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.

It simply refuses to believe that it ain't personal.

Well, you can write.

So Sayeth I.

Deal with that, ma'am.

bitterchick, part of the deal for me is that I literally try and shove any ego investment in a drawer. Is it good work? Am I uncertain about that? Then I'd best be showing it to people and if a sufficient number of them tell me it sucks, I should probably look at it and see if I agree.

I wish I knew had to do that. The separating myself from the work thing. I mean, I've written stuff that I felt was crap, which never saw the light of day. And I've written stuff that I'm very proud of, which, oddly enough, also never sees the light of day.

I've wondered if I should write under a pseudonym. Because I'm okay with anonymously submitting my stuff to contests. I just get incredibly freaked out by sending anything to someone I know when my name is on the title page.