Money. Money. Not for fun. For money.
Please do not ask me to do things for no money. Not writing. Not speaking. Not media interviews, either. I know you mass electronic media outlets don’t pay people but whatevs. Unless you have money for me, I will not provide free content to your television or radio program. I don’t really like doing interviews. Unless I have a book to flog, I would much rather stay home. I would rather garden than go to your television or radio studio where your host will probably be rude to me.
Pay me money.
Bitches, please. I am in my forties. I am not grateful for the exposure. I am grateful for being left the fuck alone. JUST PAY ME SO I CAN SHUT UP PLEASE.
But do not ask me to work for no money or shit money.
Especially please do not ask me to do things for no money or shit momey AND COVER MY OWN TRAVEL EXPENSES. And do not suppose a plane ticket to Sydney is sufficient payment, either. I have been on a fucking plane before. Thanks. Going to Sydney is not exciting for me but a pain in my arse. I would much rather stay home and garden than go to the rotten airport. AND FLY TO A GIG YOU EXPECT ME TO DO FOR FREE.
And I don’t drive so there better be a cab.
Unless your organisation is super-worthy-IMO and is advocating for, say, Aboriginal land rights, homelessness, asylum seekers resources or smashing the state DO NOT ASK ME TO WORK FOR NO MONEY DO NOT ASK ME TO WORK FOR NO MONEY. The answer will probably be no and then “fuck you. Why don’t you value my labour?”. I am a freelancer FFS.
Anyhow. Look. This request unfolds a lot. And I am sick of it. And NO. Just because you are a “women’s organisation” I will not provide a free keynote address. Better be some pretty special bitches.
Look. I hate these About pages. Google me. I have a Wikipedia page that I swear I didn’t make myself. Most of it is accurate. I think. Last time I looked. I wrote books. I am writing books again. One is the date thing. One is with Bernard Keane from Crikey.
Email me at helen at badhostess dot com