|
“Thanks so much for bumping this to the top of my emails,” she said. Then came the question: “Would you be seeking payment for this article?” I froze. Up until this point, my plan had been fairly simple: Write article. See name on major news website. Screenshot name. Post screenshot everywhere like I’d won a Walkley. Payment had not entered my head. In my mind, PR was something you did for free. The publication got your expertise and your story. You got the glory of having your face on the internet and 27 people commenting: “Congratulations, Lisa!” Fair trade, apparently. Yet this editor wanted to know whether I expected actual money. My brain immediately formed two committees. The career adviser said, “Of course you should be paid.” The desperate little publicity goblin said, “DON’T RUIN THIS.” Do unknown people get paid to write first-person articles? Would asking make me look difficult? Would she vanish back into the inbox, never to be seen again? I had absolutely no idea. Still, the hypocrisy was becoming difficult to ignore. At university, I work with creative students. We constantly warn them about people who want their time, talent and expertise in exchange for “exposure”. Last week, West Coast Crew was roasted after putting out a call for 30 volunteer actors to perform at the opening of the new Perth Film Studios. People quite reasonably lost their minds. The State Government stepped in and demanded the performers be paid. Then there’s my business. I spend a large chunk of my working life helping professionals talk about money without accidentally negotiating against themselves. Don’t let your current salary determine what a bigger role is worth. Don’t blurt out the lowest number you’ll accept. And don’t assume you should be grateful simply because someone has offered you an opportunity. Solid advice. Especially when I’m giving it to someone else. The easiest thing I could’ve done was say: “I’m happy to just write for you!” That would secure the byline, remove any awkwardness and cost the publication precisely nothing. Instead, I took a breath and said yes, I would be seeking payment. Then I waited. Well, “waited” makes it sound dignified. I stared at my inbox while preparing an inspirational speech about how the exposure was probably worth more anyway. A reply arrived: “We would be happy to offer you $400 for this article if you can accept that?” Yes. Yes, I could. I was prepared to lose the byline. But I didn’t. The article went live nationally yesterday, with my name at the top. The publicity goblin was thrilled. ~Lisa Your Q&AToo Qualified. Not Qualified Enough. Hi Lisa, I sold my software company two years ago and have been trying to move into a different industry. When I apply for administration, events or venue roles, I’m told I’m overqualified. But when I apply for university roles in areas such as student experience, alumni engagement or industry partnerships, I don’t hear anything or seem to lack the right experience. How can I be overqualified and underexperienced at the same time? Rizal Hi Rizal, Welcome to one of recruitment’s more irritating waiting rooms. “Overqualified” often means they don’t believe the job makes sense for you. The university roles present a different problem. You may have plenty of transferable experience, but you’re competing against people who’ve already worked in the field, and there won’t be a shortage either. The panel isn’t deciding whether you could learn the job. It’s deciding who already has the clearest evidence. Right now, you’re trying to tell two very different career stories. If you genuinely want to work in higher education, I’d stop scattering applications across Woolworths, venue work, FIFO and universities. Pick the direction you want and build a credible route into it. That may mean targeting stepping-stone roles where your experience working with students, graduates, industry partners and community groups has obvious value. You’ll also need a resume that helps explain the move. Thanks for writing in, ~Lisa |
