Here’s what’s important about Danny: after a year of training, classes, walking for miles, hiking, giving out treats, saying “No” in a loud voice, and snuggling at the end of the day, he has become my Guide Dog for the Mind. I clip his leash to his collar, and we head out for an hour or so of novel plotting, article idea generating, and satisfying sniffing. (Danny’s in charge of most of the sniffing.)

What makes a good Guide Dog for the Mind?

• A big enough dog to lead you around
• A dog that keeps to the trail or sidewalk without too many side trips
• A dog that loves walking or hiking and can keep up a steady pace while you think
• A dog that’s alert to the world around him. Giant ears optional, but adorable

What’s your end of the deal?

• Bring poop bags and water for the dog
• Tuck a pencil a paper or notecards into a pocket for jotting down your ideas
• Jot those things down while you reward the dog with a nice long sniffing session
• If the dog looks like he’s seen or heard something, come out of your reverie and find out what it is before you’re both eaten by a bear
• Have your dog’s favorite reward ready for a job well done. Danny will do anything for treats of any kind; some dogs have a toy or something they like. Maybe a trip to the pet store on the way home?

Danny is very athletic, so I’m happy to walk him 5-6 miles a day, and in the woods as often as we can manage it. It really did take him a lot of practice to walk this well, but the payoff is so worth it. I pitched the ideas I came up with during a hike a couple of weeks ago and got an assignment today, so he’s earning his keep.

A few years ago, I had lunch with a fellow freelancer and tech maven Jason Glaspey. “You should use Twitter,” he said. “It’s like a water cooler for freelancers who don’t have anyone to talk to all day.”

“Ugh, I don’t know. It sounds annoying,” I said.

“I bet you’d like it,” he said. (He also recommended a virtual secretarial service which I tried. That was annoying, and the service ceased not long after.)

Figuring a couple weeks on Twitter wouldn’t kill me, I gave it a go. I now have about 200 followers, depending on the day and the spam activity. I’ve sent out over 1000 tweets myself, and I’ve read many times that number.

I’ve had two big Twitter successes in the past couple of years:

• Local news station KGW needed an auto expert to talk green cars, and they put out the call on Twitter. Someone I followed retweeted it, and I found it. Long story short, I got to be an auto expert on live local TV with host Stephanie Stricklen (that’s @StephStricklen, for those who want to bask in her Twitter wit).
• Nathan Fillion (@NathanFillion) tweeted that he was coming to Eugene, Oregon, to test drive an electric car. I contacted the car maker (@Arcimoto) and arranged to be there while the star of “Castle” and “Firefly” took his test drive. I wrote it up for the NY Times Wheels blog, and got to meet one of my biggest, geekiest star crushes. Way to keep it professional, KHG.

These are only the big ones. I also follow fellow gearheads for automotive story ideas and information, fellow freelancers for commiseration, and fellow Portlanders for local, real-time news. I also follow the famous and interesting (see: Nathan Fillion), and I follow a few literary agents I’d love to have represent me to see what projects they’re publishing these days. It’s not stalker-y. I swear.

If you still need convincing, then maybe Twitter isn’t for you. No shame in that. But you might be missing out on more opportunities than you think. (Captain Tightpants! I mean, come on! I MET NATHAN FILLION! *geek squeal*)

Eat in

First of all, do not eat at your desk. That is for sad people with “regular” jobs who have to work in cubicles. You are not that person. You are a freelancer. So eat somewhere cool, like at the dining room table, the front porch on a sunny day, or the built-in picnic area in the trunk of your Rolls.

Make yourself something super tasty and healthy, the kind of thing you’d never be able to take to work in a rinsed-out cottage cheese container. Big salads with lots of ingredients and homemade dressing are good for this. Pasta with fresh veggies is good too, especially if you can combine it with a field trip to the grocery store for the fresh veggies. And new pens.

Read, do the crossword, play fetch with the dog — whatever you do, take a real lunch. Maybe have a beer. As long as you’re back at work afterward and functional enough for whatever tasks come next, there’s no one to tell you what you should or should not do at lunchtime.

Eat Out

Invite at least one other freelance friend who is also as lonely as you are. Take the burden of listening to you recount your lonely day from your significant other/dog and place it on your freelance lunch friend. Allow him to do the same to you.

Even better than a freelance friend is a recently and happily unemployed friend. They really know how to stretch out and luxuriate in the lunch hour … or lunch hour and a half. Make plans to take a dance class together to work off the bacon in your sandwiches.

Declare the off-site lunch a field trip. It makes it seem educational.

Go out with your friend who’s also a marketing expert/book editor/businessperson. Talk about your current project while you sip coffee and wait for your lunches to be served — write off! When the sandwiches come, knock off the shop talk and make plans to take a dance class together.

Now I’m headed to lunch. I’m eating in — scrambled eggs with herbs from the garden on whole-wheat bread I made myself with local-ish cheddar cheese. Eating at the dining room table with a cup of coffee, followed by fetch in the backyard with the dog.

And that, my friend, is how you freelance lunch.

My despair at losing a favorite, if cheap and totally replaceable, pen was replaced almost immediately by the prospect of buying a new pen. I had bought the recently deceased pen on the recommendation of some productivity site or another, and the commenters had been correct: it was a pen with smooth, fluid ink that did not leave blotches; its line was thick enough to seem weighty but not so thick that it looked like I was writing notes with a dry-erase marker.

But was that enough? Has pen technology advanced in the past few months? I checked in with an office-supplies fiend I know, who pointed out that life is too short to remain slavishly devoted to one kind of pen. I reminded her of Stephen King and the Beryl Black Beauties he wrote of. I admired his work ethic; if I mimicked his devotion to writing implements, would I too adopt a King-like writing schedule that allowed me to complete books and articles at a clip? She stuck to her shiny new pens predilection.

The death of my pen has another aspect to consider: it’s back-to-school season. I am surrounded by cool pens and those ten-for-a-dollar stacks of spiral-bound notebooks every time I leave the house. I work at home, but when I’m in that seasonal aisle, I want a lunchbox. Is it possible to walk into a Target, an Office Depot, a Fred Meyer and only buy more of the exact same pens? That’s a kind of willpower I don’t that I possess, and I don’t know that I want to.

I did like that pen. I may buy more of the same. But I will likely spend half an hour in the school supplies section pondering the possibilities and justifying to myself the purchase of a stack of spiral-bound notebooks. I mean, come on! They’re ten for a dollar!

Well, Mr. G called from work today. He got offered a freelance photography gig the same weekend as wedding and conference. He wanted to take the gig to justify — and subsidize — his camera habit. I wanted to go to the conference. Let’s just say the dog doesn’t need to stay over at the doggy daycare place down the street Saturday night.

This is where the serendipity comes in. [serendipity: finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for] The only workshops I was interested in were on Sunday, which conference cruisers know is rarely the most useful day. The only agent I was really interested in meeting had slots available for pitching proposals on Sunday. Serendipity. It’s fun to say.

As soon as I registered, I felt the flood of freelance optimism come back. It’s like being some old-timey cub reporter: “This time, I can do it! I just know it!” The secret well of belief in my work is a job requirement; the press card in the hatband is just a perk.