Tuesday, April 18, 2006

This is the bigtime.

Most of the writing I do is unpaid. Several people have looked down their noses at me, told me I'm not a "real" writer, not a "professional," even though neither has anything to do with payment. I also am apparently a bad wife for not contributing more financially. Because, you know, that is anyone's business.

My husband has supported me emotionally and financially for several years while I figure out what the fuck I am doing. For most of that time I was not contributing at all financially, or was working part-time and miserable. My writing did not exactly take off for the first few years, and even now I am often unmotivated. Will has rarely even considered asking me to get a "real job" and wants nothing more than for me to be a successful writer. I am so fucking lucky.

All the reviews I've written for Creature Corner, the blogging I do at b.la, the stuff I'm doing for Noneuclidean Cafe -- I look at all of it as practice, honing of my skill, as a way to get my name out there and show people what I can do.

And it's worked. The naysayers should go fuck themselves (with no release) because today I deposited a check for my Bettie Page review. My writing got exposure to a large readership I would otherwise have never reached and I got paid. Admittedly peanuts, but nice honey roasted peanuts.

Now if I could just get some attention for original work...