Today I got that call.
The one offering me a difficult freelance job that I know I’m good at, but that I don’t particularly enjoy.
I’m not going to be more specific, because it’s not fair on the client. It’s a writing job that can be done badly in a day or so. But done well, it actually takes far longer than anyone realises.
It also has office politics baked into the brief, often putting me in a position where I’m trying to please several people, all with very different agendas, views and needs. I usually finish with everyone fairly happy, but it’s a tricky balancing act. As I say, I’m good at it.
Most freelancers have something like this: a task that is deceptively hard to do well, or that they simply don’t like doing.
And most of us then follow the same train of thought: I won’t enjoy one bit of this. But I need the money. And if I turn it down, they might not come back to me with other things I will enjoy.
So how do we price for it?
My friend Anna is a DJ. She has an almost uncanny ability to read a dancefloor, to play just the right thing to get a party started, then keep the energy going.
Sometimes, she is asked to play weddings. Now, weddings aren’t much fun for her. They often involve long drives to the venue, followed by hours of work in a room where she knows virtually no one except possibly the bride or groom. Who sort of have other things going on that day.
She sees very little of her children that weekend. She can’t drink: partly because she’s driving, but also because loo breaks are pretty difficult. Then there are the competing requests from four generations of guests, often including elderly relatives who want her to “turn that racket down so I can hear myself think”.
In situations like this, there are three questions to ask yourself.
Do I really need the money?
If you don’t, just say no. Make it a policy that you just don’t do this kind of project, ever. Simple.
Everyone should be aiming to get to a point in their business where they can turn away work and/or clients they don’t enjoy.
But if you’re not there yet, the next question is this:
What would make this job easier, or more fun?
For Anna, it was taking an assistant to weddings. Someone who could drive, so she could have a drink or two, and get in the party mood. Someone to help carry and set up her gear. But more importantly, someone to keep her company, cover her during loo breaks, and help charm and placate guests with special requests and conflicting demands.
“I always get to a big event like this early, to make sure everything is ready when the party needs to start,” she says. “But that can mean a lot of hanging around on my own. It would change everything just to have someone to talk to, and to help me out.”
For you, it might be something different.
With the writing job, I ask that all the departments involved give me a clear brief of what they want and need in advance. Instead of waiting until I’ve written it, then asking for so many conflicting tweaks and changes that the piece turns into a hackneyed mess.
This is more work upfront, especially for me. But usually means that everyone is happier with the result, and feels they have a stake in it.
After that, it’s all about how much to charge. So your final question:
What would it take for me to do this with a smile?
After thinking about it for a while, Anna decided to ask for five times her usual fee for weddings. This extra ‘smile money’ would enable her to take her children out somewhere special, to make up for missing most of the weekend with them.
She could also pay an assistant, and still earn enough to do the job with genuine pleasure. Because who wants a glum entertainer at their wedding?
A few weeks after we discussed this, Anna got a request to play at another wedding. She named her new fee, and the happy couple said they couldn’t possibly afford it.
She called me, distressed. “I’m going to lose the job!” she said.
“Maybe,” I replied. “But that’s OK.”
Being told you’re too expensive can be uncomfortable.
Raising your prices is hard. But you can’t get involved in a race to the bottom. There will always be someone cheaper than you, no matter how low your price.
And the numbers are pretty clear. You can do five jobs, resentfully, for (say) £200 each. Or you can do just one, with a big smile on your face, for £1000. A lot of people will want to pay less, and that’s fine.
They are not your customers.
Not yet, anyway.
But some people will see the value in what you’re offering.
They love your work. They love your attitude. They want what you do, and they think you’re worth it.
It was months before Anna booked another wedding. The couple paid her new fee happily. They were fans, and really wanted her there on their special day. They’d met in a club where she’d been playing, and had been regulars at her gigs ever since.
“It was a great night,” Anna said later. “It was my kind of crowd. Even though it was a quite a long way to travel, I enjoyed it. Especially as I wasn’t driving!”
Get comfortable turning people down.
It never feels good to lose a job. Especially if you’re worried about paying your bills that month.
But in the long run, what would you rather have: one or two jobs a year, that can be a bit stressful and difficult, but that pay you enough to make that hassle feel worthwhile? Or 5-10 of those same jobs, earning you about the same money in total?
The maths on this is common sense. But the emotions are more difficult, especially when you’re turning down money you could use.
And let’s be clear. This is only going to work if you are putting great work out there, and have some proof that you’re good at what you do.
So how do you price a difficult freelance job?
Let’s go back to that writing job I don’t enjoy. I charge a fee that is so far over the usual price that the person at the other end of the phone often gasps when I say it.
Usually, it means I don’t get the project. And I’m fine with that. I even have a list of talented, younger writers I can recommend, who will be glad of the work.
But occasionally, I do get it – because the people involved want me to do it.
They don’t complain about the higher price. In fact, they respect my input more because of it. I get thank-you notes afterwards, sometimes even flowers. I do it a couple of times a year, at most.
And I do it with a big, genuine smile on my face.
How To Charge What You’re Worth
I’ve recorded a one-hour online workshop with me on understanding your value, communicating that clearly – and raising your prices gracefully. How To Charge What You’re Worth is available to watch now, for just £19.
What do you think?