Beyond the byline

The realities of freelance journalism

When I tell people what I do for a living—write about food, wine and travel; translate and edit magazines—they either look at me with envy or wonder why I don’t have a ‘real’ job (as in one that requires me to get dressed, put on makeup and spend two 15-minute breaks a day next to a coffee machine making small talk with people I don’t really like). The fact that I’ve been doing this for nearly two decades and that it’s anything but easy doesn’t seem to register. 

I love my job. It’s what I wanted to do ever since I was that little girl who made ‘books’ and ‘magazines’ out of saltine cracker boxes. But if you think I have it made or question the validity of this work, keep reading. Before that, disclaimer number one: Even when I’m faced with rejection, feel like an asshole because I got screwed over yet again, or lose a valuable client (as I recently did), I know that when the time comes, I will kick the bucket doing what brings me joy. Retirement? Working for a ‘boss?’ Like Cher Horowitz once so brilliantly said, “As if!” Oh, and disclaimer number two: this is going to be a personal post (and I might just swear).

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There’s often a misconception that the life of a freelance journalist is, well, the life. It is, but it also isn’t. It is because I don’t have to answer to anyone but myself and can work looking like I just rolled out of bed. It isn’t because it’s rife with moments of insecurity, letdowns and generous lashings of frustration. These days, more than ever. And yet, I will never, by God I will never, despite how much my bank account tells me otherwise, go back to a ‘real’ job. Been there, done that, and it wasn’t pretty.

I spent four years working in education, three at a Dutch high school and one at an elementary school. It was an experience that enriched my life (as teaching usually does) yet made it very clear I was not cut out for a ‘normal’ job. I did things my way, with the confidence that I was truly making a difference. Judging from the good grades some of these kids started getting when I came on board, I can confidently say that things were going pretty well. Even if sometimes I felt the need to create my own materials or teach a different way.

At first, my ‘out-of-the-box’ efforts were applauded, but after a while, my individuality was mistaken for arrogance and noncompliance. “Bitch thinks she’s better than us, and she’s not even a real teacher.” (Officially, I was an ‘assistant,’ even though I was up in front of the room teaching, all by myself.) As though I were out to dig my own grave, I started to refuse to attend company parties and turned down invitations for summer barbecues at my boss’s house. I put in my hours, plus some (as teachers usually do, even though I wasn’t a ‘real’ teacher) and wasn’t about to give up more of my time. Plus, I felt uncomfortable around my boss from that very first morning on the job, when I met him on the stairs, and he made an inappropriate comment disguised as a compliment. He relished attention from the female staff, but I never responded to his flirtatious (or ‘just being friendly’) bullshit (ahem, sexual harassment).

Officially, I lost my job because of budget cuts, but in truth, I think it was my lack of head-bowing to an almighty (pig of a) boss, which is why the day I was dismissed, the head honcho (a.k.a., the school director) wished me “good luck finding another job.” Trust me, it wasn’t meant as a parting blessing.

Of course, I would miss the kids, but I had sacrificed a lot during those years. My writing career had come to a standstill, and though I enjoyed the luxury of a regular paycheck, I realized my dreams were crumbling. Lunch breaks were spent alone at my desk, breaking inside as I ate my sandwich knowing damn well this wasn’t what life had intended for me.

At first, I worried, as one usually does when one loses a job (side note: we had just bought a house). But within the space of a week, I had dusted myself off, signed up my business to the chamber of commerce and started believing in myself again. Fast-forward to two years later, and not only was I writing for magazines in the US, the UK, the Netherlands, France and even as far as New Zealand, but I had become a magazine editor. The dream. To this day, I still cherish my job at DUTCH. The magazine has given me the opportunity to put my academic degree to good use (I studied Dutch language and culture, with a specialization in Dutch art of the Golden Age), do what I love, and have the freedom to do it my way. It really is a beautiful publication, and I am immensely proud of how it has flourished under my wings.

While my freelance career has been extremely rewarding, I have faced some huge challenges. Mostly because magazines just couldn’t make it. Three pulled the plug without paying my invoices. One was a magazine I was subediting. The publisher went bankrupt, so there was no use trying to get the thousands they owed me. The most recent painful loss was in 2022, when two magazines I was working for (if you’ve been following me for a while, you know which ones I’m referring to) were acquired by another publisher. One became part of another magazine, which was sort of its competitor. The other continued bimonthly but dropped my column and didn’t give me more work. This publisher was a huge client. I regularly wrote travel articles for both magazines, had a culinary column in one, and wrote the food and drink news pages in the other. When things ended, I was fucked over big time, not by the editors (they were basically in the same situation), but by the other two parties. I didn’t receive payment for four assignments I had turned in, and I had a list of at least ten upcoming pieces for which I had traveled and already put in a lot of work. The only courtesy I was afforded was an email from the new editor, basically making it clear that their own contributors came first. “We are not going to be able to use all the articles that have previously been commissioned or proposed. (...) I suggest you assume that yours will not be appearing in XXX.” It felt like a kick in the stomach. And to make matters worse, I had just gone on a press trip with four commissions. Of course, the PR people understood, but I had a huge sense of guilt nonetheless. And trust me, I tried to repurpose these pieces and place them elsewhere, but I wasn’t lucky.

Regarding payment, I never saw a penny of what they owed me. Enlisting the help of a lawyer for a client in the UK would have cost me a fortune. But it wasn’t even about the money. I really, really loved working for these magazines, and the collaboration with the editors was great. Because they were confident in what I could deliver, I no longer needed to write elaborate pitches. Running an idea past them was enough to score a commission, on top of my regular features. Speaking of pitches, they require a lot of work. You need to find a great subject, a fresh angle, craft the pitch in the tone of the publication, find the right person to send it to, and pray they’ll at least have the decency to tell you if they’re not interested. Most don’t bother, and this can be very discouraging. As an editor myself, I just don’t get where the hell they get the chutzpah. It takes all of two seconds to politely say you can’t place the piece.

Sadly, another wonderful collaboration ended very suddenly this week, and though it wasn’t ugly, it was a hard blow. After 86 years, Reader’s Digest UK came to an end. I found out two paragraphs into my next column. I had been writing for the publication for a few years and came on board as their food and drinks columnist last August. Every word in those columns was a joy to write: about hosting dinners, setting tables, discovering markets, seasonal cooking, wine, culinary history and more. This was a beloved publication, and yet it couldn’t stay afloat. 

Good journalism seems to be an exception these days, and print is getting hit especially hard. Magazines are grappling with a multitude of challenges, foremost among them being the seismic shift toward digital media consumption. As more readers migrate online for their content needs, the traditional print model is struggling to compete. This digital transition is compounded by evolving consumer habits characterized by a preference for instant access, making it difficult for magazines to retain their audience. Additionally, the decline in print readership has led to a corresponding drop in advertising revenue as advertisers increasingly favor online platforms for their campaigns. Perhaps one of the reasons why my recent job as editor of an in-flight magazine lasted a ‘whopping’ six months. The magazine was launched in 2013 and had done quite well up until the pandemic hit. When the publishers decided to pick up where they had left off last February, I had things up and running with a fantastic team within a month, but we simply couldn’t get advertisers.

Adding insult to injury, good, solid publications employing dedicated journalists are facing fierce competition from a vast array of digital content creators, such as blogs, podcasts, YouTube channels and social media influencers (I effing hate that word). Apologies if anyone takes offense, but most of this ‘competition’ consists of dimwits who got extremely lucky. And the more ridiculous the content, the higher the chances of success.

In this saturated landscape where the rise of social media has led to dangerous brain-numbing and significantly shorter attention spans, convincing readers to subscribe to serious publications has become an uphill battle. The inherent costs of print production and distribution further exacerbate the financial strain on magazines, eating into already thin profit margins. In an article published by The Guardian last year, the reality becomes especially confronting: “The total number of actively purchased print titles in the UK – those that readers buy or subscribe to – has declined by 70% from about 1bn annually to 309m between 2010 and 2022. As a result, consumer spend on print magazines has plummeted from £1.4bn in 2010 to less than £500m in 2021, according to Enders Analysis.” 

So why am I telling you all of this? And why should you care? Because it reflects a shift not just in how we consume information, but also in how we perceive it. Good journalism, with its emphasis on fact-checking, in-depth analysis and ethical reporting, is essential for a functioning society. It holds power accountable, informs the public and fosters critical thinking. This isn’t just about the fate of print magazines or the jobs of journalists.

As readers, we play a role in shaping the media landscape by supporting publications that prioritize integrity and accuracy. And in a world inundated with noise, sensationalism and unbridled bullshit, it’s more important than ever to seek out and support credible sources of information. 

As for me, I won’t be throwing in the towel any time soon. This isn’t a job—it’s my life’s calling.