We all know the benefits to donating our time and money: warm fuzzies, tax write-offs,  the gratifying sense of purpose and general knowledge that we’re helping others and making the world a better place. But in donating, when do we as writers sell ourselves short and where do we draw the line? When is charity a detriment to our endeavors as self-employed artisans?

Stop to consider what your time is worth when offering or accepting an opportunity to “promote” yourself.

I recently received an email (again) asking me to present a talk regarding a book about cold cases, my current work-in-progress. This presentation is through a local college branch of a nationwide organization that offers non-credit courses for adults over 50. When they first approached me a couple years ago, I felt honored (tip #1—tell your ego to sit down and be quiet) and accepted this offer. The presentation could be 60 to 90 minutes long, my preference. I offered to “teach” the 90-minute course, and in reply, received an application.

Wait, what? I have to apply to do a presentation I was asked to do? Oh, well. Fine. I slogged through the lengthy paperwork only to discover at the end of the application that it paid less than $40—if I chose payment rather than donate all or part back to them. (Wow—guilt much?) Then I discovered that I would not be allowed to sell books after the course. Ugh. Fine. I’d already said yes.

Then I was asked to provide information for a W-4 tax form, which required my driving to the local college half an hour away to complete and submit. And of course, I had yet to write the presentation, which, as you might guess, took much longer than the 90 minutes it would take to present.

I wanted to dropkick my ego into next week.

At this point, I had invested hours into this “promotional opportunity” and couldn’t back out. I arrived at the first of two courses I’d agreed to give. No one was there from the program, so I turned on the lights, set up all the tables and chairs and waited. And waited. Finally, half an hour late, three attendees arrived. The second course was slightly better attended, but I was in the hole in my investment. And mad about it.

“It’s charity,” my friend, who had taught courses with them, said when I complained. Understanding her meaning that it was for the greater good, but working through the numbers in my head… “Let’s see…two hours application paperwork, two hours for the W-4, three hours minimum on each presentation, six hours for each class in travel and class time, including showering, hair, makeup, etc, not to mention the hours away from actual writing…” I had to agree.

Granted, butt-in-the-chair time doesn’t always, if ever, equal profitable dividends at the end of a project, but knowing what I know now, I won’t let my ego (who doesn’t pay the bills around here nor do the dishes) speak for me. And yes, I may have found a few new followers, but if each bought every one of my books, I still was way in the hole.

As for the recent request to present, I nicely, straightforwardly and honestly begged off. My time is valuable and I should respect it and myself. I can donate my time in ways that don’t take away from my income as a writer. I can write a check. And through social media, speaking events, and book signings, I can promote my work in ways that don’t make me hate my ego or charities in general.

Bio: Christine Mager Wevik is the author of It’s Only Hair, a humorous, self-help book about living with hair loss, as well as award-winning novels, Vacant Eyes and Borrowed Memories. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter, and through her website, www.christinemagerwevik.com