There’s a curious habit that many freelancers will recognise, and one that never quite stops puzzling me.
Someone gets in touch. They outline a project, often a deeply personal one.
A book idea.
A life story.
A history.
A memoir.
They explain what they want, what they hope to achieve, sometimes why it matters to them.
I respond promptly and thoughtfully, outlining how I’d approach the work, how the project might evolve, the stages it would go through, and how I can help shape it from first idea to publication. In my case, that includes everything: planning, interviewing, writing, editing, design, images, covers, print-ready PDFs, and guidance on printing, distribution and marketing.
A genuine one-stop shop.
More often than not, this leads to further conversations.
Calls.
Emails.
Zoom meetings.
Sometimes even face-to-face chats.
There’s momentum.
A sense of possibility.
A professional relationship beginning to take shape.
And then…
…nothing.
No follow-up.
No ‘thank you, but…’
No closing note.
Just silence.
To be clear, it isn’t the lost commission that stings.
That’s part of freelance life, and any professional who can’t accept that shouldn’t be in the game.
What does linger is the absence of courtesy. The ease with which a line could be drawn, respectfully and cleanly, but isn’t.
A sentence would do it.
That’s all.
Seconds to write.
Decent.
Human.
Professional.
I spent eighteen months or so with a client up until last Spring on a project both of us had put a lot of time and work into.
He then had a change of heart. A different direction, new ideas, someone else to work with. And he did take the time to write those few words and let me know…
‘Ed, thank you so much for your time and insight. I’ve decided to take the project in a different direction, but I really appreciate your help and the work you’ve done’.
That small act of courtesy told me a great deal about him, and my respect for both his achievements and his character grew accordingly.
But that sort of exchange seems to be very much the exception.
I’d go as far as to say ghosting is the professionals version of the ‘Dear John’ letter.
But at least the people who wrote them (‘…it’s not you, it’s me’) had the courtesy to write a letter in the first place!
So why does this happen so often?
For me, what’s usually going on is a quiet mismatch of effort and mindset.
For the freelancer, especially one like me who works closely with people’s stories, ideas and identities, the enquiry is already real.
Time has been invested.
Thought has been applied.
Expertise has been shared.
There’s an implicit understanding that this exchange carries weight.
For the enquirer, however, the project can still feel hypothetical, something they’re still ‘sounding out’ rather than committing to.
Asking costs them little.
Choosing, by contrast, brings discomfort.
Saying no feels awkward.
Admitting a change of heart feels exposing.
Acknowledging someone else’s effort may trigger guilt.
Silence becomes the path of least resistance.
In other cases, the project itself becomes daunting. A book idea can feel exciting in theory and frightening in practice.
Costs crystallise.
Timeframes loom.
Confidence wobbles.
Life intervenes.
Rather than articulate that uncertainty, people simply drift away, perhaps telling themselves they’ll come back to it later.
None of this makes the behaviour admirable-but it does make it understandable.
Still, understanding doesn’t mean excusing.
Professional courtesy isn’t about contracts or outcomes; it’s about recognising that there’s a person on the other end who has shown care, attention and respect. Freelancers don’t expect every enquiry to turn into paid work. We do expect a basic acknowledgement when a conversation has clearly progressed beyond the casual.
Ironically, the people who handle this well, who do send that brief, gracious message, are often the ones I’d happily work with in the future, should circumstances change.
Courtesy leaves a door open.
Silence slams it shut.
If there’s a quiet lesson here, it’s this: how we end conversations matters just as much as how we begin them. A little clarity spares a lot of frustration, and a little kindness costs nothing at all.
And who knows? That small act of professionalism may be remembered far longer than the project itself.
