Amazing Stories publishes article complaining that women are getting their girl cooties all over Science Fiction.
Rachel Edidin recounts while she will never return to the Penny Arcade Expo.
Please note the use of the word 'another'.
It's always our fault. Even when it isn't.
And this morning, an email from a friend.
Subject: Me: Suffering from Delusions of Grandeur
"And here's the rub- I like to write. I do it often. I haven't
attempted to publish fiction since high school. And when I read my own
stuff- it stinks. The short stories. The two attempts at novels. And
then I have this crisis of faith: maybe my writing does stink and that's
why I'm not writing.
I'm not asking you to hold my hand here through the long, arduous,
torturous, complicated process of shepherding something from the
recesses of one's brain into an edited volume... rather, I would so love
it if you could just bitch slap me- literally or figuratively. One way
or the other- just a nice: "---, you are a worthless writer- spend
your time doing something you are actually good at." Or: "---, you
might have had potential in high school- but you have some serious
catching up to do if you ever want to publish anything in the real
world. Now, get your ass in gear, do 5 wolfman's and drink a glass of
Please note the lack of a third option: "You are a wonderful writer and all you need to do is send stuff out."
But sometimes awesomeness happens too.
And sometimes, something deeper. And more personal.