Windchill of Shadow
Nov. 4th, 2017 09:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoThis morning from 10 to 12, I attended a meeting of the Peninsula Writers. It was held at a bookstore and advertised as "Speed Dating for Writers Groups." I didn't have high hopes, because I know how these things usually work out, but I really miss my writers group, so I thought I'd give it a try. I found it super depressing. I was at a table with three other women. The first announced herself by saying "I'm a strong Christian." Let me make it clear, I'm not against Christians. I was one myself for a long time. I have a complicated and idiosyncratic relationship with religion. However, it does seem weird to me when people think the very first thing I want to know about them is their religious affiliation. The other two women more modestly affirmed that they were Christians too, leaving me little option, when they glanced expectantly in my direction, than to say, "Well . . . I'm NOT." It's just the area that I'm in, I guess. Everyone thinks it's a big freakin deal whether you are a Christian or not. But I was even more flummoxed when she said she believes most conspiracy theories are true, and that the government really IS conducting genetic experiments in underground labs. Okayyyyy . . . . Well, maybe they are. I'll believe anything these days. But again, when that's the first thing someone wants you to know about them, it kinda sets off the Star Trek whoop whoop whoop alarm.
So then they discussed their works in progress. Conspiracy Christian Lady: almost-finished novel that she's planning to self-publish. Tried to hit me up to copy edit her ms. I told her I no longer do that kind of work. To be fair, she was offering to pay. But no, just NO. Second woman: a paranormal novel that she's been working on for nine years. And the third person also was doing some paranormal fiction. So then they say, "What about you? Have you finished any books?" And they all look at me expectantly, and I am forced to say, "Um . . . well, I've published six novels." "Oh, did you self-publish?" "Uh no, the first five were published by Del Rey, and the sixth by Phobos Books, a small press that is now defunct." So Christian Lady said, "Del Rey . . . is that a local group?" "No," I said, "Del Rey is the science fiction imprint of Random House." Silence. They didn't recognize the name. Okay. Can I just go home now? I give up. It's not that I expect to be admired. It's just that I wish they at least knew what I was talking about. If there's a bright center to the universe, I'm on the planet that it's farthest from. Professional hermit/writer has a sad.
After three days of keeping up my NaNo word count wondrously, today I was completely daunted and went home and obsessed about my plot and how I fear this book is pointless. I want to start a new blog called Everything Sucks Here But the Beach. But, to be fair, we also have a lot of artisanal beer around here, so if you want to get drunk and drown your sorrows, it's not hard. I'm not doing that, however. I'm enjoying a very nice fire that the Sparrowhawk built in the fireplace.
So then they discussed their works in progress. Conspiracy Christian Lady: almost-finished novel that she's planning to self-publish. Tried to hit me up to copy edit her ms. I told her I no longer do that kind of work. To be fair, she was offering to pay. But no, just NO. Second woman: a paranormal novel that she's been working on for nine years. And the third person also was doing some paranormal fiction. So then they say, "What about you? Have you finished any books?" And they all look at me expectantly, and I am forced to say, "Um . . . well, I've published six novels." "Oh, did you self-publish?" "Uh no, the first five were published by Del Rey, and the sixth by Phobos Books, a small press that is now defunct." So Christian Lady said, "Del Rey . . . is that a local group?" "No," I said, "Del Rey is the science fiction imprint of Random House." Silence. They didn't recognize the name. Okay. Can I just go home now? I give up. It's not that I expect to be admired. It's just that I wish they at least knew what I was talking about. If there's a bright center to the universe, I'm on the planet that it's farthest from. Professional hermit/writer has a sad.
After three days of keeping up my NaNo word count wondrously, today I was completely daunted and went home and obsessed about my plot and how I fear this book is pointless. I want to start a new blog called Everything Sucks Here But the Beach. But, to be fair, we also have a lot of artisanal beer around here, so if you want to get drunk and drown your sorrows, it's not hard. I'm not doing that, however. I'm enjoying a very nice fire that the Sparrowhawk built in the fireplace.
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Date: 2017-11-05 05:42 am (UTC)