It’s not for me.

In an effort to widen my lit related reading I follow a lot of links posted on facebook etc.

Lately there have been a lot of links to essays all about the whole follow your bliss thing.


One of the problems I have always had with this sort of thing especially when people urge me to quit my telcom job and flap my wings etc etc is that, my universe doesn’t function like that.

If I don’t make every cent of my paycheck nobody is there to pay my rent.

How could I write the next American Novel nobody will have heard of if I’m homeless?

How would I keep my disabled partner in meds and socks?

Where in this current culture of fluffy happy follow your rainbowness do people who don’t have savings from 6 figure jobs, are already somewhat famous in lit circles etc fit in?

Are we not as real of writers because we hang on to our shitty jobs?

There’s another layer to my annoyance.

If  it’s great to publish essays that are full of YOU CAN DO IT, THE UNIVERSE PROVIDES where are the essays for folks like me?

Where is the diversity of voices so many lit zines loudly proclaim they have?

I’m not saying everything has to be raw and bloody but, some raw and bloody is okay.

I’m not angry really, I’m more somewhat amused. I’m noticing that the lit zines I used to love to read I don’t so much anymore because I can’t entirely ignore the Whiteness, The Sameness and the lack of work that is for me as a reader. After that feeling I am realizing that those are not places for my own work and I’ve done a little sad author angsting to myself about that.

It’s okay though.

My solution is to keep writing about Blackness the way I do. Keep writing about fatness while being an actually fat person. I’ll keep my searching going. I’ll scour the internet outside of Duotrope for magazines that are specifically welcoming of people of color and us Queers.

What do I do?

Write like a mother fucker.

Remind myself that I am not the writer for everybody and that’s okay.

Do a fuckload of research.


Get rejected a lot.

Sometimes get published.

Enjoy myself as I can.

Don’t fight myself.

Write the stories only I can.

In other news, I have officially raised/saved almost a quarter of the money to deal with my teeth and I’m super excited. I am grinding away because I have some opportunities to meet new people (HI Rauan) and read at AWP/go to AWP and I have got to get this dealt with before any of that can happen. I’m kind of lispy because of it, a little swollen at times and a lot self conscious about smiling at people.

That’s all for right now. I have a fuckton of work to do tonight editing and writing and watnot.



3 thoughts on “It’s not for me.

  1. Throwing out all responsibility to follow writing full-time isn’t feasible in the real world, especially when you have people that are dependent on you. I’m tired of people pushing the ‘real’ aspect for any and every thing a person could use to describe themselves, too – people doing things different don’t invalidate anyone’s life choices, and nobody should need to use the phrase “real writers do this” to make themselves feel better, as there’s always those that ARE writers that are not going to fit into that.

    That’s my needlessly long way of saying I agree.

    1. It is really tiresome. It was easier to avoid back in the day when I didn’t have the internet.

      I also worry when that seems to be the only acceptable narrative. It’s boring. There’s too many of us writer types around for that to be the One True Way. It’s silly.

      1. For a supposedly creative bunch, writers can be pretty single-minded about their personal approach being the only way to write ‘properly’. I spend way too much time on writing-related groups, and most of that feels like it’s pointing out their “writing truths” and maxims and “absolutely vital rules” are just bullshit that works for them.

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