage of our income four times a year. I'm not complaining: I know that my taxes pay for schools, arts organizations and libraries, where I do lots of work, and taxes pay for roads so I can get to those venues. I remind myself that if I'm paying taxes, it means that I made money. Still, in lean times, writing the checks can make me pause.

Often when I tell people what I do, they ask if I get paid for it. Yes, I do. I've been making my living as a storyteller since 1993, with a few temp jobs here and there in the early years. In those early years, I had trouble stating my fees. I'd stammer and stutter, and offer to work for less than what I needed.

In about 1995, I found a very helpful book, Earn what you deserve: how to stop underearning and start thriving, by Jerrold Mundis.

At that point, I still thought artists had to be starving and possibly living in a garret (I was in a one-bedroom apartment in a building that looked like a motel). I came to realize that this isn't true. The book helped me be a thriving artist, not a starving artist (I now own a house that suits me perfectly).

In reading Earn what you deserve, I came to understand why I had a poverty mindset and how to change it. One great benefit was that I learned to state my fees more confidently. I remembered, though I didn't say it out loud, that I pay my own health insurance, taxes, and overhead, that I've been a storyteller for many years and have a wealth of experience, and that my fees are reasonable. Okay, sometimes I said those things out loud, but I learned not to whine as I did so.

Does this mean I always charge for storytelling? No. I do pro bono or reduced-fee work if I have the time, believe in the cause and haven't hit my quarterly quota of this kind of gig. Sometimes I volunteer my services without being asked. I find that if I do this with a willing heart, the gig tends to go well. If I do it with any resentment, it often happens that I feel underappreciated and drained at the end. One of the biggest lessons I learned from the book is "resentment blocks flow." That's a useful lesson in any arena.

Flu

Last Friday, while studiously not working on Queen Berta and King Pippin, I found myself coughing a little. Not much. Just eh-eh, eh-eh from time to time. I drank lots of water and tea with honey.

The performance went well, for a first public showing. My plan was to make a rough recording of it, but I must have been stuck somewhere in the Middle Ages, because I didn't push the right buttons on my minidisc recorder. My brother kindly did a short video, but we were in the old train depot and the passing trains were LOUD, so that was mostly unusable. You'll have to take my word that it went fine.

Afterwards, friends packed me up and I went home (thanks, everybody!). One friend hung out for a while at my house, as we talked over the performance and everything else in life. When she left at about 10:30, I was starting to feel congested. A few hours later I woke up and knew I was sick. (That friend just called me, with her flu-induced baritone voice.)

This was the worst respiratory flu I can remember. I felt like Death eating a cracker on Sunday. I even called my brother to check on me later in the day, to make sure I hadn't gotten too dehydrated. Chills, fever, headache. Bleah. Fortunately it broke midafternoon.

This is one of those times when it would be helpful to have sick days. Self-employment is great some of the time, but when I'm sick, I long for the days of sick leave. Sick or not, I tend to go to work.

Thank goodness I'm much better today, only occasionally barking like a seal. Time to go have some lemon tea.