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mmerriamI have been forced to set aside the novel for a few days while I beat Over the Bridge back into shape. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
careswen handed me the marked up manuscript, which I spent the day making corrections on. For a story that semi-finaled in the Hubbard Contest, it seemed to still need a lot of work. However, that work is finished and I will now pass it back to careswen for one final read through before sending it back out.
I did actually do some work on the novel, setting a couple of scenes and writing a little dialogue. I also started writing the final scene. I may not actually use the scene I write for the end, but it will at least give me something to write toward.
I received another critique on The Foundling yesterday. This one was well written, pointing out things that he liked and thought were well done, as well as things that he thought needed more work. Interestingly enough, it came from the writer who won the Hubbard contest for the quarter I semi-finaled in. Oddly enough, we had written crits for each other on the stories we sent to the contest.
SF writers meetup was last night at Dulono's Pizza. We seem to have developed a good core group in just two meetings. This session was a little more relaxed, as we had met the month before, so we at least knew each other's faces. We discussed projects each of us are working on, including throwing a million ideas atallochthon about the novelette she's writing. We talked about good SF&F books we've recently read. We rambled about things that had nothing to do with writing, and generally got to know each other a little more. I hope that we can continue to attract some new faces every month, but the group that came last night was fun.
One thing did happen that left me thinking about how I present myself to the world.
It was a simple question really. The kind of thing that is asked all the time in polite company. Hilary asked me how I earn my living.
And I froze like a deer in the headlights.
I mumbled something to the effect that I don't anymore, but I go to school. I must have sounded like I was trying to evade the question, and I fear I came across as, at best, a bit unfriendly, and at worst, rude.
Now, I have no trouble talking about my visual impairment. Ask away; I'm happy to answer any question you have. I have absolutely no problem discussing my disability.
But apparently, I have trouble discussing being on disability.
I don't have a real world job anymore. I go to school. I do my rehab training. I write. However, my primary source of income is Social Security. It feels odd to say that though. Like it's something shameful.
I know it isn't. I know that someday I will be back out there working in the real world, because really, how many writers actually live off their writing income?
And I do work. I write. I keep the house. I go to rehab training. Still, there's this implied stigma about not Working, because now you're one of Those People. The ones who take the hard earned tax dollars of the working man as a government handout and give nothing in return. Never mind the twenty-five years of hard work and tax paying I've put in. And what's more, I know that 98% of the problem is in my own little pointed head.
So I want to apologize to anyone if I've ever come across as evasive or rude when asked the "what do you do for a living" question. And please, keep asking me those questions. Keep making me think about how I present myself to the world.
In Peace
Michael
careswen handed me the marked up manuscript, which I spent the day making corrections on. For a story that semi-finaled in the Hubbard Contest, it seemed to still need a lot of work. However, that work is finished and I will now pass it back to careswen for one final read through before sending it back out.I did actually do some work on the novel, setting a couple of scenes and writing a little dialogue. I also started writing the final scene. I may not actually use the scene I write for the end, but it will at least give me something to write toward.
I received another critique on The Foundling yesterday. This one was well written, pointing out things that he liked and thought were well done, as well as things that he thought needed more work. Interestingly enough, it came from the writer who won the Hubbard contest for the quarter I semi-finaled in. Oddly enough, we had written crits for each other on the stories we sent to the contest.
SF writers meetup was last night at Dulono's Pizza. We seem to have developed a good core group in just two meetings. This session was a little more relaxed, as we had met the month before, so we at least knew each other's faces. We discussed projects each of us are working on, including throwing a million ideas at
allochthon about the novelette she's writing. We talked about good SF&F books we've recently read. We rambled about things that had nothing to do with writing, and generally got to know each other a little more. I hope that we can continue to attract some new faces every month, but the group that came last night was fun.One thing did happen that left me thinking about how I present myself to the world.
It was a simple question really. The kind of thing that is asked all the time in polite company. Hilary asked me how I earn my living.
And I froze like a deer in the headlights.
I mumbled something to the effect that I don't anymore, but I go to school. I must have sounded like I was trying to evade the question, and I fear I came across as, at best, a bit unfriendly, and at worst, rude.
Now, I have no trouble talking about my visual impairment. Ask away; I'm happy to answer any question you have. I have absolutely no problem discussing my disability.
But apparently, I have trouble discussing being on disability.
I don't have a real world job anymore. I go to school. I do my rehab training. I write. However, my primary source of income is Social Security. It feels odd to say that though. Like it's something shameful.
I know it isn't. I know that someday I will be back out there working in the real world, because really, how many writers actually live off their writing income?
And I do work. I write. I keep the house. I go to rehab training. Still, there's this implied stigma about not Working, because now you're one of Those People. The ones who take the hard earned tax dollars of the working man as a government handout and give nothing in return. Never mind the twenty-five years of hard work and tax paying I've put in. And what's more, I know that 98% of the problem is in my own little pointed head.
So I want to apologize to anyone if I've ever come across as evasive or rude when asked the "what do you do for a living" question. And please, keep asking me those questions. Keep making me think about how I present myself to the world.
In Peace
Michael
