Chapter 13 Madison #2
“No, most charge a certain rate per word. Line editing is rightfully a higher rate than copyediting or proofreading since that requires more work helping the author to smooth out wording and readability flow. But there’s still a wide range of how much people charge for copyediting and proofreading,” I explain.
“I spent forever waffling about where in the range I want to fall.”
“What’s your first instinct?” he asks.
That I’m making a huge mistake and never should have thought I could be successful at this on my own. The genuine thought is not the one I say out loud.
“I think I’ll charge on the low end of the spectrum until I have some experience under my belt,” I respond.
Liam gives me a disapproving look. “No. You already have experience. You shouldn’t be undercharging.”
My cheeks heat. “Well, I don’t have experience doing this specifically. Independent editing. I’m brand-new to this scene, so I have to charge a low rate to get my foot in the door and build up some clientèle.”
A firm head shake from Liam. “You have seven years of full-time professional proofreading experience. With no complaints against you. And, I assume, some sort of related college degree?” he asks, and I nod my head.
“I’m sure you’re more qualified than a lot of the freelance editors out there.
If you charge a low rate, you’re going to attract the clients who are looking for the cheapest rate over the highest quality of work.
Price your rate higher to attract the clients who are serious about quality. ”
I break eye contact, looking down at my fingers tapping on the table. “I’m not sure that’s how this works. Any paying client is better than no clients.”
Liam taps the table close to my fingers, drawing my attention back to his eyes. “Don’t undersell your expertise with a low rate. Charge what you’re worth, MJ.”
Heat burns through my chest, up my throat, behind my eyes. I wasn’t worth enough to keep around at WritInc now, was I? I blow a slow breath through my nose and glare at Liam. “You’re so bossy, Suits.”
A self-satisfied smirk spreads across Liam’s face, further contributing to my brain malfunction. His confidence is so maddeningly attractive. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
“I found three typos on your company’s website,” I announce. He’s already conceded victory today, but I’ll play my trump card anyway. Simply to get my brain back on track.
“Huh?” Liam’s brow furrows.
“The Pure Fur All website. I found three typos,” I say.
“First of all, let’s set the record straight—I am not employed by Pure Fur All,” Liam replies. “I work for Holden Incorporated, a corporation that owns several companies, including the newly-acquired pet food company. I won’t let my good name be associated with Pure Fur All as an employer.”
I roll my eyes at his offended reaction.
“Secondly, I find myself completely unsurprised by any mistakes made by Pure Fur All at this point,” Liam says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Show me,” he demands.
As the person used to being the one bossing everyone around . . . I’m surprised to realize that I don’t dislike being on the receiving end. At least, not when it’s Liam.
I take our empty plates to the sink and retrieve my tablet. After opening the web browser, I type in Pure Fur All’s website. When I sit back down at the table, Liam scootches his chair around to sit next to me. I practice even breaths.
“Right here on the home page, it says, ‘Only the purest ingredients make their way in to our pet food,’” I say, pointing to the location on the screen. “‘Into’ should be one word. Because the ingredients are physically going into the food.”
Liam hums. “And?”
Clicking the menu at the top, I navigate to the page about the company founders.
“When it talks about the husband and wife who started the company here, it says, ‘The Williams’ had a vision.’ Never, ever, in any universe of grammar, does an apostrophe make a plural.
It should say, ‘The Williamses had a vision.’ Although, that honestly sounds clunky, and I would change it to ‘The Williams family.’”
Liam nods and says, “Okay. There’s another one?”
“Here, it says, ‘Pets of every kind deserves quality food.’ Whoever wrote this probably thought that ‘deserves’ was modifying the word ‘kind’ that comes right before it, which is singular. But ‘kind’ is part of a prepositional phrase modifying ‘pets,’ which is plural, so it needs to say, ‘Pets of every kind deserve quality food.’”
I give Liam a triumphant look, which brings a whisper of a smile to his face.
“Like I said. Zero percent surprised at incompetency in the Pure Fur All company at this point,” he says.
“This is not under the parameters of my job description, but will you email these to me anyway? I’ll pass it along. ”
Biting back a smile, I open my email. Of course, I’ve already saved screenshots of the errors. I’m about to compose a message when the newest email in my inbox catches my eye. I gasp before I can stop myself.
“What is it?” Liam asks with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” I say, a bit breathless. “My graphic designer friend just emailed me the designs for my logo to add to my website.”
Liam nudges my shoulder with his. “Well? Let’s see it.”
I open the email and click on the file titled “MJE logo1.” My breath catches when the image pops up to fill the screen. My logo.
The word “Joy” is the focal point, large and centered in the angled design.
It’s written in a brushstroke handwriting font, and the words “Madison” and “Editorial” are in a lowercase typewriter font.
The words tuck underneath the top stroke of the capital “J” and to the left of the dip of the “Y” in joy, creating a frame around my middle name.
I blink to neutralize the burn pricking my eyes.
“It’s really good,” Liam says. “What’s the second version?”
Clearing my throat, I minimize the file and click “MJE logo2.” It’s the same design as the first, but where the initial version was in a muted sage green and gray, this version pops with a bright coral and teal color scheme.
“This one,” Liam says before I can say anything. “This one is much more you.”
“Is it now?” I ask, giving him a sass-laden look. He sass-looks right back. “Okay, yes, probably so.” I stare at the image for a moment longer, taking it in. “I do kinda love it.”
Liam drums the table. “All right, get your laptop. Let’s get that uploaded to your website and add your ‘I’m a professional and deserve to be paid as such’ price guide so you can land your first client tomorrow.”
Swiveling my head toward Liam, I raise a panicked eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Of course,” he replies.
As if it’s that simple. Wave a magic website wand and, poof, I have a successful business on my hands. The reality of this task—of finding clients, of creating a stream of income—suddenly weighs down my shoulders.
Why did I think I could do this? If my boss of seven years didn’t think it was necessary to keep me around, why would a complete stranger hire me? This is a saturated market—there are plenty of freelance editors for hire. Who am I to break into the scene and expect instant success?
Liam’s voice calls me out of my crippling thought spiral. “MJ?”
Huffing, I stalk away to retrieve my laptop from the bedside table. “It’s Madison, Suits. And I don’t think finishing my website is going to conjure a first customer out of thin air on day one.”
When I return to the table, Liam is standing with his arms crossed. He gives me a pointed look. “I’ll let you keep calling me ‘Suits’ if you stop doubting yourself and get to the real work.”
Planting a hand on my jutted hip, I raise my chin defiantly.
My reaction seems to be exactly what he was hoping for, if the gleam in his eyes is any indication.
“I have been doing real work. Everything I’ve been doing has been to create a business that I can get off the ground.
I can’t recruit clients to a business that doesn’t exist.”
Liam makes a show of considering my answer before pinning me with his stare once more. “Maybe. Or maybe you’ve been checking off practical tasks that are important, but not critical, because you’re afraid to take the leap. Afraid you’ll fail.”
Pursing my lips, I refuse to respond. Because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of confirming his assessment.
“But I don’t think you’re going to fail, Madison Joy. So let’s get to it,” he says before he clicks on the lights of the mini Christmas tree. He takes a seat and dramatically cracks his knuckles.
I swallow my smile before I sit down next to him.