Dirty Money Part II: The Good, the Bad, and the Dirty

At a recent University of Pittsburgh panel on how to make money as a nonfiction writer, a successful freelancer advised us on how to get started. “Take anything!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the table. “ANYTHING!” A freelance photographer in the audience snarled, “Don’t use Craigslist. Jobs on there are piss.”

This summer I needed work, and having paid my dues in food service and public education, it was time for a summer gig that would beef up my writing resume. My requirements were few: work from home (to accommodate two vacations and my internship schedule) and that my work be compensated with money (to accommodate the rest of life). I didn’t want to pay $30 to Writer’s Market, and Media Bistro had mostly full-time gigs in New York and L.A. To Craigslist!

“Technical Writer for Commercial Software.” “Pittsburgh Bloggers Wanted.” “Co-Screenwriter Wanted.” ” Need Someone to Write a Few Press Releases.” “Steelers Writer Wanted.” “Breast-man seeks breasts.” Most of the jobs were full time, beyond my expertise, or paid in Google ad revenue or Hong Kong dollars.

But wait, what’s this? Writing 300- to 400-word articles with little research required? An estimated rate of three to four articles per hour at $3 (American) per article with a constant demand for material? Off went my resume and writing samples, compressed to nigh unreadability to fit under Craigslist’s oppressive 150K email attachment limit. Remembering something about chickens and hatching, I applied for a real job involving telephones.

I didn’t want the telephone job. It involved calling members of an environmental conservation organization and asking them for money. I’m bad at asking for money. Makes me queasy. However, I’m equally bad at telling anyone, myself included, that I hate something and won’t do it no matter how many Hong Kong dollars it puts in my pocket.

As I was walking around downtown Pittsburgh, getting lost looking for the telephone job’s interview, my cell phone buzzed. I almost ignored it, frustrated as I was with matters pedestrian. I’m very bad at ignoring phone calls, or perhaps very good at taking them.

It was the short article guy. He was impressed with my resume and would offer me $4 per article because I was a grad student. I abandoned the Liberty Avenue Tunnel of Death, sat on a park bench next to the train station, and felt relieved. Maybe it was hot for mid-spring, and maybe I was lost, but soon I’d be an employed man. I could hear the penny plink with each word. Just one small matter remained.

“What kind of writing is this?” I asked. The guy told me that his local company searched the internet for products and services sold online. The company sent their cadre of crack writers lists of these products. The writers found advertisements for these products, sometimes press releases. The writers then wrote a short review of each, turned it in, made bank.

Each review should end with a little summary, he told me. “For example, if it were a weight loss product, you might say, ‘This product will help you lose weight even if you don’t want to spend hours each week in the gym.’” Online…weight loss…amazing results…. Something about that example didn’t sit well. So I stood, then paced. A car honked on Liberty Avenue.

“I see. What if the product is a complete joke? Am I free to say that?”

“Well.” He paused, but only for a moment. “Every review needs to be positive.”

“I see.”

“But there’s no byline for these articles. Your name is never attached to them, so you don’t need to worry about your journalistic integrity.” I imagined him leaning back in a ratty dining-room chair in his home office with holes in the drywall, putting finger quotes around those last two words.

I’m bad at telling someone no. To help me decide, he offered to send me a sample review, and I agreed. It’s been a month. He knew.

I’m bad at reading maps, so I never made it to the telephone job interview and declined their offer to reschedule. I discovered that downtown Pittsburgh is a very nice to wander.

Back to Craigslist, only wiser. “Essay Writers Wanted.” After years of paying institutions of higher learning to read my essays, could the world really turn on its heels like this? Could it be true? “Variety of topics. Develop your own area of expertise. Higher pay for fast turnaround.” I was intrigued, but like our president said, “Fool me twice…you can’t get fooled again.” The hyperlink led me to a sharp, blue website. It mentioned essays, quality writers, areas of expertise, fast turnaround, clients.

With a click I descended into “For Writers.” One circle down: Our clients require fast, professional essays on many topics. Deeper still, and here it got uncomfortably warm: Topics range from literature to history to business to science. One level deeper, I swore I heard a raspy growl: Our clients are busy students, business professionals, and many others. Once you turn in your initial application, we’ll tell you more about their needs and how you can join us! Jooooiiiiin ussssss!

When I escaped back up into Craigslist, I could still smell the sulfur.

I wonder if job ads have always followed the inverse proportion of specific information about the work to sleaze. Did Gutenberg presses crank out handbills saying, “Many poundf for mere triflef of assiftance. No apprenticfhip required!”

Since then, Craigslist got me hired to write business franchise manuals. I won’t bother to explain, but the ad gave lots of details and the contact name of a real person. Pay was great. The work wasn’t too demanding and could be done from anywhere. A few hours’ worth of training writing were well received. My boss told me about a 22-manual project coming down the pike.

I mentioned it to the Hot Metal Bridge fiction editor. He named the woman who hired me and said, “Yeah, I took that same job last summer. Never heard back from her.” It’s been a month for me, and she keeps promising me that big, juicy, 22-manual project. I guess that leaves me with just one question.

“Would you like fries with that?”