Guest Post: A Gig Site's Lifespan: A Tragedy, In Four Acts

 

<http://www.impawards.com/2021/gig_is_up.html> 

(One of the best documentaries
on the phenomenon -- a must-view!

See Link Below)

Reckoner's Note: It's been some time since we've chronicled the Piecework Industrial Complex, AKA "the gig economy," and its doings. No longer the new kid on the block, many changes have overtaken the Gig Economy, though not for the better (surprise, surprise). 

The "content farm" approach of yore has given way to more practical impulses. Who wants to read somebody's thinly plagiarized content, when the average bear just wants to know, "Who could help me craft my presentation for that big meeting next week?" Or, "Who can I get to clean my floor tonight?" Or, "Where can I hire a tutor to bump up my kid's test scores?"

The emphasis is increasingly on a service-oriented economy -- from delivery (DoorDash, GrubHub, Postmates, Shipt), to transport (Lyft, Uber), and intellectual labor for hire (Upwork), to name some of the "usual suspects." However, many of the same dubious practices that garnered so much bad press during the 2010s -- inconsistent pay/work, lack of autonomy, and ever-shifting work rules -- have remained in place.

We wondered how anyone could still piece together a living this way, so we put out some feelers, and got a response. For simplicity's sake, and to avoid retaliation from his paymasters, we're calling him The Midnight Marauder, who's a decade-plus gig work veteran. "One thing, though, hasn't changed in this line of work," he tells us. "And that is -- the lifespan of a gig site, which follows the same general story arc." His story follows below, as he's written it.

<"So Many Balls In The Air..."/The Reckoner>

<i.> Act One: The Initial Buzz

Like anybody else out there, you worry how to juggle all the balls whizzing in the air. Groceries or meds? Rent or utilities? The pressure never lets up, needless to say. It's the reason why you aren't sleeping so comfortably these days. 

Then, from out of the blue, a solution drops: MakeWork.com, a third party editing site. Maybe you found it during some late night online search, or somebody recommended it as an option -- "I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy," as Saul Goodman says -- or you might even know somebody who works for one of these sites. Whatever.

The site seems straightforward enough. People contact you for copyediting and proofing jobs. Most of the deadlines are four to six hours. Pressed for time? Then try the quick 'n' dirty jobs that people upload, which are due in 60 minutes or less. The more involved the job, the more you make, for which you're paid every Monday. No fuss, no muss, no need to pound the pavement, as the copy suggests: "FLEXIBLE SCHEDULING! MAKE MONEY THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY: QUICKLY! WORK HOW YOU WANT, WHEN YOU WANT!"

So you figure, "What the hell," and take a simple copyediting test -- nobody wants "Brian" mangled into "Brain," right? -- fill out some basic info (don't forget the PayPal address), and the usual folderol (desired salary, work hours, job preferences). You hold your breath, and hit Send.

Back comes the answer, a day or so later: you're in! No resume, no job interview, no endless bargaining over rates. You're pinching yourself at how easy it seems. MakeWork.com delivers it all to your doorstep, for whatever princely flat rate the job pays. Seems like easy enough work, you tell yourself. What's not to like? Actually, plenty, as you'll soon find out. But for now, the promise of 200 to 300 extra bucks a week is enough to keep you going.

<"The Humming...Of The Digital Sweatshop"/The Reckoner>

<ii.> Act II: The Upward Rocket

You settle quickly into the routine. Come home, decompress over dinner, then hit the computer. You feel a sense of pride when that first 100 bucks slides through your inbox. You start thinking, what would happen if I spent three or so hours a night on this stuff? Within a month or so, you bump that 100 to 200, then 300 bucks. Now and then, you even scrape the heights near $400.

It's not a free-for-all, though. As a newly-minted MakeWorker, you're responsible for keeping track of its ever-changing style guide, and management's continual stream of edicts, via weekly emails and blog postings that hit your inbox. What's more, if the customer doesn't like your work, they can ask a CE (Copyeditor) to review it.

You get one shot at fixing up that file, and if the CE doesn't agree, your work's rejected.  Poof! That $25, $35, or $50 is no longer yours, and the job gets assigned to someone else. The first time it happens, you're livid, and think about walking away -- until you remember that overdue medical bill. The second and third times, you grit your teeth, and engage in a spirited back-and-forth with your CE. Nothing comes of it. 

Though you can -- and do -- appeal the CE's decision, the lack of results convinces you not to bother again, unless the issue is mega-major. Actually, it already is now, because it's eating up time spent on working. After some thought, though, you shrug it off as the cost of doing business. Invoking the nuclear option of closing your account seems less appealing, since your bills never stop coming.

On top of all this, MakeWork imposes a Maker Minimum requirement. Now, you must do X number of jobs per month, which is calculated into a rolling average. Slip below that number, and you risk having your account closed. You wince at the thought, but for now, it doesn't seem like a big deal.

For one thing, you're scoring some other side gigs, to which you can always transition -- theoretically, anyhow -- if MakeWork doesn't pan out. The image of flying solo as a fulltime freelancer is pretty damn alluring, so you don't want to interrupt the fantasy. And besides, they aren't offering any overtime at the office.

<"Be Reasonable...Demand The Impossible/
Take I": The Reckoner>

<iii.> Act III: The Sugar High

For awhile, you don't spot any trouble looming in Paradise. With over 1,000 jobs on the board at any given time, it honestly feels like a gold rush out there. But soon, another fly pops into the proverbial ointment: MakeWork HQ imposes a new requirement, that allows two more revisions, before your work's rejected for good.

The good news? You get a shot at redemption, and keeping that 25-50 bucks. The bad news? All that extra work jeopardizes your weekly goal of 200 to 300 bucks, and further divides your energy. On one hand, you're still making the same money, but in a real sense, you're not -- because it's taking longer to get there.

A mini-mutiny erupts when MakeWork introduces a lower-paying job tier of QuickWork Tasks that pay $10-15 apiece. Management bills them as "get 'em out the door" projects that can rack up quick money, if you can do plenty of them. However, they're still subject to the same mindless revision requirements as MakeWork jobs, which could eat away at your overall returns.

The announcement curdles your stomach, and for the first time, you begin to question the whole business. However, a quick scan of similar-sounding websites -- BusyBee, CopyEditBistro, Media Cool, Razzer, and so on -- jolts your brain into another unpleasant reality.

Gig work sites act like unions in reverse. Whereas unions generally raise the bar for everyone's wages, gig sites operate as the perverse flipside, by dragging everyone's pay straight to the bottom. Seeing MakeWork's competitors ape their basic business model for barrel scraping wages is proof enough for you.

What's more, the number of jobs is starting to shrink, as MakeWork continues to onboard armies of newbies. To keep up with this potential new threat, you're now forced to park at your computer for several hours a night, gritting your teeth, and telling yourself: Who sleeps beside their cursors? Guess these people do. But you aren't about to quit, since your grocery bills never let up. And neither should you, right?

<"Be Reasonable...Demand The Impossible/

Take II": The Reckoner>

<iv.>  The Downward Spiral

Five or so years down the line, you're well and truly embedded on the site, and its routines. To what effect, though, you're not sure. More and more, you find yourself questioning the setup, as the number of QuickWork jobs continues to grow, while the number of MakeWork jobs continues to taper off. 

As if that worry isn't enough to rattle your cage, MakeWork rolls out another concerning change. Customers can now vote Thumbs Up or Down on your work, whatever the case may be. Too many Thumbs Down ratings in too short a time, and you risk getting busted down to the QuickWork tier. 

Judging by the forum chatter, your stay in MakeWork Purgatory won't be a short one, since it takes 10 Thumbs Up ratings to overcome the one or two Thumbs Down grades that weigh down your standing like a boat anchor. So far, you're dodging that fate, but you don't whip out the confetti, as the amount of QuickWork jobs grows to double, then, triple the MakeWork ones. 

The overall proportion of jobs is also starting to drop. Those $300 weekly totals now seem like a lifetime ago, as it practically takes all seven days to make 200 bucks. What took two or three hours a night now gobbles twice as much time forcing you to hover constantly near your computer. So much for, "WORK WHEN YOU WANT, HOWEVER LONG YOU WANT," right?

On weekends, there's hardly any work, leaving you back to surfing the couch, and binging on Tubi. Not having seen much of you lately, your partner welcomes this new development, even as your wallet whispers insistently in your ear: "You're running out of options, again!" But what else can you do? You signed a non-disclosure agreement, as MakeWork policy dictates, so complaining beyond the forums is out of the question.

And you can't contact customers directly to line up other work, which also runs afoul of MakeWork policy. You're atomized and isolated behind their shiny virtual walled garden, where they wanted you all along. Somehow, that gauzy photo currently gracing the home page -- you know, the woman happily jogging behind her dog -- doesn't make you feel better. Every time you see it, you're ready to upchuck.

Running alongside Rover is the last thing on your mind, with fingers poised on your mouse, hoping to beat someone else to the MakeWork jobs that still roll in. But it's getting harder to do that dance, which eats up more time than ever. Ah, well, what the hell, who needs more downtime, anyway? Couch surfing costs money, especially when you're not making any, right?

<"If I Had A Dollar... (X2)"/The Reckoner>

<Coda> The Morning After

Finally, you realize the party's over. No single magic moment tells you; you're just tired of staring at a blank screen till your eyes pop out. You and your partner return to reselling, to middling success. There's also the new hip record store, where you can sell books, CDs, and other memorabilia from your own collection for 100-150 bucks a pop, which certainly beats MakeWork's rates.

And you still have your job, not to mention all those goodies that MakeWork figured you wouldn't miss -- like health insurance, paid time off days, sick leave, and vacation. MakeWork continues to sputter along, a mere shell of its shinier self. The same site that promised the moon and stars is now lucky to offer 10-20 jobs at a time.

Perversely, you feel way better, since you realize that you're not missing anything. Amazingly, though, a fair number of Makers haven't gotten the memo -- as the forums buzz with various conspiracy theories, rumors, and speculation, to explain where all the jobs -- and the clients -- have gone.

If nothing else, you've learned a good lesson about the life and death of a gig site. From initial buzz, to gold rush era, slippery slope downward, and point of no return, the story arc is always the same. Still, somewhere in America, some vulture capitalist or other is pitching the next MakeWork.com, that some investor is bound to green light.

Why? Because these types of sites operate on dreams, long before they start running strictly on fumes. That dream operates like a siren's song to all those desperate people out there, stuck in the same dead end loop that you're facing -- which bill will you pay this week, and which one can wait till next week?

As long as enough people believe, the site will sputter along, even after those who dreamed it up have cashed out long ago, surfing a wave of bonuses and stock options. How do those who follow them get paid? That's the next sucker's problem, or -- excuse me -- opportunity, or dream.

At least you've gotten away clean (relatively speaking). However, your next door neighbor or friend may not wind up so lucky. But if you happen to encounter them, it might not hurt to run this little bit of Elvis Costello folk wisdom by them: "Oh, no, I've seen the movie/Even though it does not move me." 

Chances are, they'll feel like at the midway, who didn't pick the shell under the right pea. Still, the hardbitten carny holds all the cards, so where else can you go? It's not a good feeling. Now I know, all too well, the reasoning behind the saying, "Experience is the hardest teacher", as some lessons are harder to learn, it seems, than others.--The Midnight Marauder

Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry, Hurry,
Before Your Piecework Dries Up...)
Los Angeles Times: The Gig Economy
Sucked In Gen Z & Millennials Like Me:
https://www.latimes.com/opinion/story/2024-01-14/economy-millennials-gen-z-freelance-gigs

Rice University Media Relations:
Hidden Costs Of Gig Work:
https://news.rice.edu/news/2025/hidden-costs-gig-work-job-insecurity-and-customer-ratings-impact-worker-well-being

The Gig Is Up (Full Movie):
https://tubitv.com/movies/654449/the-gig-is-up

TIME: "It's A Race To The Bottom...":
https://time.com/5836868/gig-economy-coronavirus/

 
"When gig work is the only pie 

that’s available

 to millions of people, 

sharing it means 

that some don’t even get crumbs."

Tyler Perry Has It Right: Ownership Is Everything

 

<The Reckoner>

<i.>

Let's face it. If we've learned anything from our run-ins with the digital marketplace, it's taught us the price of everything, and the value of nothing. It's one of the biggest, darkest flaws running through the gig economy, which is as corporatized and commodified as...well, the Web in general, these days. 

Here's how the basic business model works, if you're not familiar with it. (I'm making this proposition for argument's sake. With so many people resorting to sites like Mechanical Turk for survival, you'd have to visit another planet to find someone who isn't familiar with gig work, in some way. Then again, there are people who've never used Facebook, signed up for cable TV, or used a cellphone, right?) You sign up, which may or may not involve some sort of audition, demo, or test. 

You may also undergo an interview, though that's only happened to me a couple of times, usually for a writing-related opportunity. (I usually turn them down if they want me to essentially do something complicated from scratch, for free, especially if it might take a few hours of my time.) 

Depending on how your initial screening goes, you'll get in right away, or go on a waiting list, if the site's popular enough. Then you can get right to work, for rock bottom rates that run all over the map. In my experience, $5-40 per item is the range, with the median landing at $10-20.

The pros? As much work as you want. No need to invoice anybody, nor wait for someone to send you a check (as the middleman, the site takes care of it). No need to worry about somebody spacing out on those finer details. Generally speaking, the work won't strain your brain, so once you get into a certain rhythm, it's theoretically possible to raise whatever per hour rate you've set as your benchmark.

The cons? Plenty, baby, plenty. You'll work like a pack mule for next to no money, and those rock bottom rates rarely unless the entity involved needs to clear a lot of excess work off its platform. Actually, your rates usually go south, because if see you doing too well, they'll cut your pay. If it's a writing-based site, you may get multiple, rewrite requests that eat up more of your time that you could spend seeking out better paying work, or credits that might advance your career.

The mechanical, repetitive nature of the work will also grind you down. There's no room for creativity, so your talent won't shine on a 500-word clickbait atrocity like "How To Put Pants On A Dog." Like porn, it's all about the act itself., no more, no less. If you churn out this type of word gruel long enough, you'll eventually start questioning your sanity and well-being. 

You won't feel any emotional involvement in something like, "The Pros And Cons Of Paint Strainers," even if it doesn't get unceremoniously scrubbed, years later, off whatever platform pitched pennies at you to bang it out. You won't ever find yourself saying, Hey, I did that, because it was never yours. 

Conditions change without warning, which leaves you scrambling when the work (or your rock bottom pay) drops off. Sites disappear without abruptly, too, once the promise of that quick clickbait revenue evaporates. All that piecework you did for pennies? It's gone forever, but you signed an NDA (Non-Disclosure Agreement), remember? 

That means you can't retrieve or circulate all that digital sweatshop labor, so forget about raising your profile. You can't contact anybody through the site, because they might do the unthinkable, like pay something close to what your time and talents deserve.

Your name typically doesn't appear on your work, further eroding its value as a calling card. The only difference between a piecework site and an express kidnapping gang is that you've spared the bad guys the work of dragging you to the bank to drain your ATM, because you've essentially signed a piece of paper allowing them to do it as often as they want.

<ii.>

This constant insistence on NDAs, and on hiving off disputes to arbitration (another widely abused corporate practice), represents one of the most absurd aspects of how the Piecework Industrial Complex does business. The future value of a mini-masterpiece like "How To Change A Lightbulb In A Hamburg Hotel Room," is negligible, at best. We can all agree on that, I think. 

But if that's the case, why does greedygigwork.com insist that you sign it over to them, forever and forever, in perpetuity, blah-blah-blah, by any and all means, blah-blah-blah, including those yet to be created, discovered or patented (as the relevant boilerplate demands)? What's the point, if nobody's going to read it, even 15 minutes from now?

I think it's time for a new paradigm. Tyler Perry made the case succinctly when he joined "wealthy celebrities like Jay-Z, Oprah Winfrey and Steven Spielberg in the Hollywood billionaires' club," as PureWow reported in September 2020. He earned a place on the Forbes 400 wealthiest Americans list, no small feat for an African-American who started off as an obscure playwright.

All that changed for Perry with his first film, Diary Of A Mad Black Woman (2005), which grossed $50 million worldwide, and enabled him to take creative control of his projects. His back catalog includes 22 films, two dozen plays, and 1,200 TV show episodes, as PureWow reported. He also owns a 330-acre studio lot in Atlanta, that serves as the hub of his creative empire.

Perry explained his philosophy thusly. "My father was a subcontractor, and he would get paid on Fridays and be so happy that he had made $800, but I would watch the man that owned the house sell it and make $80,000," Perry said, in part. "So I always wanted to be the guy that owned the house. I own the lights. I own the sets. So that's where the difference is. Because I own everything, my returns are higher. Ownership is everything."

<iii.>

Makes sense, right? Let that phrase sink in once more: "Ownership is everything." It allows you to control your destiny, to coin a phrase from pro football, where the same rules apply. Do you want to be the team that get home field advantage by winning all its playoff games? Or would you rather hang on the division-tipping outcome of the wild card game, and watch the two 8-8 teams duke it out? The answer is obvious.

Or maybe not so obvious, judging by how many people still flock to these sites, like Etsy, who reported $451.5 million in total revenue for the third quarter of 2020, right about the time Tyler Perry achieved his billionaire status. Think how far even 10 percent of that money could go, if we put it into our DIY communities, and supported each other's efforts, and developed our own networks, instead of allowing some giant corporate entity to hoover it out of our pockets, forever and ever.

Steve Chou, of mywifequiteherjob.com lays out the case against Etsy, and other sites like it, well in his post (see link below). Granted, he's not a disinterested party, but still, he makes some strong points. Like many auction sites, the sheer number of sellers means you'll probably never earn more than a fair side income, at best. And that's before we get to the overall chunk of income that you'll hand over to these folks. (In Etsy's case, plan on dedicating eight to 23 percent to them, Chou estimates.)

Given all the headaches involved, like the plethora of fees, and ever-changing policies, "you have to ask yourself whether you want to be doing all of this work for a site that you do not even own," Chou writes.

But, honestly, it's not a question of, "Should you use this site, or that one?" That's a distraction from the main issue. How do we ensure creative control over our businesses and livelihoods? How do we reach a point of owning as much of ourselves as possible, so that we aren't constantly at the mercy of mindless, unforgiving megabully, who'll toss their grandma (and all their blood relations) under the nearest bus, if that's what it takes to stay profitable?

How can we establish an alternative infrastructure that's durable and long-lasting, so that others don't have to grovel like their predecessors did, and leave the next generation to reinvent the wheel all over again? How well we answer those questions will determine what really is possible. Because, remember: ownership is everything. --The Reckoner

<The Reckoner>

Links To Go
Etsy Reports Third Quarter 2020 Financial Results:
https://investors.etsy.com/press-releases/press-release-details/2020/Etsy-Inc.-Reports-Third-Quarter-2020-Financial-Results/default.aspx

My Wife Quit Her Job
Why Selling On An Etsy Store Is A Bad Idea
Compared To Running Your Own Shop:
https://mywifequitherjob.com/etsy-stores/

Yer Psuedo Employer Isn't Yer Pal (A Day Late & $80 Short)

I had an unpleasant experience recently with one of my editors at the local paper. Having enjoyed a relatively stress-free April and May, June became an uphill financial struggle, especially the last couple weeks. First, Squawker and I ran out of the decent food. Then we ran out of crap food. With 10 more excruciating days to go, finally, I said uncle, and borrowed $100 from one of my best friends to help me squeak across the finish line. You get the idea.

With invoice time looming on Friday, I called up my editor, and asked if he could make room for a couple last-minute stories, including an update on this road project I'd written about before, and our county school district's 2017-18 budget.

At $40 per story, I wasn't looking for a Pulitzer, just the difference between a $360 paycheck, and a $440 one. Guess which one I wanted?

My editor hedged. “Space is tight tomorrow. You're coming up on an invoice deadline, I take it?”

“You got it.”

“Tell you what, just get 'em to me tonight, and I'll try to find room for 'em in the local section.”

A couple hours later, the email rolls in: “Sorry, No room at the inn.”

My teeth start grinding, and my stomach starts fluttering, but I don't panic. I do what any mercenary does in these situations: adjust my fees, as best as I can, to make up the shortfall. Add $10 here, $15 there, and presto! Now, I have $400, which is still short of my target, but patches some of the holes in my budget.

Fortunately, I've found another transcription company to work for, and I just got paid $100 for some copyediting/proofreading, so all's well with my little corner of the world...at least for now. Only for now. Remember: your bills never stop shooting across your desk.

But what's this episode prove? Your pseudo-employer isn't your friend. Start with the obvious: you're not getting niceties like health insurance, retirement, sick pay, or vacation pay. Your “gig,” such as it is, could end any time, without warning.

Your pay, such as it is, doesn't go up, but your bills never stop coming. How these matters play out isn't your concern, because you have no say over any of them (except in rare instances). Somebody else calls all the shots, not you. If they get the job accomplished with you, great. If they can get by without you, they will.

And, still, you get odd propositions that don't add up. I guess that's why my editor emails the next day, asking if I can cover a competition in a town that's about 30 miles and 45 minutes away. The contest is one of those small town affairs that winds on forever, typically around three hours. So, even if I tack on $15 for gas, on top of the standard $40 rate per story – I'll be lucky to make 10 bucks an hour, maybe, once you plug the round trip in the equation.

So, not surprisingly, I say no. Not only for the economic reasons, but the sourness that's lingering in my mouth over the stories that didn't get in. I'm thinking to myself, you can't put an extra 80 bucks in my pocket, but you want me to cover an event that's barely gonna cover my costs, for which I won't even get paid till next month? I don't think so.

What's funny, though, is how few people seem to grasp how much the Piecework Industrial Complex has changed the nature of work – often, quite drastically, but not for the better. A couple months ago, Squawker and I went to a panel of local state representatives and senators, where you could air whatever was on your mind.

A good 10-15 minutes of that got chewed up over the lack of health care workers – in other words, the underpaid aides and nurses who barely make more than minimum wage, because (as one supervisor charged) “McDonald's pays more,” or they're on welfare, and afraid of losing their benefits.

To which one of our local state reps responded, “Well, we need to address that. We certainly don't want to incentivize people not to work.”

I found myself asking, “Incentivizing what, exactly?” Obviously, this particular local politico seemed unaware of how many untold millions, Yer Humble Narrator included, are patching together several different situations – “gigs,” part-time jobs, temp jobs, whatever you wish to call them – just to pay all these stupid ass bills that gobble up what little they make, till it's time to do it all again next month. Sounds like fun, right?

It's funny – I recently saw Office Space (1997) again, late one night, and wondered how many viewers long for those days when they had a cubicle to inhabit, and a crap job that paid, well, slightly better than the norm – which meant they actually had a little bit of money for a few small pleasures.

Sadly, that doesn't seem to happen for many of today's prisoners of the Piecework Industrial Complex – such as drivers for Postmates, who find that many of their customers don't tip. In return, your car takes a beating, and you're lucky if you earn back the mileage it's racking up. Having fun yet?

I didn't think so, but I'm amazed at how many people seem resigned to such one-sided arrangements as their lot. The first step in tipping the balance is to stop accepting inequity as inevitably woven into our lives. Otherwise, I find repeating a line from one of my favorite local poets that sticks in my brain: “Will somebody save us from us?”

Never forget: no matter chummy your conversations or emails may get with the moment's favored gatekeeper or decision-maker, just remember – they're usually answering to someone else, so their interests aren't the same as yours. Your pseudo-employer isn't your friend. When your latest gig ends, he won't miss you, and you probably won't miss him. Your wallet might, though. Such is life. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (...just cut 'n' paste if they don't spring right away to life)

(Get Out & Make 

Some Money, You Lucky Gigger, You):

Salon.com: Need Proof That 

The Gig Economy is Painful?:
http://www.salon.com/2016/05/12/need_proof_that_the_gig_economy_is_painful_just_ask_people_who_work_for_uber_or_lyft/

The Bold Italic: How The Gig Economy

Profits Off Of Desperation:
https://thebolditalic.com/how-the-gig-economy-profits-off-desperation-47bc5f04d11b

The New Yorker: The Gig Economy

Celebrates Working Yourself To Death:

http://www.newyorker.com/culture/jia-tolentino/the-gig-economy-celebrates-working-yourself-to-death

The Digital Sweatshop Strikes Again (The Piecework Army Wants YOU)

<i.>

Last month, one of my longtime writing outlets -- a local entertainment rag that kept me busy for six years, interviewing comedians, DJs, and every type of band that you can name -- closed its doors. The situation arose for the usual boring reason. Many of the businesses on which the publisher depended to keep the enterprise going have also closed their doors. The TV talking heads may continue to claim that we've finally clawed our way out of the Great Recession. Out here in the provinces, that's not happening.

Coincidentally (or not), that same week, I got an email from out of the blue, about writing for some mobile app platform or other. I only had to answer a questionnaire, which, assured the project manager, would "pair your interests with your potential," or something along those lines. I duly filled it out, sent it back, and forgot about the matter for a couple of weeks.

Last week, I still hadn't heard anything, so I emailed to ask: "What's going on?" My contact apologized. He'd been out of town, but a response was in the pipeline. Sure enough, I got it a day later. After much deliberation, the email said, the product and ops team have decided to go with bloggers with proven followings, not freelance writers.

Not to worry, though: the company was working up an "Uber-style" option for people like myself, and would reach out soon enough on that score. I can hardly wait. Incidentally...the company's based in Beijing. Need I say more?

<"I'm Not Joining The Piecework Army"/Take I:
The Reckoner>

<ii.>

I'll just have to keep plugging away, I suppose, and see what else is out there. But the landscape isn't looking too pretty. Lots of ink has been expended on the "content farm" model pursued by the likes of About.com, Demand Studios and others of that stripe.. Though that model came in for a well-earned kicking, what has sprung up to ease the freelancer's lot? So far, what I've seen doesn't look terribly significant.

In full disclosure, I did a fair percentage of this work to fill in the monthly blanks, but never expected anything more from it, and didn't stop look for better-paying assignments -- unlike the legions who cranked up their efforts to full-time levels (minus, of course, the wages and benefits that a "real" full-time job promises). For many, I suspect, the withering of the content mills has slammed the door shut on such delusions with a sickening thud. 

I recently checked the Demand site, where (lo and behold) I still have permissions. These days, however, there's no work, since the corporate entity (Demand Media) has shifted to a different model of trying to boost corporate brands (or something along those lines). The giddy era of cutting and pasting dozens and dozens of 500-word mini-masterpieces for $15, $25 and $50 apiece are long gone, just a distant memory to share around the virtual water cooler....if you still get to hang out there.

I noticed that the forums -- where so many Demand denizens spent countless of precious time jawobning, nattering, and woolgathering -- are long gone, too, unceremoniously wiped away like so much used Kleenex. All that chatter faded away...."not with a bang," as T.S. Eliot would say, "but a whimper." The digital sweatshop had the last laugh, after all.

<"I'm Not Joining The Piecework Army"

Take II/The Reckoner>

<iii.>

I think about my fellow travelers who spent so much time on these forums. What's become of them, and where have they gone? Did they finally get the message, and start to try realizing some of their own dreams for a change - whether it's a blog, a chapbook, or umpteenth draft of that oft-threatened Great American Novel, or zombie-versus-vampire exploitation film script? Or did they go back to brainwashing themselves yet again, with a resigned shrug ("Hey, it's the best I can do"), and search for some new content farm or mill that somehow escaped the Google's Great Search Engine Purge?

If they chose the latter route, they'll keep searching for a long time, I suspect. Many of the blogs and platforms and websites that have popped up since the Purge kicked in are even worse, if anything, than their predecessors -- demanding a lot of the writer's time and effort, yet committing little or nothing in return, while paying rates that make the original content farms seem positively princely, by comparison.

It's time to wake up. While nobody wants to revisit the pre-Internet era of compiling (and then updating) endless mailing lists, or such equally brain-rotting mindlessness. Let's keep one other thing in mind, however. Behind the online world, like everything else in the real world, is an array of corporate interests that never stops trying to shift the tide in tis direction. Virtual reality doesn't automatically equate to virtual utopia. Before we put all our hard-won eggs in that particular basket, it's worth asking, "What else is out there? What else can we do? What other options do we have? What other possibilities can we imagine?"

The day we stop asking those questions is the day we'll hear these words below, clattering in our ears, uttered by Johnny Rotten after the Sex Pistols' final live appearance on January 14, 1978, at Winterland (San Francisco, CA), when he'd decided that his own rock 'n' roll swindle felt like it was running on empty....take heed of the dream. Enough said. --The Reckoner

"A-ha-ha! Ever get the feeling
 you've been cheated? Good night!"

Nickled 'N' Dimed To Death By The Piecework Industrial Complex

Reverie

I'm completely and utterly bored

With the theatre; and starving for my art

It's come to the point where I just can't afford,

To wait any longer for a part.

Somewhere in this land of milk and honey,

There must be a practical solution.

I wonder if there would be any money,

In starting a one-man revolution?
-Ann Winthrop

I found the above-cited piece while looking for something entirely different.  It appears in You Work Tomorrow: An Anthology Of American Labor Poetry: 1929-41 (University of Michigan Press). For further detail, see John Marsh's introduction below. According to my Google Books info, "Reverie" first appeared in Equity magazine's December 1936 issue.

Winthrop (1902-82) appeared in various Broadway productions of the time. Her notable roles included those of Ruby Keefer in the 1933-34 production of Sailor, Beware, plus Ann Herman in Lend Me Your Ears, in 1936. Though "Reverie" focuses on the jobless actor's lot, it has a deeper meaning if you look beyond that issue...especially in the last two lines.  As someone working with the written word, Winthrop's sentiments strike a chord with me. Living from week to week is nerve-wracking enough  -- which doesn't stop those who contract your services from finding new ways to twist the knife. 

One of my longtime editors recently sent an email stating that any further stories spun off from local government meetings are worth only $20 per piece...instead of the $40 I'd been getting for the last few years. The email further stated that if I wanted to earn that extra $40, I'd have to do some additional reporting, and note those instances on future invoices. So that lead story is still worth $40, because that's what this organization pays. However, if you write two extra stories, they're only worth $40 altogether (2 x $20)-- not $40 each, which would mean $80 (2 x $40).

Doesn't seem like a big deal, right? On one hand you'll probably find ways to score that missing $40.  On the other hand, it does make a difference...after all now, you're rolling that rock a little further uphill. Increments add up fast in today's short-change economy.

To rub a little extra salt into that open wound of mine, the editor said he'd already discussed that issue with his boss, behind the scenes -- so, after five years of picking up this outfit's odds and ends, you apparently don't rate a phone call, let alone any real notice. Ka-BOOM! There goes the bomb dropping -- now shut up and start picking up the pieces, right?

Considering how this bunch has treated you recently, however, the pattern isn't a random one, because your work increasingly means picking up the scraps and the dregs -- the stuff that nobody with an IQ above room temperature really wants to do. That's how you wound up interviewing the local music promoter a couple of summers ago about his Jimmy Buffett tribute band...and the three-hour set they expected to play.

On one hand, you felt sorry for the guy, because the (now-defunct) festival was struggling to afford the ever-spiraling costs of band booking: apparently, even faded stars still command fearsome guarantees (as in, the $100,000-plus range -- I kid you not). On the other hand, the whole thing seemed like an ego trip. Surely, 90 minutes of Jimmy Buffett would be more than adequate...and couldn't you find some noteworthy local acts to fill the remaining time?

But you weren't able to interview the two or three "name" acts that were coming...since the section editor had cherry-picked those opportunities for himself. So you just gritted your teeth and got on the job, swearing to shut your eardrums whenever that damnable "Margaritaville" song gatecrashed its way onto some hapless bank or supermarket radio speaker.

The whole episode left you pondering what your own particular version of Hell might look like...forced to sing those f#cking songs at pitchfork point with your fellow travelers in eternal damnation...all squeezed into ill-fitting flip flops and loud Hawaiian shirts...while the demons prepare to slather some more sulphur onto your back, laughing hysterically at your torment.

Warning, warning (danger, danger): Corporate absurdities coming ahead.

All jokes apart, such incidents show how you rate in this corporate entity's scheme of things -- of which this memo, unpleasant as it reads, is only the latest reminder.  Your brain recalls a similar hammer that dropped in your email box about this time last year stating that your take home pay was getting chopped to 25 percent of its previous level.

As always, the authors cited financial constraints, and -- as always -- thanked us for our work, because we played such a valuable role for the organization. Cue one of Rod Serling's tight, clipped soliloquies: "You're on assignment for the Piecework Industrial Complex, a duty that carries no insurance, no benefits and no job security...but the pats on the back never stop coming...only in...The Twilight Zone."

Thankfully, that cloud soon lifted, but it should serve as a warning: "Don't get fooled again." As they say in business: past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior. All jokes apart, it's time to keep prospecting for alternatives that make a bit more financial sense than this one, because...all this constant nickel 'n' diming will only bleed you to death. --The Reckoner


Links To Go (Piecework-Free, Thankfuly):
You Work Tomorrow: Introduction:
http://www.press.umich.edu/pdf/9780472070008-intro.pdf

You Work Tomorrow: Table of Contents 
(Lots of great titles to look up, and savor):
http://www.press.umich.edu/pdf/9780472070008-toc.pdf

Collisions With The Piecework Industrial Complex

Knowing people who work in creative or media-related fields has one inevitable side effect: you get asked for advice on all sorts of matters. That's not surprising, because when we're all asked to "Party Like It's 1911" (economically speaking), your financial options are limited to...oh, one from Column A, or Column A.

D'you prefer to get shot, or stabbed? D'you want Tweedledee or Tweedledum playing sneaky panther games with your lives for another two, four or six years? D'you fancy a 22 percent annual percentage rate on your bloody credit, or will 20.99 percent suit you better?  The Evil Of Two Lessers marches on.  And so on, and so forth.  And so on, and so forth...wash, rinse, repeat. 

Exploitation comes in all shapes and sizes. However, it's no secret that the media industry has undergone a column inch tsunami of epic proportions, with plenty of blood shed on the cutting room floor. If you're lucky, you get to hang onto your current lousy job by your fingernails for another year or so, while your equally sad sack employer frantically switches from Blue Cross Michigan to Blue Cross Pennsylvania to Blue Cross Illinois and back again...all in the hopes of squeezing another buck or two off the little that he's spending to keep you around. And so on, and so forth.  And so on, and so forth. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Or so he claims...the battleship-sized SUV in the parking lot tells a different story, though, doesn't it? At any rate, if you're unlucky, you're sent off to pasture with all the other unlucky sheep or goats that beat you to the punch...but don't worry! There's a solution ahead. Hell, in your less discriminating moments...you might even mistake this one for Column B.

At any rate, with so many journalists scrambling for work, it's heartening to know that some evil mustache twirling flimflam man out there has figured out a solution to keep them busy for another year or two...and it's coming soon, to a town near you...it's The Digital Sweatshop! Lots of different contract work sites are popping up like mushrooms, and while I'm not going to single out any one of them, they all tend to leave equally grimy fingerprints on the gun.

The rates are rock bottom, by industry standards (anywhere from $3-$25 per piece, based on what I've seen)...which doesn't stop the operators from wanting to own all your rights forever, "by any mediums that may yet be printed or discovered, yada-yada-yada"...you know the drill, right? You don't get laid, you barely get paid, with nary a vacation day or benefit in sight...but you sure get to work hard...and talking back isn't on the agenda.

Whatever happens, don't you dare speak up, lad, or that Column B choice will evaporate (along with the few coins tossed into your cup). And so on, and so forth. And so on, and so forth.  Wash, rinse, repeat!

I call this setup, for lack of a better description, The Piecework Industrial Complex, and its demands are getting more outrageous by the day. Recently, a friend of mine explained the travails of applying for a financial advice site that needed people to churn out copy by the pound.  There was only one hitch, though, as he explained.

Apparently, the conversation went something like this:

PIECEWORK POOBAH (PP): "Before we begin the contract, we'd like you to do a trial story first..."

MY FRIEND (MF): "OK, fine, what's the going rate?"

[CUE: Awkward silence, as the "Jeopardy" theme music plays softly in the background.]

PP: "Well, there isn't one, unless we agree to use the story. Otherwise, you don't get paid for it."

MF: "Hmmm....OK, well, how long would this endeavor take, in your estimation?"

PP: "To meet our standards?  A truly well-written, well-researched story would probably take you about eight to 10 hours."

MF: "Hmmm... [CUE more 'Jeopardy' theme music, followed by the sound of crickets chirping in the wilderness.]  I'll have to get back with you on that."

PP: "You can think as long as you like, but we'll have to review your credentials more closely, based on what you've told me earlier...we'll get back to you."

And so on, and so forth.  And so on, and so forth.  Wash, rinse, repeat!

Not having much experience with these sorts of arrangements, I asked my friend to sit tight and hold fire, while I made a contact or two on his behalf...sad to say, though, the agencies tasked with (quote-unquote) "protecting the general public" didn't seem terribly interested in giving me advice on the matter.

In particular, I contacted the California Department of Industrial Relations -- the specific sub-agency's name escapes me at the moment -- but, after a week of hearing those damnable crickets chirping in my ears, it's safe to say that nobody there seems to care. Or, let's be charitable -- they're just elegantly overworked, perhaps.

After a bit more thought, I've since reached a few conclusions:

1. One person's content farm is another person's (quote-unquote) "upstanding outfit." For every company that gets called out for its practices, remember this -- there's loads of others that never get named, but operate in the same way (sign it all away for a fraction now, son, or you won't get the work) -- just on a bigger scale.

2. The reason these little games continue (wash, rinse, repeat!) is because, for every person who flips the bird, 100 chumps elbow each other for their passport to the bottom. And these situations will never change until a bit more '77-era-punk-style awareness spreads more widely than it has, in a long time. Yes, times are tight, but there's never a convenient moment to upset the applecart.

When people stopped believing in the East German Communist paradise, it withered away, just like yesterday's papers. The same thing will happen when people stop feeding the daisy chains of content mills, no-pay media and all those other dubious models that promise endless exposure...but fuck all else for your time and trouble.

3. The exponential growth of self-publishing options appears to promise some refreshing options to the aforementioned problems, too, but your bullshit detector still needs to be humming at top speed -- because all too many seem poised to take your money, even as they nickel 'n' dime you for every service that you want 'em to undertake on your behalf. 

It reminds me of the major-versus-indie-record-label chestnut that went round and round during the '80s and '90s...for all the bitching about who sat behind the desk, 99 percent of those aspiring hopefuls still got cheated at an alarming rate. 

4. There's an old saying in business: "You don't get what you dserve, only what you negotiate." More collective action is needed -- whether we call it an association, a guild or a union doesn't matter. The point is, The Piecework Industrial Complex only wants to deal with you individually, because that way, you don't threaten their power...and you lack any real ability to improve your own lot.

Imagine what like-minded people could do, if they stopped thinking of themselves as mere cogs in the wheel, or so many grains of sand on a beach...and got together to take the high ground. Again, I realize that we're struggling to keep our heads above water, but if we don't start thinking a bit more long-term, we'll never accomplish much else. 

The struggle may be messy, and a better tomorrow is hardly guaranteed -- but it has to start somewhere. That's how I see it, anyway.

At any rate...after talking with my friend...he's not taking up the trial offer. From my perspective, this ending is equally unusual....someone who actually took my advice!  

I suppose I'll file it next to the last noble business I encountered.  And so, and so forth...and so on, and so forth. Wash, rinse, repeat! --The Reckoner

LINKS TO GO/FOOD FOR THOUGHT

A Word From David Byrne:

http://www.theguardian.com/music/2013/oct/11/david-byrne-internet-content-world

"Slaves Of The Internet, Unite":

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/27/opinion/sunday/slaves-of-the-internet-unite.html?_r=0

"So Who's Paying All Those Unpaid Writers?":

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/edward-wasserman/so-whos-paying-all-those-_b_2952161.html