The Almost-Perfect Side Job for Writers

By noon today I knew what I was going to blog about tonight. This post was going to be about the wonders of housesitting, and how it just might be the perfect part-time job for aspiring and emerging writers.

I stumbled into housesitting a few years ago and still only play live-in guardian and cat-servant for one couple - academics who tend to go away at least once a summer. It's a not a bad gig, considering it amounts to someone paying me to sit around the house all day, during which time I have absolute freedom to write away.

This morning things got going beautifully. A new place meant a new head-space, and after the small handful of chores required to keep the furry ones happy, I sat out on the back deck and got to it.

Things were rolling along nicely, hence my lunch hour decision that the situation should make the blog. Unfortunately by early afternoon I was enjoying the antics of the squirrels more than I was looking at the screen. Knowing this signaled that a proper break was in order, I took off to get a few photos I need for the about.com site, intending to get back to the real business of writing after dinner.

So here's the problem with housesitting.

You can try to convince yourself you're going to treat it like a writing retreat, but it so easily slips into feeling like a vacation. I have no idea what happened to the past five hours. I'm generally a night-writer, doing my best work after the sun goes down. But this comfy couch seems so very far from that office full of my things-to-do...

Here's my suggestion. If you're a semi-pro writer looking for an easy way to make a little extra money while you work on your stuff, look into housesitting. But before you go, make sure you have a distinct plan of what you're going to accomplish each day that you're there.

And if possible, housesit for people with a worse entertainment system than you.

Deadline Day at the Toronto Arts Council

There was a time not so many years ago when I decided I would never apply for arts grants. I imagined myself nobly slaving away at my day job, counting down the minutes until I could race home and return to my "real" work. I was going to carry on this way for just a few years, then I would break out with some wonderfully successful novel/play/screenplay that would allow me to walk away from the nine-to-five with a flourish, like those people on the lottery commercials. These days, I'm feeling pretty good about myself if I actually have time to sleep the night before the grant applications are due.

So today Steve and I went by the Toronto Arts Council office with four hours to spare and me running on five hours sleep. Just inside the doors a nice receptionist was doing something on her computer when I stepped up to the desk with my fat envelope of brilliance. "Right there," she pointed, and I went to put the envelope on her desk. "No, no," she said, and I followed her eyes to a big easel with a handwritten sign. There was a whole room set aside for this day, with a large table ready to carry the weight of the last-minute onslaught.

I was disappointed at first - there were only about a half-dozen envelopes on the table, and I began to suspect my tendencies to procrastinate weren't as common as writers' blogs and discussion boards have led me to believe. But then I saw the sign-in sheet, with over forty names on it already. As I was filling in my own John Hancock a woman came in and collected the little pile of envelopes and added them to a very full box I hadn't noticed under the table.

When we'd been approaching the office, one guy was getting in his car to leave - he had the look of someone who was very happy to be done with something. As we were walking away from 141 Bathurst Street, someone else clutching a fat manila envelope was heading towards it. I can only assume their applications were brimming with brilliance as well, since as Steve said, "Only the pros procrastinate."

I Am Not A GST Number! (Or wait, should I be?)

It was a frustrating and nearly fruitless search. But after dozens of webpages rehashing the same few non-commital sentences, I finally found someone who would plainly explain why a writer would need or want a GST number.

Thank you Robert J. Sawyer. Because of you, my brain hurts a little bit less.

The Business of Writing - GST Registration by Robert J. Sawyer