Snowflake, maybe
Hmm. It's interesting, this challenge, and as I begin to write a post about it I am honestly not sure whether I'm going to link it to the Snowflake Challenge or not.
The challenge is: Brag about yourself. Tell us what things you've done that you're proud of; the things that make you the wonderful person you are.
I've been thinking lately that I haven't really done anything to be proud of. Nothing that I can point to and say, I did that. That was an achievement. Which, maybe, isn't true. I used to think that okay, I never had a career worth the name, and missed out on working in fields that I would have actually enjoyed and been good at, but I had achieved Happiness, through a very happy marriage, two pretty fine children, and a life that suited my lazy self. And so what if I never got a book published.
Except now, at the age when death begins to look like a real thing that will happen to me and that's okay, I'm looking back and thinking, couldn't I have done a bit more?
I think it's because I'm a competent amateur at everything I like to do. I'm a decent cook. I can create pleasing artwork of various kinds, without actually being able to reproduce the pictures inside my head because I have no technique. I'm a decent knitter, a decent card-maker, a decent creator of fannish graphics, that kind of thing. I am reasonably musical, able to hold a harmony and to read music, but not a good musician.
I am, I think, a good writer. If you had the stamina and will-power, you could probably go through my fanfic over the last nearly thirty years and see that I have become a better writer of stories as a consequence of being in fandom, that wonderful and supportive environment for tellers of tales. (What the heck, if anyone is interested, this was My First Fanfic, and this is my most recently completed work.) I've also produced newsletters at various intervals during my life, from college to theatre group to fandom to barbershop chorus, and I don't find it hard (though it has sometimes been tedious). But the longest story I've written since the mid-1980s (when I produced a couple of romances intended for Mills & Boon but did not get them published) is... er, actually, I'm not quite sure how long it is, watch this space. About 50,000 words, I think. I'm not sure if I have the stamina to produce an actual book, and this disappoints me. Or maybe I don't have the confidence, since I have a plot (loosely speaking) and a situation and characters in mind, but cannot bring myself to start doing the actual work, probably because I don't think it will be good enough.
I can point to achievements-along-the-way, like my Dragon Challenge, like Camp Sparkle, like winning a prize for a cheesecake in a village show, like learning a new craft and producing saleable pieces for the kids' school's Christmas fair. Like, a handful of successfully directed amateur shows, a smattering of minor principal roles. Like, managing to rear children who actually like me, which is never a given. On the other hand, doing a decent job of being a parent isn't something to brag about, really-it's the basic requirement. I could definitely have done better.
It seems to me that I'm a reasonably decent human being, with a pleasing selection of minor talents. But can I brag about myself? Not today. This entry was also posted at https://pensnest.dreamwidth.org/688193.html. Please comment at Dreamwidth if you can-you don't need an account.
The challenge is: Brag about yourself. Tell us what things you've done that you're proud of; the things that make you the wonderful person you are.
I've been thinking lately that I haven't really done anything to be proud of. Nothing that I can point to and say, I did that. That was an achievement. Which, maybe, isn't true. I used to think that okay, I never had a career worth the name, and missed out on working in fields that I would have actually enjoyed and been good at, but I had achieved Happiness, through a very happy marriage, two pretty fine children, and a life that suited my lazy self. And so what if I never got a book published.
Except now, at the age when death begins to look like a real thing that will happen to me and that's okay, I'm looking back and thinking, couldn't I have done a bit more?
I think it's because I'm a competent amateur at everything I like to do. I'm a decent cook. I can create pleasing artwork of various kinds, without actually being able to reproduce the pictures inside my head because I have no technique. I'm a decent knitter, a decent card-maker, a decent creator of fannish graphics, that kind of thing. I am reasonably musical, able to hold a harmony and to read music, but not a good musician.
I am, I think, a good writer. If you had the stamina and will-power, you could probably go through my fanfic over the last nearly thirty years and see that I have become a better writer of stories as a consequence of being in fandom, that wonderful and supportive environment for tellers of tales. (What the heck, if anyone is interested, this was My First Fanfic, and this is my most recently completed work.) I've also produced newsletters at various intervals during my life, from college to theatre group to fandom to barbershop chorus, and I don't find it hard (though it has sometimes been tedious). But the longest story I've written since the mid-1980s (when I produced a couple of romances intended for Mills & Boon but did not get them published) is... er, actually, I'm not quite sure how long it is, watch this space. About 50,000 words, I think. I'm not sure if I have the stamina to produce an actual book, and this disappoints me. Or maybe I don't have the confidence, since I have a plot (loosely speaking) and a situation and characters in mind, but cannot bring myself to start doing the actual work, probably because I don't think it will be good enough.
I can point to achievements-along-the-way, like my Dragon Challenge, like Camp Sparkle, like winning a prize for a cheesecake in a village show, like learning a new craft and producing saleable pieces for the kids' school's Christmas fair. Like, a handful of successfully directed amateur shows, a smattering of minor principal roles. Like, managing to rear children who actually like me, which is never a given. On the other hand, doing a decent job of being a parent isn't something to brag about, really-it's the basic requirement. I could definitely have done better.
It seems to me that I'm a reasonably decent human being, with a pleasing selection of minor talents. But can I brag about myself? Not today. This entry was also posted at https://pensnest.dreamwidth.org/688193.html. Please comment at Dreamwidth if you can-you don't need an account.