A couple weeks back, I got three acceptance letters in one day. I felt like the real deal, like I am actually a writer.
Now, I know I am actually a writer, because I actually sit down every day and write. That's what's important, and that's what I try to focus on, but the unfortunate fact remains that external validation every now and then feels pretty nice. Checks are nice. Seeing evidence that someone read something of mine is nice. Feeling like the real deal is nice.
I'm pretty sure I could be rich as J.K. Rowling and still doubt whether I was the real deal. It doesn't seem logical that way. Writing can sometimes be one big mood swing. Three acceptances in one day can get me floating high, and then the next day I can decide that my business plan will never work and start wondering why I haven't given up by now.
I had a funny moment years ago reading Writer's Market. That book used to have articles featuring descriptions of "My First Sale." A guy described his first sale as a stringer to a newspaper. At the time, I worked on staff at a newspaper that sounded just like the one he described. I didn't consider myself a real writer, and yet there he was talking about how excited he was to write one article for a place like that -- and there I was writing four or five a week. I had a real deal moment then, too, but it also put things in perspective.
As long as I have goals, I will always exist on a spectrum, where there are things I have done and things I haven't. If I ever really feel like I have arrived, like I'm the permanent real deal with no doubt whatsoever, that means I have no goals left and should probably retire.
That said, I like going to bookstores and seeing Cleis collections that include me on the shelves. I like getting three acceptance letters in one day. I don't mind feeling like the real deal for a minute, I just try not to let it go to my head.
Showing posts with label writing and respect. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing and respect. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2012
Sunday, May 13, 2012
The Demotion
I've noticed a negative shift in how others react to my writing, one that I think has to do with subtle sexism.
I used to spend most of my writing time on technology journalism. Most of my professional interactions were with men. They were the vast majority of my interview subjects, readers, and editors. My career also played well with men. At dinner parties, I invariably found myself in long discussions with the men about the merits or flaws of the iPhone, or similar subjects.
My career commanded respect. People took me seriously and never asked things like, "Is there enough work?" or "Do you make a living writing that?"
Things are different now, and I'm writing a much larger proportion of erotica. Most of my professional interactions are with women. Women are the vast majority of my writer friends, readers, and editors. I have a "coming out" issue when asked about what I write. Do I talk about it at all? Is whoever I'm talking to going to react strangely? I avoid the subject at dinner parties.
When I do tell people about my writing, I often get asked, "Is there enough work?" or "Do you actually get paid to write that?" or "When will you go back to writing 'real' stuff?"
Some of this may have to do with the taboo subject of sex versus the socially acceptable subject of technology (ironically, frequently written about using terms borrowed from the language of sex). However, I think some of the sense of demotion has to do with writing in a "woman's world" versus in a "man's world." I get added support for this theory because I sometimes play softball by saying I write "romance," which seems to inspire even more questioning about whether I am actually doing anything -- despite the fact that romance sells beautifully.
I sense loss of respect from conversation partners, but also within myself. Over and over again, I have to remind myself that I'm writing erotica more because this is what I enjoy writing the most. I am doing this for pleasure, and because I seem to be pretty good at it. And yet I feel strong pressure to write more about technology to regain respect.
When I ask myself why, I keep coming up with ideas like this writing is frivolous, less valuable, or self-indulgent. I should note that this runs directly opposite to my deeply held beliefs, and my personal experience of the power of writing and reading erotica. I frequently uncover beliefs about how this writing isn't as serious or well-crafted, despite knowing how hard I work on it -- in many cases, much harder and with more concern for art than was the case when I wrote about technology.
The sense of frivolity or lack of value keep bringing me back to subtle sexism I've found in my thinking. I grew up with the sense that I should try as hard as possible to act as little like a woman as possible. I didn't want to talk like a woman, have emotions like a woman, or behave like a woman. In writing erotica, I really embrace my femininity -- much more powerfully than I did in my technology writing. The sense of demotion that comes with that feels sinister to me, related to that deeper underlying sense that I should avoid being female wherever I could manage to do so.
I used to spend most of my writing time on technology journalism. Most of my professional interactions were with men. They were the vast majority of my interview subjects, readers, and editors. My career also played well with men. At dinner parties, I invariably found myself in long discussions with the men about the merits or flaws of the iPhone, or similar subjects.
My career commanded respect. People took me seriously and never asked things like, "Is there enough work?" or "Do you make a living writing that?"
Things are different now, and I'm writing a much larger proportion of erotica. Most of my professional interactions are with women. Women are the vast majority of my writer friends, readers, and editors. I have a "coming out" issue when asked about what I write. Do I talk about it at all? Is whoever I'm talking to going to react strangely? I avoid the subject at dinner parties.
When I do tell people about my writing, I often get asked, "Is there enough work?" or "Do you actually get paid to write that?" or "When will you go back to writing 'real' stuff?"
Some of this may have to do with the taboo subject of sex versus the socially acceptable subject of technology (ironically, frequently written about using terms borrowed from the language of sex). However, I think some of the sense of demotion has to do with writing in a "woman's world" versus in a "man's world." I get added support for this theory because I sometimes play softball by saying I write "romance," which seems to inspire even more questioning about whether I am actually doing anything -- despite the fact that romance sells beautifully.
I sense loss of respect from conversation partners, but also within myself. Over and over again, I have to remind myself that I'm writing erotica more because this is what I enjoy writing the most. I am doing this for pleasure, and because I seem to be pretty good at it. And yet I feel strong pressure to write more about technology to regain respect.
When I ask myself why, I keep coming up with ideas like this writing is frivolous, less valuable, or self-indulgent. I should note that this runs directly opposite to my deeply held beliefs, and my personal experience of the power of writing and reading erotica. I frequently uncover beliefs about how this writing isn't as serious or well-crafted, despite knowing how hard I work on it -- in many cases, much harder and with more concern for art than was the case when I wrote about technology.
The sense of frivolity or lack of value keep bringing me back to subtle sexism I've found in my thinking. I grew up with the sense that I should try as hard as possible to act as little like a woman as possible. I didn't want to talk like a woman, have emotions like a woman, or behave like a woman. In writing erotica, I really embrace my femininity -- much more powerfully than I did in my technology writing. The sense of demotion that comes with that feels sinister to me, related to that deeper underlying sense that I should avoid being female wherever I could manage to do so.
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