Some of you know that for the last few months I've been trying to nudge my career in a different direction. More magazine work. More time for the novel. Mo better. You may also remember that earlier this spring I was embroiled in a project that was about as dynamic as writing a phone book, but involved thinking. During this time of temporary insanity, I joined a multi-level marketing skin care cult and have been happily alienating plying friends and family with product for weeks. That was a whim. Being a freelance writer, well, not such a whim.

I'm one of the fortunate ones. I make a decent living writing, especially if you think in 1985 dollars. I have regular work. I pay taxes. I buy yarn. And, I work from home with Mitch and the cats. Except for the work part, it's all quite lovely.

When people ask about freelancing, I'm never quite sure what to say, because I've been doing it since I was 22. Part of my success has to do with staying put. I have deep, deep connections, and happily, have only burned one or two bridges in my time. I have a couple of niches; among freelancers there is great debate on this one--do you specialize or generalize? In the perfect world, you do both; keep your options open, but have one or two areas where you can place fringey stories. Right now I'm trying to expand from higher education and knitting into a third--alternative health. Mix it up, otherwise you'll disembowel yourself with your fountain pen.

Oh, and make deadlines. I always tell people, a monkey can successfully freelance if he uses spell check and makes deadlines because he's competing against crazy freelance writers.

And now I'm going to hit post because I have to get back to my brilliant career.