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Peacock of Flourish
Sep. 6th, 2019 09:50 pmIt was a cloudy, damp day that seemed determined to rain, but couldn't decide when it would happen. I woke up too early and wasted time for too long. When I wake up before 6, it isn't even getting light any more. I have to wait. Eventually it stopped the desultory pretense of raining, and I went for a walk. Two items presented themselves to me: a bright red bunch of jack-in-the-pulpit seeds, and a lemon. Yep, there they were, the seeds just lying in my path, and the lemon reposing in the middle of the sidewalk. I brought them both home. Life has handed me a lemon!! For real! I could make lemonade, but the refrigerator magnet I have in my kitchen exhorts me: "When life hands you a lemon, tell that lemon to go fuck itself." So I think I'll just cut it up and put it in a stiff gin and tonic or three.
The die is cast. I filled out my Philcon questionnaire, so I guess that means I'm going. I was grateful for the invitation, but I just don't know if the cost-benefit ratio is going to be good. At least I'll have a chance to see a couple of old friends. Right now, I'm feeling obsolete, and as if maybe the best I can expect is to be allowed to exist in a decent obscurity. Based on some experiences I've had in the last couple of years, I think it is realistic to imagine that I may never be conventionally published again. I am just not a Product that is in much demand these days. So one of my challenges lately is to figure out how to write without ambition. I never thought I had much ambition, until it was squashed, and then I realized too late that actually, I did. However, I also used to write for the pure joy of it, and I am hoping I can still find a way to do that. So if I go to a con, I will be going to see a few friends, to do my best to serve the community in some capacity, and hopefully to enjoy hanging out--a tough job for an introvert. Just writing a 150 word bio, listing some interests, and checking boxes for things I could conceivably say a few intelligent words about is a source of great angst and internal wrestling. Filling out the damn con forms is HARD WORK, y'all. I hope it will prove worthwhile.
I'm re-reading the series of political novels Allen Drury wrote after Advise and Consent. Right now I'm on Preserve and Protect, the one right before everything goes to hell in a handbasket and the cray cray truly is unleashed. One minor reason for the re-read is that I've always thought these were genre novels in some way. And now I've proved it! Halfway through this one, two people are shot down on the streets of Washington DC with a laser gun! AHA. I rest my case. He has killed off two presidents already in the series, and at the end of this one, yet another assassination will bifurcate the series into a pair of what I think are alternate-future-histories. As I recall, that's where it gets exuberantly bad and the scenery chewing goes full metal jacket. I have to skip most of the sententious speeches, because my eyes glaze over just as they do in real life. I have my own perplexing reasons for reading these, but I wouldn't want to be responsible for anyone else trying it.
The die is cast. I filled out my Philcon questionnaire, so I guess that means I'm going. I was grateful for the invitation, but I just don't know if the cost-benefit ratio is going to be good. At least I'll have a chance to see a couple of old friends. Right now, I'm feeling obsolete, and as if maybe the best I can expect is to be allowed to exist in a decent obscurity. Based on some experiences I've had in the last couple of years, I think it is realistic to imagine that I may never be conventionally published again. I am just not a Product that is in much demand these days. So one of my challenges lately is to figure out how to write without ambition. I never thought I had much ambition, until it was squashed, and then I realized too late that actually, I did. However, I also used to write for the pure joy of it, and I am hoping I can still find a way to do that. So if I go to a con, I will be going to see a few friends, to do my best to serve the community in some capacity, and hopefully to enjoy hanging out--a tough job for an introvert. Just writing a 150 word bio, listing some interests, and checking boxes for things I could conceivably say a few intelligent words about is a source of great angst and internal wrestling. Filling out the damn con forms is HARD WORK, y'all. I hope it will prove worthwhile.
I'm re-reading the series of political novels Allen Drury wrote after Advise and Consent. Right now I'm on Preserve and Protect, the one right before everything goes to hell in a handbasket and the cray cray truly is unleashed. One minor reason for the re-read is that I've always thought these were genre novels in some way. And now I've proved it! Halfway through this one, two people are shot down on the streets of Washington DC with a laser gun! AHA. I rest my case. He has killed off two presidents already in the series, and at the end of this one, yet another assassination will bifurcate the series into a pair of what I think are alternate-future-histories. As I recall, that's where it gets exuberantly bad and the scenery chewing goes full metal jacket. I have to skip most of the sententious speeches, because my eyes glaze over just as they do in real life. I have my own perplexing reasons for reading these, but I wouldn't want to be responsible for anyone else trying it.
