Steps Towards Becoming A Real Writer
I’ve discovered that my feeling of being a Real Writer is ephemeral, easily stolen. It comes for a few minutes after I’ve been published in a nice magazine, flares for a day or two when I get a kind review, and the Nebula kept it stoked for like a month.
But it fades. Impostor syndrome sets in. The latest story is rife with flaws I can’t quite tease out. Rereading this draft with fresh eyes just shows me how bad I am. And so, inevitably, I return to being a man who writes, but not a Real Writer – a state I imagine to feeling very much like the angels do, floating above it all, informed directly by a greater wisdom.
Weirdly, the thing that made me feel most like a Real Writer this year?
Hatred.
In the forums discussing my latest Pseudopod story, one guy said, “I haven’t liked a single Ferrett Steinmetz story thus far, and not only did I truly despise his fairy unicorn story on Podcastle (I can’t recall the name), but I thought his author’s note was particularly arrogant and obnoxious.”
And I thought, wow. I’m part of the club.
I mean, anyone can like a story of mine, and those who post here are inclined to tell me nice things. Impostor Syndrome causes me to all-too-often discard those compliments like junk mail, because I can’t possibly process sincere affection for my work.
But to hate me? I mean, not to just dislike a story I wrote, but to bump into enough of them to accumulate a dislike of me personally, and then despair as I showed up yet again? Wow. A guy like that isn’t going to blow smoke up my ass, since he didn’t even know I’d read his comment, and the fact that yeah, I guess I have been on the ‘Pod network enough to become an annoyingly regular occurrence made me go, holy crap, this is real in a way no nice review ever had.
Go figure. Of course, the guy went on to say that he actually liked this story, which I found a tinge disappointing, because now he likes at least one thing I wrote and of course that must be a lie. But the detestation? Pure reality. And it made me Real.
My Wife Requires Your Assistance. She Is A Good Person.
Back after vacation, and my mind is a jumble of potential posts. Some Sad Things happened on vacation with the old ticker that make me realize a major portion of why I blog, I’m still chewing over Trayvon Martin, and of course I’m simultaneously jetlagged and on island time while untangling 100 catchup tickets from my Day Job.
So of course I’m shilling for Gini!
On Saturday, my wife will be riding 150 miles to raise funds to battle Multiple Sclerosis. Or she will be trying to. A hairline fracture in her foot from the triathlon has hampered her workout schedule, and the vacation even more so, so she’s basically headed into a long, gruelling ride without a whole lot of training. Which means she’s going to be busting her back even more than usual to help out.
But this is personal. One of our dearest friends in town, the vivacious Patti Substelny, suffers from this dread disease – and being the larger-than-life figure she is, she’s assembled a whole team of people to assist her in this quest. Gini is a proud member of Patti’s Paladins, and every cent she raises helps Patti and thousands like her to get relief from their dysfunctional immune systems.
Gini feels bad because she hasn’t been as aggressive raising funds this year, so I’ll help her out: this is for a life-threatening illness, it’s something my beloved wife is sweating over, and it’s over by Sunday. She’s gonna pedal her heart out for good people, and I for one would appreciate it if you’d throw in what you could to encourage her and aid some people who need it.
$35 will fund self-help groups. $65 will fund wellness programs. $120 will pay for a physical therapy session, and $200 will help bribe politicians. But even $1, $5, or $10 will make a difference. So please help if you can.