I did about six articles for one of Philadelphia's weekly papers back in the day. So far, that's all I've been paid for. But I'm posting this on a break from typing in some of those old clips (I've long since lost the original Word files) so DH can upload them to the web and I can use them when I email queries. As soon as they're live, my first query is going out. And, I'm working on my first novel.

I've written fanfic in the past, and probably will again. I've got a farm full of Buffy plot bunnies which are going unwritten mostly because of sheer lack of time. Now that I'm taking Saturdays off from any of my "work" projects, I might go back to it.

Well - I neve sat down and said, I Must Write and be A Writer Lady, or anything like that. I was a musician, and a songwriter, I directed drama, I danced for seven years (never all that well, though; big-assed bones), I worked on movie sound and recording sound. It was a sort of 1970's theme song - have talent, will travel, and damned near everyone I knew did something like that, in bits and pieces.

I wrote because one day my husband suggested I sit down and write, so I did, and it didn't sell (actually, it did, but no-longer-agent declined the offer without consulting me). But later books did.

In the end, I think we all kinda do what we do. But I'd have to say that anyone who sits down at a computer or typewriter or whatever, cracks their knuckles, and says hmmmm, today I will take the first step away from my job as an insurance salesperson by writing lucrative fiction needs to tell me where they buy their hallucinogens.

But I'd have to say that anyone who sits down at a computer or typewriter or whatever, cracks their knuckles, and says hmmmm, today I will take the first step away from my job as an insurance salesperson by writing lucrative fiction needs to tell me where they buy their hallucinogens.

The brilliant thing about my job is that I can supply my own hallucinogens!

The brilliant thing about my job is that I can supply my own hallucinogens!

Shades of Doonesbury, Uncle Duke, real world Hunter Thompson. "Whap" "Whatcha doing under the desk, Uncle Duke?" "Killing bats with my ruler." "Bats?" "Yeah. Really big hairy ones. Whenever I take too many South American hallucinogens, I start seeing huge hairy bats." (WHAP!) (beat) "But enough about me. WHAP! How's your mother?"

I have no illusions about the lucrative aspect. It's the bone-chilling rejection issue that gets me. I mean, I already know I can't dance, sing, play music, or really do pretty much anything. So I like keeping to my delusion that I'm an acceptable enough hack, and this way no one can tell me otherwise.

Hell, it was hard enough sending out my first few fanfiction pieces. I kept waiting for the "THAT SUCKS" mail to roll on in.

Huh. I seem to be having self-image monsters again. Kill them! Kill them all!

I kept waiting for the "THAT SUCKS" mail to roll on in.

And instead you got mail that said GUNN SUCKS ... WESLEY! Excellent job, my good woman!

I'm writing because I realized that the one thing I'd regret not doing on my deathbed is if I never finished a novel. (Well, there's a lot of places I'd regret not seeing if I don't get to do a lot more traveling between now and dying, but writing is much cheaper than flying to New Zealand or Italy.) And, I'm going to try my hand at freelancing, both magazine/newspaper and making a profit off my knack for resumes, cover letters, and fundraising materials. But I'm not expecting lucrative. I'll be satisfied if I can support myself well enough from my writing to only need to work part time, thrilled if I can actually make a decent middle class living at it.

Plei, the thing about bone-chilling rejections is that they generally have fuck all to do with your ability to write. Mostly, you aren't commercial. They don't know how to "niche" you (yes, I've heard it used as a damned verb). Your "shelf-marketing strategy" is "obscure."

Signed, Cross-Over Writer Who Has Heard This Shite Before.

So I like keeping to my delusion that I'm an acceptable enough hack, and this way no one can tell me otherwise.

Yes, this. I have a very difficult time letting anyone see my non-fannish writings. Especially when they're people I know and/or respect. I've actually given scripts to someone and then told them not to read them. It was this, combined with my utter lack of self-promotion ability, that led to me giving up writing as a career path.

Oh, just like any job, really. Oddly, especially in my field.

And my brain knows that, it really does. But the part of me that was last to be picked for any sport? It simply refuses to believe that it ain't personal.