So I tried the typical freelancing route, despite being an atypical freelancer. I tried pitching publications that increased in prestige (and pay) in order to acquire enough bylines to back me. But I couldn’t eat bylines, and the ones I managed to collect didn’t cover the bills.

Still, I kept at it. And then time passed. And more time. And more time. Each pitching attempt meant sometimes two weeks of waiting for acceptance or rejection, and then a few days of writing, and then anywhere from 30–90 days waiting for a check (usually under $100) when my bills were already past due.

It became clear that following the path laid out for freelance writers required certain resources. Resources that I don't have. It requires deep wells of time and energy, connections to expedite pitching, fall-back money for when the checks are late or infrequent, and more. What I have is a baby who only allows me to write when he’s asleep, an occasionally debilitating depression that renders me unproductive, and an equally exhausted support network who can’t afford to bail me out while I bet on myself. But I kept betting on myself, hoping someone would throw me a big break before my resolve broke.