The Check's in the Mail ...or is it?

New writers are thrilled just to see their name in print.

I remember when I was just starting out, interning at San Francisco Magazine. It was the eighties and I was all of 23, full of enthusiasm and stupid good will. The idea of getting paid for what I loved almost sounded illegal.

"Any time you write, you should be paid for your work," a slightly older and paid colleague told me.

I had just written a little ad for the magazine's personals section:

     San Francisco classifieds bring single bunnies up to date
     Getting personal
     Now!

The graphics department added a bunny.

After that, marketing brought me into a meeting to bolster copy for a Shell ad. I willingly obliged. I wasn't paid and didn't even think of being paid.

Again, I was chastised by my older colleague.

I was beginning to feel like a chump, but that feeling was soon overpowered by the thrill I got interviewing a local comedian for our special birthday section. It was thrilling because he and I were supposed to have had a date once, but he had stood me up. I take some pride in remembering that I had refused his advances and that was probably why.

I wasn't paid for any of my work that summer, and on my final day cried in front of my editors. They laughed as I was leaving, and it hit me: I was ridiculous.

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That was nearly 30 years ago, and since then I've had articles published in Entrepreneur (my first, at 25), Time Out New York, Victorian Homes, Scientific American, AARP, MIT Technology Review, Prague Post, Cape Cod Life, Yankee and many other publications. This past week I was published in Slate, where one of my stories was reposted on Facebook over 2,800 times. In 2011, I was one of four journalists plucked to speak at the Univ. of Ga. regarding my coverage of the BP oil spill. Sitting between a New York Times reporter and an NPR reporter was thrilling indeed.

And yet, the subject of pay continues to rear its ugly head.

I had thought I was above all of that when I mastered the art of the contract, but that was before I realized some publishers ignore them.

I recently queried a successful freelance writer, a male friend in New York. He told me that he's still waiting for a check on a story he wrote in July. Other publications such as the New York Times have always been prompt, he told me.

I said it puzzled me why writers would agree to this sort of treatment. Can you imagine waiting four or six months for a check if you worked at Arby's? I remember as a staff editor that people would whine if we had to wait an extra hour for our checks!

I'm not stupid, and I'm no longer ridiculous. I'm wise to the ways of the world, and I get supply and demand. But what I don't and will never understand is why anyone, in good conscience, can mistreat the freelance writer.

Not only do we work as hard or harder than staffers, have to pay our own health insurance and dental bills, live in substandard conditions oftentimes (Top Ramen is a treat when you have no money for food), but we're often far more versatile and talented than your colleagues. I say this because the range of assignments a freelancer lands forces her to up her game. I have written about a Nobelist for Scientific American as well as Maine Coon cats for Yankee, a green hotel for Engineering & Technology and nuclear reactor safety for tce today.

Most staff writers have a niche, whether that be climate change, social networking, technology or finance. That's not a bad thing. I like knowing I can read certain journalists and get the most in-depth coverage of a topic.

The problem is, freelancers don't garner nearly the respect that a staffer does. This is true despite, in my case, having written for some of the most interesting and prestigious publications in the country. This is true despite working through the night and chasing sources, stewing over a grammatical question or skipping family vacations when on deadline.

It's time for freelance writers (and editors, artists, etc.) to stand up and be heard. We're taken advantage of both because there is too little work available for the amount of talent on hand, and because we're considered "artsy" (read: unbusinesslike).

I will only write for dependable publishers who follow their contracts to the letter. I will do this because, in return, I don't miss my deadlines and always deliver.