I'm a writer, and I'm not talking about this navel-gazing exercise. This week, I'm being paid to write. Here's a sample: "You’ll never have a cloudy day wearing jewelry in an array of soft, fun colors. Beads in graduated sizes mix it up and match everything in your wardrobe." (You know you want some!)
Yes, it's catalog work. Catalogs are cool! It's a short, one-week gig. I get to tell people, "I'm going to the studio." I hang out on a couch in the studio with my laptop, drinking good espresso. Photographers and graphic designers and stylists discuss merch and layouts while I dash off, "Move your feast to wherever your heart desires with the convenience and good looks of a folding rattan and bamboo table." I hope to work on the fall catalog so I can write about gourds.
I've had several (nice, well-paying) jobs in the past 16 months and I quit them all. My longest continuous employment has been five months. My longest period without a paying gig has been three weeks. When I finish the catalog work, hopefully tomorrow, I plan to stay unemployed for awhile - do you hear me, Taylor Hicks? I'm looking forward to the break, though I'll no longer be a writer.