Q: Do you have any tips for freelancing from abroad?

A: No, I do not, but I know some people that do.

"I was in a strange place when I decided to move to Italy," says Giordana Segneri, who currently lives in Verona. "Remember when 'the Quarter Life Crisis,' the follow-up psychosis to teen angst, was the it affliction? Well, I was never an angsty teen so I figured people would forgive me if my exigency hit at 24-and I became the poster child for that group of young adults who desperately need to undo and re-do their lives a quarter (or so) of the way into it.

"I was miserable at my magazine publishing house job and, I'll admit it, desperate for a way out. Chicago, a fantastic city cursed with weather that arrives in absurd extremes, just wasn't doing it for me anymore. And I was itching-practically shimmying out of my skin with the urgency of it-for a change. So I announced that I was picking up and taking off for Europe, for a new life on a peninsula, for mountains and Mediterranean Sea and all the mozzarella and fresh tomatoes a girl could ever hanker for.

"My mom responded with her typical (and always appreciated) practicality. "Why would you want to do that, Sweetie?" she asked, reminding me that I would be leaving $45,000 a year for...what? "I'm going to become a freelancer," I said. 'I'm tired of the office and the assembly line of iMacs. Italy's going to be the headquarters for my world travels, which will be the fodder for my gazillions of freelance stories.' Mamma sighed in the way that only mothers can, a sound that means 'I'll never clip your wings but this just reeks of a bad idea.'

"Now, more than a year and a half into my Italian adventure, I can look back on my naive enthusiasm and-even if it stings-chuckle. Being an ex-pat writer requires just as much work, if not more, as making it happen back in the motherland. And I had it easy. My dad, an Italian, has been living in the little Northern city of Verona, where I was born, for nearly 30 years. So I am entitled to an Italian passport and all the perks it brings: socialized healthcare, an unlimited right to sojourn, work opportunities without hoops to jump through, etc. Writers planning a move to Europe without an EU passport will be subject to the rules and regulations governing the countries' visa restrictions; usually that means finding a permanent job or heading home again when the three months (typically) that visitors are allowed to stay here are up. Of course, there are always loopholes, and I highly recommend understanding and subsequently taking advantage of them.

"Living in Europe on a full-time basis is very different from the month you spent backpacking post-graduation with your parents footing the bill. The dollar continues to tremble in the face of the almighty euro, and prices are high. That means having to work a lot, which obviously precludes the constant traveling I'd been dreaming about. And if you're earning in dollars-a likely situation if you're not fluent in your host country's language-rents, utilities, food and everything else costs approximately 1.3 times more.

"So, to make living here feasible, most people who are trying to do what I'm attempting take a euro-paying job to subsidize their passions. I teach English, which seems like the most apparent and easiest option for an American living in Italy; after all, I'm highly qualified kind of by default. But if I'm teaching English, I'm not writing, and there's that pesky catch-22 again.

"When I've finally gotten around to traveling and writing about it, it's been extremely rewarding. American readers are eager to indulge their curiosity about people and places they've only dreamed about, and Europe-a fairly compact and easily accessible place, once you're here-offers endless inspiration. Online travel mags are abundant, and great places to begin pitching your story ideas. Once you've got the clips, you can attack the bigger, more well-known print publications. But being an ex-pat isn't only about travel; just making the move, being immersed in a different culture and pursuing quotidian survival offers copious material for all kinds of articles.

"Writing from Europe requires some logistical adjustments as well. I arrived wide-eyed and raring to go, fully outfitted with laptop and various peripherals. But I quickly realized-after blowing a fuse or two and plunging my apartment building into darkness-that, despite my planning, some things just don't work on European current. Even if you use a converter.

"If I was going to be e-mailing pitches and manuscripts I'd have to get myself wired: I opted for an ADSL (a.k.a. DSL) line, which costs about 36 euro a month (about $48), reasonable for a small country that imports its electricity from Switzerland. What I wasn't planning on were the installation fees: around $200 just to get myself a phone to do long-distance interviews (about 18 U.S. cents a minute, after taxes, is the best offer available) and secure high-speed Internet.

"And constant e-mail control is crucial, since editors/agents/interviewees from the States probably won't be enthused about making mega-long distance calls to Europe, and most likely don't even know how. I once missed out on what would probably have been a very well-paying project because I didn't check my inbox one Friday evening; the offer was coming from an agent in California, operating nine hours behind me. The time difference, while often beneficial because it provides a cushion of at least five hours (I'm usually finishing lunch by the time the American early birds are getting to the office), can come back to bite.

"A personal Web presence is also helpful. Before coming to Italy I hired a friend to design me a very simple site, on which I could post my resume and some clips (this, sadly, takes upkeep that I've been somewhat lax about) and maintain a blog-ish diary. I've gotten work offers from people who have simply stumbled onto my site.

"Assuming the identity of an ex-pat writer is enthralling, but it ain't easy. It takes careful planning and some money-hoarding in preparation. Acclimating to another culture, especially if a language barrier is involved, requires stamina, determination and a boatload of patience. But it's worth it: I've stood slackjawed before sights I may never again see, my writing style has matured and my subjects expanded, and I've proved to myself (and my mom) that I can do this-I can survive and succeed here, 4,000 miles away from home."

"It's a huge step - bigger now than it was when I did it," says Abigail Esman, a native New Yorker living in Amsterdam (and a woman of many accomplishments, including a book on art and contemporary culture (published in the Netherlands in 1997)and a forthcoming book about Ayaan Hirsi Ali). "I'd say to go to the country you're thinking of for a short period of time -- a month, say -- rent an apartment, get a feel for what it is to live there. If you don't know the language, take an immersion course. Meet people. Track down stories. Then see what you can sell. When I moved, first of all, I had enough money in the bank to live on for a year even if I sold nothing, which I definitely recommend; and second, I did a similar sort of reconnaissance trip first, which allowed me to go back to NY, sell 60
stories, and return to Amsterdam with almost two years' worth of work
sold in advance. That was a lucky shot: no one in my field had covered the Dutch scene at that point, so pretty much anything I wanted to write was of interest to editors. But I definitely would recommend doing a trial period in advance, finding stories, setting up contacts, getting your papers in order, and (I can't reiterate this enough) learning the language."