Today's work scene has something in common with the medieval war scene, and it has nothing to do with empire-building--although that's a good guess. The two share a strong demand for freelancers. I ought to know. I've been able to cobble together a living working on my own.

The question is this: What would it take for you to throw off the corporate shackles and join the fray? Here's some advice that assumes you're interested in a solo gig.

Know Thyself

Sure, working on your own, by yourself, no one else around, sounds great, but is your personality up to it?

If you use feelings to organize information to arrive at decisions, you're more likely to succeed. A recent study of 131 home-based business owners found that most were ISFJ and ESFJ personality types, as defined by the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. Oddly enough, it didn't matter whether you were an extrovert (someone who gets energized by being around people) or an introvert (someone who needs to be alone in order to get rejuvenated).

Personality tests aside, the best indicator is the fire in the belly. How bad do you want this? How's your sticktoitiveness (not how you perceive yourself but what others have told you, say, on a performance evaluation)? For a look at what researchers found when they tested the mettle of home workers, check out the Juggle article What It Takes.

Plot your Escape

Start with a little something on the side, because it's easier to build a business while you're working for someone else. Debra Kahn Schofield writing in guru.com a Web site dedicated to empowering independent professionals and the clients who hire them says, "Moonlighting is a low-risk way to experiment with alternative careers. Use moonlighting gigs to branch out into new fields or test-drive the idea of becoming a full-time guru."

Granted you need to maintain a delicate balance between keeping the current employer happy (an employer who may become a client) and getting your new effort off the ground, but that's no reason not to get started. I finagled a step-down approach. I'd done the job and gotten the good performance reviews managing the marketing communications for my employer, a bank. When I dropped the bomb, I didn't present it as all or nothing. I proposed that I ease myself out.

For the next three months, I worked 30 hours a week at the bank while I started working for other clients. Then, I spent another three months at 20 hours a week. By the time I cut the cord, I'd transitioned nicely, with both sanity and pocketbook intact.

At the same time, I was putting an infrastructure in place for my business. I filled out a form and shelled out 10 bucks to the county clerk in exchange for a five-year business registration certificate. This gave my business a name, a DBA, a doing business as.

Next, I downloaded Form SS-4 from the Internal Revenue Services Web site and applied for an Employer Identification Number (also known as a Tax Identification Number). Adding my E.I.N. to the top of my first invoice really made it look official.

Watch your Timing

Here's a bit of common sense about when you take the plunge--don't jump if the pool's been drained. Keep abreast of the general economy, sure, but stay really close to the sectors you'll target in your new business. Cycles are part of business life. Time your entry to match the crest, not the trough.

And spread your valuable talents around to a number of clients. If one takes a downturn, you can still look to the others for business. If they all tank, it won't matter--we'll all be out on the street.

As Daniel Pink, observer of the freelance scene, put it, "Just as sensible investors would never sink all their financial capital into one stock, free agents. . . are questioning the wisdom of investing all their human capital in a single employer." Not only is it more interesting to have six clients instead of one boss; it also may be safer.

Count the Costs

Here's a newly discovered corollary of Moore's Law: Freelance income arrives in inverse proportion to need. When you are broke, everyone takes 75 days to process your invoices. Got a little saved, and your mailbox is stuffed with checks. Can you live like this?

Going freelance is bound to hit you right in the pocketbook, at least at first. That may mean taking a hard look at living in the manner to which you've become accustomed. I advocate the classic approach. You need something--clothing, car, office equipment --buy a classic style, a reliable brand, a well cared for, previously owned item.

I drive a 1984 Volvo 244 DL, for example, a body style that didn't change significantly until 1994. All but my most discriminating clients think I drive upscale yuppie wheels. A classic blue blazer bought for $35 at the secondhand store serves as well as the Brooks Brothers version at $350.

All this may be a moot point if you have a significant other, as I do, who is significantly wonderful and gainfully employed. This solves two of the freelancers most vexing problems: uneven cash inflow and an even outflow of money for expenses, such as medical insurance.

Collect Clips

Paper clips, that is. I pick up those that others discard, so I never buy them. I save the padded envelopes I get mail in. I print all my drafts on the backside of scrap paper. I scrimp, I save, I reuse.

This keeps my expenses, my overhead, way down, so I get to keep more of what I make. But, since I need some expenses that I can deduct so I don't make too much and have to pay taxes through the nose, I don't cut corners when it comes to furniture and office equipment.

The furniture thing is easy. Lots of folks who really know about this stuff have shown how paying attention to ergonomics can keep you healthier. So, I bought furniture that adjusts to exactly how I work, and I sit in the world's most-coveted work chair (of course it's an Aeron). And I expense the whole shebang.

Since I write, the computer is my notepad, and I spare no expense. I had an uncle who bought a new Buick every year. I do the same with computers, replacing the desktop one year, the laptop the next. I go for the downside of the curve, buying the Pentium II when its price is dropping because the Pentium III's have recently been introduced. I give the old model away, taking it as a charitable expense.

I'm also allergic to storefronts. If I need to meet with a client, it's either at his or her place or at my favorite restaurant. Unless your solo stint involves something like lawyering, you can probably get away with holding your powwows at a local restaurant or cafe. Become a regular somewhere, and you can ask for the best seat in the house--the one that's conducive to conversation. Besides, good food greases the skids, and you can always deduct it.

In the end, it's simply common sense that the bigger the overhead the greater the chance a business will falter. And you don't want it to be yours.

RANDALL BRAAKSMA writes from his home office, a converted second-floor bedroom in his nondescript suburban home.