Foolishly,
I picked up a copy of this book called "The Rise of the Creative Class" from a co-worker's shelf. Thought it might be helpful, would certainly be an ego-boost for a soon-to-be freelance reporter.

It was as bad as I've always assumed self-help books are. Fucking tripe. Gives a man no shelter from his fears of what may happen when he goes solo on that ass. Worse than no help at all: like having a well-known jackass next to you on the skydiving plane, slapping you on the back and saying "Shoot, I'm sure everything will be okay."