There are some days as a freelance journalist that are incredibly rewarding. & then there are some days that are extraordinarily degrading and depressing. Like sending a flurry of emails to make sure a piece (you're already being underpaid for) isn't forgotten after submission.

At this point, I could publish an anthology of emails in which I -- as politely and professionally as I can muster -- try to request that I be treated with a modicum of human decency.

And for what? For a payment of $125 for a feature article you spent countless hours on (a real amount I've been paid)? $200 (also real)? $250 (real)?

I recently realized that, for a long time, my love + passion for journalism outweighed my self-respect. And so I went along with all of this unthinkingly. These days, not so much. Feeling more like I'm too old for this shit.

And the truly sad part is that many editors who are (probably inadvertently) treating writers like garbage, are, themselves, being treated like garbage, due to extreme workload, shitty pay, etc. The whole system is dehumanizing.

One of the more difficult things I've ever had to do is take stock of the extent to which the real-life practice of writing and journalism, which I love with all my heart, has actually been a way for me to be consistently treated poorly.

Anyway, that's my dispatch from the World of Freelancing for the day. As I said, some days are brighter than others.

This is why I'm so adamant about sending notes to the authors of pieces you appreciate. Because they're swimming upstream, folks.