Years ago when I started my freelance career, I had a good friend who was paying her way through graduate school writing soft core pornography. The money was tempting and I was naive so I looked into it. When she showed me the magazines, though, I was appalled. The medium was raw, ugly and unromantic, and since I knew about the research potentially linking violence toward women and porn, I decided I couldn't write that stuff.
Fast forward 10 years. A colleague of mine took a job at a major insurance carrier. She hired me to write a series of about a half dozen letters. Thrilled to gain experience in an industry that was new to me and happy for the work, I eagerly took the assignment.
When I received the letters to rewrite, I was stunned. They were of the dear-Jane-Doe-we-can't-pay-for-your-cancer-treatment variety. Of course I had heard the stories about insurance companies denying care, but here it was in black-and-white. And I was complicit.
I wrote the letters, because I said I would. But when my client asked if I wanted more, I told her I was booked way into the next quarter. I vowed I would never again write for a health insurance company.
Some things just aren't worth the money.
Today is a very good day.