‘When I first started freelancing, my financial situation was pretty frightful’

A Q&A with Amanda Hinton about freelancing, childhood money lessons and how neurodivergence helps her reimagine her work

Becoming active on Substack’s social media platform, Notes, opened my eyes to what a fantastic space this network is for discovering great writers and kindred spirits. One of the first writers Substack put in my path was

Amanda B. Hinton

, who writes

The Editing Spectrum

, a newsletter about writing and editing that’s “also neurodivergent-friendly” — basically, it has all my buzzwords.

Amanda writes about writing and the lives of writers with an enthralling combination of writerly wonkiness and creative depth and exploration. Through her newsletter and her editing services, readers and clients learn from Amanda not only how to be a better writer but also how to be a better person (which, I tend to agree, are often the same journey!).

In the last 17 years, Amanda has worked across disciplines — from the arts to engineering — offering her perspectives as an autistic editor and content strategist. When she’s not writing The Editing Spectrum or working with clients, she spends her days writing, working in the garden or singing songs with her young daughter.

Dana: What was your financial situation when you started freelancing? How did that effect the decisions you made as you started your career as a freelancer?

Amanda: When I first started freelancing, my financial situation was pretty frightful. I probably had a couple hundred dollars in the bank. I know — not the best scenario for taking your financial future into your own hands! But I felt pretty lost in my role at the time, and that influenced a lot of risk taking that I wouldn’t otherwise ever consider. This was back in 2013 when I was working at a job that had moved me across the country to Colorado and included a $30,000 pay cut. I thought I could survive on $25 a week for my “toiletries and fun” budget, but it turns out, that’s not quite so easy.

Much to my surprise, when I went in to resign, my boss was eager to create a freelancing agreement so I could keep all my content management work in motion (along with a portion of my income). (I was surprised because I was anticipating he might feel betrayed by my wanting a different job, but I was glad to be proven wrong!) Between that work and some healthcare content freelancing, I had my bills covered before I even stepped foot back in Dallas. I was basically winging it from month to month, but it did feel exhilarating in a way — I’d never left a job before without another full-time one lined up. I was also very fortunate that some good friends agreed to let me stay in their guest room for free while I got on my feet. So that helped me save up for another apartment down payment and dog deposit.

You said freelancing “has sometimes felt like bartering for my life.” What do you mean by that? What effect does it have on your relationship with work and money? What effect does it have on your relationship with writing and editing?

Once I started trying to add other shorter-term editing and writing gigs into the mix of my retainer clients, I learned the hard way that I had no concept of business accounting practices. For one project, I was relying on a check for $225, only to be told the publisher paid invoices “net 60.” Of course, I felt a flood of shame and embarrassment for not understanding how a certain business structure worked. After that experience, I went into deep-dive-research mode to try to understand and anticipate all the ways that a business might not pay me, might delay payment, etc. Looking back, I can see now that it was pretty typical hypervigilant, survival energy. But that’s the only way I know how to create a sense of safety in much of anything—I tackle it, learn it, study it and constantly add to my awareness of anything that feels like a threat.

A few years later, I learned another lesson the hard way: I was taking half-hour to hour-long strategy calls with a client who was using my ideas to try to win himself a client. When the deal didn’t close and I sent him an invoice for my time, he was furious. This was a man whom I had worked with closely on an earlier project; he was also a religious leader. He tried telling me that he was barely bringing in the minimum he needed to pay his own bills, but I didn’t really understand why that mattered since I had done my part to answer his questions and shape his ideas. The lesson I learned here jolted me again: Always get payment and working terms in writing, even if it’s with someone you trust. I don’t think he intended to use or take advantage of my time — I think he assumed I understood “how these things work.” And that if he’s on spec, I’m on spec. He quickly learned with my invoice that I definitely did not have any grasp of these things, or perhaps, he thought I was being sneaky or underhanded. But I really just thought that if I was consulting on calls with him that I would be paid for that work, like in prior engagements. In the end, I think he paid a portion of my invoice (“after talking to his wife”), and I never heard from him again.

It’s been eight years since I’ve had to “barter for my life” or been fully reliant on my freelancing work to pay the bills. I wish I could say things were magically transformed and I’m now blissfully pursuing my writing dreams. (When I got married, my husband’s business made enough money that I took a breather from content marketing.) I was really hopeful that my tense relationship with money would change now that the burden of survival wasn’t on my shoulders anymore. But really I’ve just found brief reprieves from the stress of money. It does always seem to circle back in another shape or form. The gift nowadays, though, is that I know why I feel frightened by the unknowns around money — they’re connected with a deeper need for safety in relationships and to feel some access to power. So I try to work with those impulses around money more productively. I’m not always successful but I can usually recenter and see the bigger picture on the money stories in my mind.

What did you learn about money from your parents growing up? As an adult, what limitations do you now recognize on what they were able to teach you?

I mainly understood money through the lens of how you should never, ever skip your 10% tithe to the church. That was the one constant I understood. I also understood that when our family spent money outside the church, it should be at organizations that support “the coming of God’s kingdom.” The mood in our family always lifted if we were spending money for the Lord.

Outside of that, I passively learned that we had money for things that could make one of my parents temporarily distracted or happy, but not for the necessities of life. We could be stressed week after week, buying groceries in Walmart (I sometimes was tasked with calculating the cost of each item put in our basket to make sure we stayed below a $75 total). My parents could argue about the cost of socks; or I could be snapped at if I asked for a Sprite instead of a free tap water. But eventually some money would “show up” and, almost magically, we were able to eat tacos or pizza at a restaurant. As an adult, I can see how that instilled a lack of confidence in identifying my own needs and planted a lot of anxiety around how they’re going to be met. It also made money a very powerful, if not the most powerful, thing in my life. I wish it were different, but that’s how things were shaped for me.

In your experience, how does being autistic intersect with your work as a freelancer? What strengths and challenges in your work do you attribute to neurodivergence?

When I became a freelancer, it was exhilarating for the first few months. I was living with some good friends of mine. And I was really happy freelancing, being able to go for a jog whenever I wanted, working from my bed or outside on a couch when it felt right — the freedoms that you daydream about when you’re stuck inside a cubicle all day long. But once I moved into my own apartment, things took a dark turn for a while. Almost immediately, I struggled to get out of bed. I felt confused about why I couldn’t just “get up and go” like I used to. That first year of freelancing was de-stabilizing for what I understand now are pretty predictable reasons as an autistic person. I just don’t bounce back from small environmental changes, let alone really significant ones. Looking back I can also recognize this was the first time I wasn’t forcing myself to mask all day long. And even though, in principle, not masking (and being your true self) is a positive thing, it also made my place in the world really hard to identify.

These days, I understand myself a little bit better and realize that freelancing is probably always going to be the best way to bring my talents into the world. There’s a lot about being autistic (and having dissociative identity disorder) that makes my energy levels shift drastically, sometimes even seemingly nonsensically, in a given day. So it’s helpful to feel some sense of privacy and not have to explain why I need a break after “only working” for two hours.

I’ve also discovered that in order to stave off burnout, I need a mix of projects and work intensities. I used to imagine I could just perform content audits six or seven times a month — and voila, my bills would be nearly paid! But that’s not how my brain or body work. These audits are immensely rewarding, and they’re also quite draining. My brain uses such a specific set of tools for them that I can only reasonably take on one, maybe two, per month. So I’ve had to get creative!

I’ve had to reimagine how I package my work outside standard hourly editing or consulting work. To do this, I think of projects and tasks in terms of “loads” — where a content audit with a Zoom call might be a “55” load and an email might be a “6” load. The “load” score, as I’ve defined it, is less about the intensity or complexity in the project (although that does factor in) and more about the medium. Because of this, I’m often worried about how I’ll communicate value in mediums that work best for me, but are, perhaps, less than traditional.

As a result of this work “load” analysis I do for myself, I created Email an Editor, which gives me a way to answer questions from clients around strategy, a personal bio or the first paragraphs of an essay, for example — all through a one-to-one email format. My brain works so happily, calmly and clearly when I can communicate with someone through the written word that I try to use that medium as much as possible.

These “loads” are also why I don’t agree to more than two work or consulting calls a week — because my productivity is effectively cut in half for the day if I have to verbally communicate and intake facial cues. It doesn’t mean I can’t or don’t talk on the phone or through video calls (sometimes I do enjoy these very much!); I just have to closely watch their frequency in my calendar.

Besides yours, which newsletters do you most recommend for freelancers and why? Who are they best for?

I’m not sure I recommend newsletters differently based on whether someone is a freelancer or not. I have certain “havens” I like to feed inside myself both inside and outside my writing life, so these are the recommendations I offer without batting an eye.

D.L. Mayfield

for anyone who’s late-in-life diagnosed neurodivergent and has a background in religious trauma — their writing is always so honest and grounded in truth without being “explainy.”

Antonia Malchik

because she helps me feel smarter about things like land rights and weaves in vernacular that reflects Native American spirituality.

River Selby (they/them)

because they make me feel understood and less alone in the world; plus they’re a bonkers good writer, and I’m hoping I become a better writer through osmosis.

Jeanna Kadlec

because she also has a religious background similar to mine but broke free and now writes from the intersection of writing and astrology. And it’s just fascinating and fun to feel rebellious reading her work.

Most of these people have all written for my interview series, Cave of the Heart, which I realize is semi-cheating on this question. But it’s their writing, storytelling and answers that I want to shine a light on.

Instead of talking about the weather, what do you wish strangers would ask you about when you meet on the street?

I wish someone would ask me about arranging flowers.

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P.S. Amanda invited me for her Cave of the Heart interview at The Editing Spectrum, too! I’ll share that post with you later this week — it reveals my writing space, my influences, my creative spark, my writing process and more.

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