Gone to the Dogs: Some Notes on Work

I had this plan. I was going to take three months off and do writing projects, ones I wanted to do. Maybe they wouldn’t pay the most money or they wouldn’t be that glam, but it would be low key writing work, or maybe interesting work where I could learn some things. My two great gigs — both well paid and part time — dried up at about the time I had to let my brain rewire itself. I was psyched to take some down time.

Then the water showed up in the basement.

The plumber was a nice guy and his bid was one third less than the first guy’s bid. It was still $15,000. That was every dime I’d saved to take time off — and then some. The entire drainage system on my 1942 house needed replacing. “I could do only the sewage side now, ” the plumber said,  “but I promise you, I’m going to come back to do the rest in another three or four months.”

My plans — and all my savings — literally went down the drain. I have all new drainage, so that’s great if I ever decide to sell. It’s a good investment. Also, I had to get a job.

In January I wrote a bunch of travel guides for an Afar/United Airlines project. I did a handful of stories for AAA, nothing particularly glam, but good money and easy enough work. I took a gig as a website tester, part time. And I signed up to walk dogs.

After the writing, I like the dog walking best. I regularly walk a very sweet doodle who lives two blocks away. She has a barrel shaped belly and she’s well trained. I visit two rat terriers, they’re zoomie as hell and go insane for squeaky toys. I stand on their back deck and throw the toys on to the lawn below; they bring them back and I throw them again. I walked a giant pup, he’s 8 months old and would be too much dog for me were he not so well trained. He lives right by the park and likes to chew on sticks. I walked a puffball named Macaroni who chases crows and has terrible leash manners, but he’s small so it’s not a big deal. For a few days, I boarded a fuzzy little miniature poodle who has a fetch addiction. “Oh, totally,” said her owner. “If she were human, she’d be on medication.” I get frequent notifications for dogs that need walks and if there’s one nearby, I jump on my bike and go walk a strange dog for half an hour, or maybe an hour. There are worse ways to spend your time than going outside to walk a dog.

I earn about 40 dollars an hour for walking dogs. Testing pays 35 dollars an hour. The writing is patchwork, it depends on the project. Sometimes I make good money hourly, sometimes I don’t. None of this is sustainable. Also, it’s crazy to get paid more to walk dogs than to be a tester. Crazy. Obviously, I need a better plan.

Work is okay, though. For now. And some of it is better than okay.

The work I do with Jewish in Seattle — the magazine published by the local Jewish Federation — continues to teach me how to be a better writer, a better reporter, and while I wish I got paid more money, I’m deeply grateful for the opportunity to learn from my editor. Truly. I’m currently revising a story about a Jewish anti-racist movement and oh boy, was that challenging. They were intensely academic. But any day I get to interview a rabbi for a story is a good day.

I refused to compromise on a piece I’d been wrassling with  for at least six months and it found a home at Longreads in exactly the state I wanted it to publish — and for twice the pay I was offered by a fancy travel magazine. It’s called Exodus in the Ozarks and I’m very happy with it.

A friend asked me to write something for a project he’s got coming out later this summer — I can’t wait to share that with you, it’s going to be great. And what the hell, it unleashed literally thousands of words, this one short piece. I am very close to a solid first draft of a manuscript. I have to write a proposal and sell it, but when you have 50,000 words down, the idea of publishing a book isn’t just an abstraction anymore, it’s a project that’s real. I feel good about it. Sometimes I cast the movie in my head.

Walking dogs has been great. When I was in the blackest part of my depression, it was walking Harley that got me out of bed and out of the house at least once a day, most days twice. I went to the kitchen to feed him and then, since I was there, I’d feed myself. Because he needed to go outside, I did, and I got daylight for doing so. A dog got me out, so I figure helping some dogs get out is a good thing to do.

I know that sounds silly, but let me have this. Plus, I really like taking pictures of dogs.

Also, hey, I’m looking for work. Keep me in mind, would you?