Recession Diary: Free-lance loose cannon

(Editor's note: Unlike past recessions, the current downturn has taken a significant toll on sectors of the economy virtually unscathed by earlier economic crises. This is the latest in a series on one family's struggle.)

SKOKIE, Ill., Oct. 19 (UPI) -- Job update: No teaching job. So here's my state of the (condemn)nation:

I suppose I can say I'm working. My current self-proclaimed title is "free-lance writer."

Fortunately, I do have work -- not enough, though, that I can say I'm working full-time. When one's income is low, full-time work doesn't mean 40 hours per week; it's as much as one can cram into a day.

My most time-consuming work is writing news briefs, or as my main editor puts it, "flipping newsburgers." I'm picking up speed so I can take on either more of the same or find other gigs, which I spend time trying to do. I've done some feature writing, and am eager for more. I'm gainfully employed weekly between 25 and 35 hours, depending on whether it's closer to feast or famine in any given week.

Every job I've had since clerking during law school has involved lots of writing. My work's run the gamut: professional journal articles, legal writing, ads, public relations, catalogs, speeches, and lots of proofreading, editing and ghost-writing of others' work. I've even squeezed in some poetry and short fiction, which is where my heart really is. Fear not, I'll let you know when that Great American Novel is about to be published.

This is my first employment, however, where the job entails writing only -- where the proverbial medium truly is the message. The very act of writing (the medium) allows us to buy groceries (that message comes through loud and clear). Marshall McLuhan is rolling in his grave over that glib interpretation.

I've subbed a few times at the school I love. Yes, yes, they know I want to teach there. Problem is that everyone else does, too, including the people who already work there. Consequently, teachers don't leave.

I continue to take in mending and alterations. There's no longer any time for creative sewing. My only barrier to fun sewing, however, is the lack of time; it has nothing to do with any hobby-associated expense. We sewing enthusiasts gradually collect our too-good-to-pass-up spoils same as any other hobbyist -- for me, of course, it's the past-tense "collected." We quip that she who dies with the most fabric wins and, natch, I'll be the hands-down winner. Occasionally, I pet the fabrics in my stash, but I dare not succumb to their soft seduction.

I'll resume doing a little religious chanting for a small congregation. It pays next to nothing, considering the amount of preparation time, but I do it for many reasons: I love it; it's an honor, as the person chanting fulfills a religious obligation on behalf of all assembled; it involves memorization and so helps keep my memory sharp; it forces the stage fright-stricken vocalist in me to sing before an audience; it preserves the status quo on my foreign language skills and the esoteric music system involved; and I get to help out the nice group of people kind enough to want my services. If I could make a living chanting, I'd do so in a heartbeat.

And of course, I write Helicopter Moms and Recession Diary!

Next week: an update on Fred's job and ruminations about my writing and work.