There is always work when writing is considered.  It's the profession of the Perfectionist and the Underachiever, the Dreamer and Downcast.  There seem to be those who want to write as a career and those who just write and will do do whatever it takes to support the habit of writing.  Whatever it takes may be getting by on as little actual work as possible so as to have time to ponder the depths of Plot and Characterization and such things that writers occupy their time thinking about over a cup of coffee or at the neighborhood pool hall.  I have stayed up all night hamburger joints talking to writers who try to compose the entire novel before they spill out the first few paragraphs onto the typewriter page.  They wait.  They hang out.  They imbibe in the most wonderful indulgences.  All in the name of writing.  I know you have seen it too and it surprises none of us.  As a matter of fact, where ever I go I look for the writer and the artists holding down the ends of the bar and endlessly hitting on the waitresses for free refills and more sauce with their cold greasy fries.  Anything to pass the time and avoid hitting those keys on the computer.  I look for these semi drifter artistic types with their tattoos and pierced body parts.  We stalk inspiration in the night together.