How many articles can you write in a week?

Five. But that includes weekends. Plus tube journeys.

Being a freelancer is a job like no other.

You're constantly on your toes. Hustling that next gig. Or chasing someone to pay you.

A cowboy. A maverick. An adventurer. The feeling of absolute freedom rushes around you like you're standing alone on windy hilltop. Every part of you feels alive. Buzzing with ideas and energy, with no sour-faced old wanker holding you back. You are at liberty with your lifestyle and your life's work. Free from the shackles of somebody else's management.

The highs are euphoric.

And like being on a hilltop you can see for miles around, with truly objective vision. You feel so far above greasy corporate ladders. Or smarming up to bosses. Or doing work that you know is pointless. Free from bullying in the workplace and stupid 9am starts.

You can promote yourself any time you want. I've just made myself COO. Just right now, this very second. So my old boss can pop that on a business card and smoke it.

You laugh more. You feel proud. Exhilarated. Alive. Confident. Free.

The sun seems to shine on your face more brightly. You're empowered. Finally. Magic tingles irresistibly in your fingertips. Anything is possible. Nothing holds you back.

But when the storms come, you are alone.

Your support network may be able to offer you a windbreaker. Or send up supplies. But it's you who has to face the bitter and biting reality of recessions. To square up and stare into the eye of the storm. Keep breathing and protect what you can from the carnage ahead.

Sometimes you have to believe in yourself, even when you don't.

Sometimes you need to sit down and write that fucking article. Even though its nearly one in the morning and you feel like the ink is really your own blood being drained out from your fingertips.

Sometimes you need to call the tax office. Sweaty palms. Heart palpations. Dry mouth. Ask for a payment plan, because your client didn't pay you on time and it wouldn't have been enough anyway.

But you know, in your heart, that you've got this. You've got it covered. That tiny warm glimmer of internal light keeps you going. So you keep typing. You make that call. You dive in. You get it done. And sure, you may get a few battle scars along the way, but you emerge from the mist triumphant.

Because you know, you just fucking know, that you've got this.

Let's face it, freelancers have balls.

You thought your big boss had massive bollocks? You should see his ghost writer.