In case you had any doubts about that:
Here is an update with further evidence suggesting that making a viable living as a professional freelance journalist and writer is an untenable, Sisyphean delusion:
I was sitting at my desk yesterday morning, my pal, Lamont, content snoozing at my feet, absorbed in final editing of a long term investigative reporting project, the latest of many that I have been self-financing awaiting a positive response from a flurry of funding proposals sent that, once again, have been met with enthusiasm but no available funding, rejection, or silence.
I love being a journalist. It isn’t what I do, but, more accurately, who I am.
I was interrupted by three loud, harsh, rapid-fire knocks on the front door to my rented apartment. Immediately, I recognized the signature notification of the hostile adversarial arrival of armed agents with the authority and power of the State.
I was not unsurprised.
My rent was delinquent, and despite numerous, persistent, and increasingly bordering on desperate efforts to acquire funding or institutional support for my work as a freelance investigative journalist to compensate for even the minimal costs of living expenses–the modern equivalent of food, shelter, and protection from the elements–these efforts have not been successful.
Comedy ensues, although it probably didn’t seem very funny at the time.
This guy interviewed Pol Pot, so I assume he has some talent, maybe a lot of talent. Let this be a lesson that most people who think they can hack it as a freelance writer/journalist… can’t. The math just doesn’t work.