I never thought of myself as an entrepreneur.
Growing up, I filled journals with poetry, drawings, and stories. I studied playwriting and performance in graduate school. The thought of running a business or putting a price tag on my creativity was icky.
Then real life happened. Newsflash: landlords don’t accept poetry for rent.
For a while, I thought paying the rent meant giving up on my creative aspirations and selling myself out for corporate drudgery. Turns out, I was doing writing wrong.
And if you’re a feast-or-famine freelance writer who spends more time submitting pitches to publishers than writing, you could be doing writing wrong, too.