And back to this, briefly.
It's all because it's raining, I think. Raining ALL day, drizzle, splat, soggy, gray. I need a little sunshine, I think. I don't usually dislike rain, but man -- how about a little break?
Anyway, got to think about that thing. You know, the thing. Nice thing is, I haven't been thinking much about it lately. I really haven't, and that pleases me, because for a while there it was about ALL I was thinking about.
Which sorta brings me to the idea that it really changed absolutely nothing for me, in the long run. I didn't learn anything useful from it, and it appears that I'm not really any different as a result of it.
See, reading all that criticism of a story with my name on it didn't seem to deter anyone who liked it. I guess the same folks are reading my work as before, with some new additions thanks to this shiny new fandom, Supernatural. At this point it kinda makes me wonder: What was it all FOR? Why did people get so het up over it? If it had no potential for impact -- I've felt very, very little in the long term, save for picking up the pieces of my shredded ego and glueing them back together -- then. Huh.
Well, okay, honestly there ARE some long-term repercussions, but they're just personal. I am more nervous than I used to be when posting, still, and I recently had to really ponder it for a long time before I decided whether or not to become at all active in a writers' group. So yeah, I'm still feeling a few aftershocks. But not big ones, and not all the time.
Can't say I'm sorry about that, mind you. Not at all sorry. I'm very glad I got on with things, regained a bit of perspective, all that good crap. I do seem to have more dry periods than before, but overall, not so bad.
I'm still hesitating over restoring my website, and I guess that means I'm not quite shed of my overly protective feeling in general. I dunno. I'm sort of bemused now, thinking about all the furor in May. How stunned I was that something that had heretofore felt like a distinct and very unexpected honor could turn so immediately and thoroughly into a debacle. I actually shiver when I think about it: I was so naive, I guess. I had no idea, none whatsoever, that things would work out in the manner in which they did.
Right now I feel...querulous, would be one word for it. Tentative. My productivity overall really has changed; I write less, tend to overthink, get hung up on details until I can't unstick myself.
I remember when the Lawrence Award winners were announced -- I felt so very strange. I had bowed myself out of those, and don't regret doing so, really, but there was a part of me that felt incredibly angry that I hadn't taken part. No idea, of course, whether or not I would actually have won anything -- the stories that did win are universally terrific, and I feel actually somewhat relieved, too, that I wasn't pitted against anyone. But I think back on it, and realize that fear's what kept me away. I was just so afraid.
I posted to a writers' group not too long ago. Nothing big, mind you -- just a chapter from a story I've done. But I can't even begin to express how HARD it was to take that chance. It's not about the response to that work (actually, um, there hasn't BEEN any response, which...well, I guess that beats the drubbing I took after the Tiptree, but is sort of hmm), but just the getting back up on the horse? Something like that.
I don't think of myself as a fearful person. Not by and large. But not courageous, either, not really. Once upon a time, maybe. The only real legacy of Black May 18th, for me, is really just the sense that there is so very much more going on in fandom than I think any of us really grasp. So many fingers in so many different pies. I sometimes wonder if I would ever post again if I really knew how broadly encompassing fandom is.
Well, that and yeah, more writers' block than I've ever had in my life.
Anyway. Rainy and cold and gray, and I'm thinking about the Tiptree. Figures, don't it?
Anyway, got to think about that thing. You know, the thing. Nice thing is, I haven't been thinking much about it lately. I really haven't, and that pleases me, because for a while there it was about ALL I was thinking about.
Which sorta brings me to the idea that it really changed absolutely nothing for me, in the long run. I didn't learn anything useful from it, and it appears that I'm not really any different as a result of it.
See, reading all that criticism of a story with my name on it didn't seem to deter anyone who liked it. I guess the same folks are reading my work as before, with some new additions thanks to this shiny new fandom, Supernatural. At this point it kinda makes me wonder: What was it all FOR? Why did people get so het up over it? If it had no potential for impact -- I've felt very, very little in the long term, save for picking up the pieces of my shredded ego and glueing them back together -- then. Huh.
Well, okay, honestly there ARE some long-term repercussions, but they're just personal. I am more nervous than I used to be when posting, still, and I recently had to really ponder it for a long time before I decided whether or not to become at all active in a writers' group. So yeah, I'm still feeling a few aftershocks. But not big ones, and not all the time.
Can't say I'm sorry about that, mind you. Not at all sorry. I'm very glad I got on with things, regained a bit of perspective, all that good crap. I do seem to have more dry periods than before, but overall, not so bad.
I'm still hesitating over restoring my website, and I guess that means I'm not quite shed of my overly protective feeling in general. I dunno. I'm sort of bemused now, thinking about all the furor in May. How stunned I was that something that had heretofore felt like a distinct and very unexpected honor could turn so immediately and thoroughly into a debacle. I actually shiver when I think about it: I was so naive, I guess. I had no idea, none whatsoever, that things would work out in the manner in which they did.
Right now I feel...querulous, would be one word for it. Tentative. My productivity overall really has changed; I write less, tend to overthink, get hung up on details until I can't unstick myself.
I remember when the Lawrence Award winners were announced -- I felt so very strange. I had bowed myself out of those, and don't regret doing so, really, but there was a part of me that felt incredibly angry that I hadn't taken part. No idea, of course, whether or not I would actually have won anything -- the stories that did win are universally terrific, and I feel actually somewhat relieved, too, that I wasn't pitted against anyone. But I think back on it, and realize that fear's what kept me away. I was just so afraid.
I posted to a writers' group not too long ago. Nothing big, mind you -- just a chapter from a story I've done. But I can't even begin to express how HARD it was to take that chance. It's not about the response to that work (actually, um, there hasn't BEEN any response, which...well, I guess that beats the drubbing I took after the Tiptree, but is sort of hmm), but just the getting back up on the horse? Something like that.
I don't think of myself as a fearful person. Not by and large. But not courageous, either, not really. Once upon a time, maybe. The only real legacy of Black May 18th, for me, is really just the sense that there is so very much more going on in fandom than I think any of us really grasp. So many fingers in so many different pies. I sometimes wonder if I would ever post again if I really knew how broadly encompassing fandom is.
Well, that and yeah, more writers' block than I've ever had in my life.
Anyway. Rainy and cold and gray, and I'm thinking about the Tiptree. Figures, don't it?