Every once in a while a client will ask, “So how did you get started in design and graphics?”

Or, “So how did you come to be a freelancer?”

Most clients wont’t ask. Which is fine.

But those who do ask, they seem to be the more desirable clients.

They are worth wooing and courting. They care who they’re working with. They’re looking for allies and co-conspirators. They are long-termers with a mission. They care who you are.

All you need is a few lines. Your origin story.

“In college I used to ghost-write term papers for a little extra money. Highly unethical, of course, but I liked it and was surprisingly good at it. Never brought in less a ‘B’.”

“I love working on design problems. Really hate working on boss and office problems.”

“In third grade, I was the only bilingual kid in my class. So I became the unofficial translator for the new kids and their parents. It felt good to be a bridge across languages and cultures. Been doing it ever since.”

“Every boss I ever had was a bit of a disappointment. But every client I have is something of a genius.”

“I somehow do much better work as a freelancer. And much more of it.”

“Illustrating is the only thing I can do eight hours a day. And still want to do it again tomorrow.”

“My boss once old me. ‘We love your work. But perhaps you could do it for us from afar, at a distance, on a freelance basis so you wouldn’t actually have to come in here?'”

“I started out doing all phases of marketing: graphics, media, strategy, copywriting. Clients said, ”The writing we like a lot. The other stuff, eh, not so much.’ So I stuck with the writing.”

“Love clients, hated bosses.”

Note: the above are also useful mantras, for those days when you wonder:  “Wait, why I’m doing this?”

Good ideas you can use today by 4:30: Smarter Freelancing.

It happens. A good client goes quiet. A big project winds down.

Or, you’re going stale with deary work. No one calls back. You get in a slump. I’ve been there, eleventeen times.

Best way out: Use what you are especially good at. 

Leverage your craft, your trade, your talent.  Use that thing that you do better than most people. That’s your advantage.

Write your way out. Maybe a fan letter. A hilarious post.

Translate your way out. Translate a piece, unasked, for a client you would die to have.

Design your way out.

Illustrate your way out. Draw something charming, and email it, and post it.

Code your way out.  

Photograph your way out. Video your way out.

Take what you do, and nudge the universe with it.

How to work this business model like a genius: Smarter Freelancing.

“Go online and find some freelancer to design this thing, pronto.”

“Call that designer we used last time. Maria or Marie, whatever.”

“Call Maria, and have her handle all this.”

“I keep reading about this Maria Rossi.  See if we could get her for this.”

“I’d recommend Maria Rossi. If you can get her.”

“Oh, we had our branding done by Maria Rossi.”

“Get me someone just like Maria Rossi. Only someone we an afford.”

Feel better about what you do all day: Smarter Freelancing.

Your client wants to know that you can do this.

They expect you can figure it out, fix it, make it, deliver it.

They don’t really care how you manage that, exactly. Only that it’s done and they look good and the project moves ahead.

But when it comes to paying, it’s a different story.

The harder they perceive the job, the more they are willing to pay. They’re okay with fees for work they couldn’t possibly do. Or something they once tried themselves. Or work that seems grueling or mysterious.

But if they somehow perceive it as simple or quick, they expect it cheap. Even if their perception is dead wrong.

(Hence the old ploy: “It’ll only take you like five minutes. You just have to re-type it so it sounds better.” Or, “You only have to change the colors, and move it over a little. It’s nothing.”)

They’re okay with paying for hard. For easy and fast, not so much.

Dan Ariely tells the story of a young locksmith.

As a newbie, he often struggled and bumbled his way through jobs that would be routine for an experienced pro. Like when a customer’s deadbolt jammed or a key broke off in the front door.

To get the door open, it sometimes took him a half hour of sweating, jimmying and skinning his knuckles. Often with a customer waiting outside in the rain, late at night.

But with all the fumbling and taking forever, no one complained about the bill. And he often got a generous tip.

Later on, when he was savvy enough to get a door open in a couple minutes, there were no tips. And customers griped about the charges, which were the same as before.

I get that.

Back when I was a clueless novice with no credentials, no skill, and no track record, the only way I could land an assignment from a skeptical client was to feign utmost confidence.

I would shrug nonchalantly “Piece of cake. No problem. Can do.”

Behind the scenes, of course, I had to scratch and scramble mightily. I had no idea what I was doing. It took hours and hours to get anything good.

But of course, I turned in the work as if it had been a breeze.

And clients usually balked at the fee.

“Whoa. Sounds like a lot for something you could do in your sleep, with one hand.”

Nowadays I never let on that anything is easy. It’s more like, “Hmm. I’m sure if I work it, I can probably figure out something.” Or, “Let me hammer at it. See what happens.”

And, though I would never advocate phony theatrics, I’m not above turning in an assignment barely twelve minutes before deadline, panting ever so slightly, with a drop of sweat on the page.

And I may or may not have, once or twice, set an email to send a job out at 2:24 am.

Just so they know I wasn’t coasting.

How not to be scared: Smarter Freelancing.

It is easy to overthink this. And drive yourself crazy.

I know, because I have been overthinking my own websites for ages.

And I have merrily volunteered to help freelance friends overthink and overdo their own websites, to the point where they had to slap my hand away. “That’s enough, already.”

Fortunately, I stumbled on a smarter and simpler way to handle this website business. And it actually works much better for what you and I need a website for.

You can create it in an hour. Before lunch. Without making yourself crazy.

(By the way, if you already have a freelance website that you love, leave it alone. Don’t open a can of worms for no reason.)

And note, you don’t even need a website, exactly. Like many freelancers, you can use Instagram or Twitter if you want. (Provided you post all the time. And you have pictures.)

Or you can just use a profile on LinkedIn. Or even a page on Facebook if you can stand Facebook.

But it’s smarter to stake out your own turf, on your own domain, where you can’t get kicked off, and where Google can find you.

Do it like this:

At the top, you put your name.

Say what craft or trade or profession you’re in: Designer, translator, copywriter, illustrator, scriptwriter, video producer, coder, other.

(You are allowed only two crafts. No one will believe you’re an expert at nine different things.)

Next, say what kinds of clients you work for. Or really want to work for. One sentence, or two.

Then, within that trade, say what you are especially good at. Or especially knowledgeable about. Two sentences.

Say how to contact you. Email, text, phone, whatever.

Post a picture of yourself so you become real, and human. A small headshot is enough.

That’s all.

That’s one screen. Maybe a half page. You have built 92% of the functionality you need from a website.

You are officially legit. You are capable and confident. You know what you’re about.

And if someone Googles “Jordan Smith, Translator” they will find you.

Now leave it there. You can tweak the sentences every couple of days if you feel compelled. But otherwise, leave it. Later, if you discover that something is glaringly missing, you can add it. Later.

My friend Lillian posted a one-paragraph site like this to serve as a “placeholder” while she worked on some articles and other ‘marketing’ content she wanted to develop.

Odd thing is, the placeholder site worked just fine. It’s been two years now.

Actually, she was too busy with paying work to add that fancy content, which she didn’t actually need.

I’ve seen this happen several times now. It seems counterintuitive, I know.

My pet theory: a minimalist page works better because it presents a tabula rasa, a clear slate.

Clients can see whatever it is they’re looking for.

The less you say, the more they can read into it.

And the more likely they are to contact you.

Which is the whole point: Get them to call or email you.

And work from there.

How to find more clients: Smarter Freelancing.

Make it so the conversation is always about them, not about you.

That is your default mode when finding clients, when wooing clients, when dealing with clients. Or when dealing with humans, period.

If you want the client to buy your proposal, make the whole thing about them.

Don’t ramble on about what you plan to do. Orient the whole thing around what they get. There’s a difference.

(And no, what they get is NOT your brilliance, your experience.)

If you want that prospect to read your email, make the email about them. Write about what they’re interested in, which is themselves.

If you can’t figure out how to write the email so it’s about them, you don’t have an email yet. Keep thinking about it. This is not easy, which is why it works, and why almost no one does it.

Most of my inbox is taken up with people chattering about their stuff, telling me what they want me to do. I skip those emails.

I read the ones about me.

There was a guy named Davey in my dorm at college who never had a shortage of female company, ever. Girls flocked to him. We resented him, mostly.

It’s not that he was sleek and hot-looking. He just had a knack for making every conversation, every casual encounter, about them.

Whoever he was talking to felt like the center of the galaxy for a time.

In the hall, outside his dorm room, there would often be a girl — or two — sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a book, waiting for him to get back.

To finesse the first meeting with a client, make the whole conversation about them. Steer the talk toward what they want, how they think, what they’re looking to do.

Make the whole conversation about them and you will look like a genius.

And, added bonus, you won’t have to perform, or do your elevator pitch, or dazzle them with your wit.

The more the client talks, the smarter you sound.

And when you do talk, focus on what they get.

I admit I struggle with this. Or I forget it entirely, and start yammering about myself. (As I am doing right now.)

But the richest and busiest freelancers master this, consciously or not.

They have clients sitting cross-legged outside their doors.

A side note about Davey, my college friend: He ended up being smitten by a girl who had a knack for making HIM feel like the center of the galaxy.

They have four kids and are lovers still.

You and me, as freelancers.  Are we entrepreneurs?

I say no. We’re different.

In one important way, freelancers and entrepreneurs are carved from the same timber.

We are both fiercely and genetically independent. We recoil at the thought of being someone’s employee.

Richard Branson would no sooner take a ‘job’ than Pablo Picasso would. John Grisham ain’t signing on with no law firm, any more than Jeff Bezos is taking a job at Barnes and Noble.

But otherwise, entrepreneurs and freelancers are separate species. We have different genes, different wiring. One would be hopelessly bored or irritated trying to be the other. And mostly, we don’t want to be the other.

I have entrepreneur friends. I respect them. But I could never spend my days doing what they do. (The money would be nice, to a point. But the daily tasks, the 936 phone calls and meetings would be torture for me.)

Likewise, my entrepreneur friends ask me “How the hell can you sit at a desk all day trying to think stuff up? I would end up screaming at the wall.” (And I say, “Me too. But I’m used to that.”)

Here are the essential differences between these mindsets, as I see them:

Entrepreneurs identify by line of business. “I’m in energy. I’m in hospitality. I’m in enterprise software. I’m in AI.”

Freelancers identify with trades, crafts, and professions. “I’m a photographer. I write code. I sculpt. I troubleshoot accounts receivable. I’m an illustrator. I’m a writer.”

Entrepreneurs love building companies. 

Freelancers like making books, drawings, websites, apps, logos, songs.

Entrepreneurs think size. They conceive in scale and scope. They dream of turning one discount carpet store into 237 discount carpet stores. And when they have 237 discount carpet stores, they dream about adding discount tile and window treatments, too. The dopamine comes from getting bigger.

Freelancers think about getting better. (And making more money, sure.) But mostly we fantasize about being really freakin’ good.

When freelancers think ‘scale’ they think of writing, coding, drawing something that 8 million people like. Or admire.

The entrepreneurs I know are fidgety and unsatisfied. They rarely have a problem with procrastination. They love arguing and fighting and negotiating. They are perfectly happy to spend their days bouncing from phone calls to meetings, to walking around a warehouse, to schmoozing a customer, to beating up a supplier. They thrive on in- terruptions and fragmentation. They even interrupt themselves. They will do 168 different things in a day. But none for longer than nine minutes. They feel alive and energized in a crisis. They feel uneasy when alone.

Freelancers, more often, are concentrators. They like to work on what they’re working on, and hate being interrupted. They tend to procrastinate, and think about things more. (Sometimes too much.) They fight with their own heads more. They would rather be good than be the biggest. They feel awkward talking about money.

In their off hours, freelancers like to make things. Their hobbies and avocations call for craft, for skill, for practice. They’re comfortable with tools. Or they’re at least not afraid of them.

Being a writer and all, I like to think that clients pay me for my silken prose, my clever insights, and my slightly irreverent yet endearing writing style.

Not so. They don’t care that much about the writing per se. 

And they’re not paying for years of experience, either. And not for how many hours or how many pages, or how many certifications, or for skill with typography or the fact that you have been illustrating since you were nine years old.

Clients have higher and ulterior concerns.

Once that dawned on me, things started to make sense. It was a bit easier to land clients. And keep them.

Here’s what I mean.

I had a client at AT&T who had handed me about fifty assignments over two years. A steady stream of work.

In all that time, I suspect that he never actually read my stuff very closely. And he never seemed to have strong feelings about my prose one way or the other.

All he knew was, when he handed it off to his bosses or internal clients, they usually okayed everything with minimum fuss. 

To his boss and everyone in his group, he looked like the model of cool efficiency. He kept putting wins on the board.

Which was why he kept calling me, kept approving my invoices. Over and over. Until he got promoted right out of the division.

Another client:  An in-house video producer at big insurance company. 

For the routine and straightforward projects, he wrote the scripts himself, and very ably.

But when a project came in that promised to be a steaming hairball, or it required too much homework, or if the clients were fractious and boneheaded, he always called me. 

“Hey, I have a script that is right up your alley,” he’d say. 

I was paid, year after year, to wrestle those porcupines off his desk. That’s what mattered to him. We got along famously.

I recently sent an invoice to a VP for a speechwriting assignment. The official invoice read something like “Development and writing, YSA Conference keynote.”

But what she really paid for was more like “Making it so you could walk onto the stage without being terrified, and then getting some early laughs then plenty of warm applause so you could walk off feeling like a million bucks and get an email from the CEO in the morning saying ‘I heard you nailed it at the YSA.’”

You see where this is going?

You and me, what we get paid for is always one of two things:

To make the client look good. To their peers, to their bosses, to their audience.

Or. . .

To relieve pain.  Either some nagging chronic pain, or something sharp and sudden.

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that is ultimately what they want from us. And what they are really paying for.

When a client is chatting with us for the first time, this is pretty much what is playing in the back of their minds.

“Will I feel like a genius for hiring this guy? Or not. Will this annoying problem go away? Or might it get worse?”

When I remember to stay focused on what they want (spoken or unspoken) clients sense it. The vibe is better. It’s all about them.

That makes things fall into place. I see the project the way the client does. I can better match the fee to what a client gets from the work.

I make better decisions. The work stays on track. The clients are happier. They pay their invoices, over and over.

Make them look good. Relieve their pain, fix a problem.

I sometimes forget that. But it needs to be the north star for every assignment, every client relationship.

Of course, there is a flip side to all this.

If you screw up and put a client in hot water, or or somehow make them look like an ass, or inflict severe pain on them, you will be banished, blackballed and bad-mouthed.

I managed to bring that wrath on myself three separate times last year. I still feel guilty about it. I will be on those shitlists for a long time.

There is much more money in making them heroes, easing their pain.

Big bullet point:

• ‘Making them look good’ does NOT include cutting your fees, working for peanuts, or giving stuff away.

We don’t get paid for, you know, NOT getting paid.

Feel better about what you do all day: Smarter Freelancing.

Just for the record, I have never tried this, exactly.

But ever since I heard it from a veteran freelancer ages ago, it has stuck in my head.

When talking to a potential client, they always have plenty of questions for us.

“Have you ever done any work with [biomedical, e-commerce, user interface, mens fashion . . . ]?”

“Can you sent me relevant samples?”

“What sort of companies have you worked with?”

“How long have you been designing?

The bigger, the longer, the more critical the project, the more they want to know.

(My designer friend David told me — laughing — that one particularly nosy client wanted to run a credit report on him. He offered them a urine test instead. But not quite in those words. But I digress.)

Sometimes, if a client is a nervous Nellie, she will ask, “Can you send me references from other clients that I might talk to?”

The gutsy answer is this:

“I’d be happy to. It would also be helpful if I could talk to some of the freelancers you have recently worked with. Would that be okay?”

Would the client consider that adversarial, and immediately brand you as a prima donna pain in the ass?

Or would they see that as pro move, that you know what you’re doing, and automatically see you as a peer, a co-equal in this relationship?

Would they actually give you names?

Would those other freelancers let you know if this client actually paid their bills on time, or if they nitpicked the fees or if they take forever to review things, or change their minds too often, or otherwise treat freelancers like oxen?

Or if they are a joy to work with, spurring you on to greater heights?

(Precisely the things I prefer to know, going in.)

I have no idea how this would work. Which is why this arrow has remained unused in my quiver.

It has been useful though. Knowing I could ask this reminds me that I’m interviewing them as much as they’re interviewing me.

Stuff you can use, right away: Smarter Freelancing.

This idea seems vaguely unfair to me. Things shouldn’t work this way. But I have seen it hold true at least 264 times.

Here it is:

The person who cares less about a project, or cares less about a relationship, is the one who has control over it.

They determine how it goes. Or when it goes. Or if it happens at all.

Like the kid on the down end of the seesaw. She’s the one who decides what happens next. The kid at the high end doesn’t have much say in it.

Scenario:

You land an assignment that you are hot for, because (thank God!) it means good money from a high-profile client. You need this feather in your cap. You itch to get going.

But on the client side, things start to wobble. Your client’s boss — who was the one who instigated all this — has moved on to other things and has quit talking about it.

Which means, to your client, this project isn’t such a priority now.

So she is now steering this boat.

She can decide to go ahead as planned. Or, she could push things through quick and ugly, just to get it over with. Or, she can decide to slow-paddle it until you want to scream. Or she can ‘revisit the budget’. Or just let the whole thing drift into oblivion.

And until she cares more, you can’t do much about any of it.

Scenario:

You take on a new client who is so flattering of your talent that you can’t resist. They think you a genius.

But from the first day work with them, you want to leap from a window. They need too much handholding. They penny-pinch the budget. Their tastes make you cringe. They can’t make a decision. They send too many emails. You begin to lose your mind while losing money.

Yet, inexplicably, they love you and keep calling.

In this asymmetric situation, you get to decide what happens — if anything — the next time they call. Because you wouldn’t care if they went away.

If a freelancer wanted to be nefarious, she could pretend to care just a little bit less about a project, hoping the client might be a little more pliable.

And for sure, I’ve had potential clients play that ‘take it or leave it’ thing on me. In which case it is almost always better to leave it.

But simply recognizing this dynamic can take some of the sting out of lopsided relationships. You can simply shrug and move on.

And when you’re calling the shot, you can be less of a jerk about it.

The good stuff happens, though, when you both care.

How to be a badass this business, while still remaining human: Smarter Freelancing.