Fame, fan-girls, etc.
Apr. 27th, 2003 06:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pegkerrI've been thinking about making this entry for a few days. I've struggled a bit over the drafting of it, and I'm not certain I've expressed myself very well and fear I will end up looking like a fool, but oh, well. If I blow it, I suppose you'll forgive me eventually. Here goes.
I've thought about this periodically through the years, throughout my growth as a writer, and it came to the forefront again for me just recently because of some of the replies I received on my entries concerning career envy and my dinner with Pat and Lois.
How to say this without sounding . . . um. Like I'm being coy. Or like someone who presents a face of false modesty, but is really a condescending, egotistical boor. Like Gilderoy Lockhart. Or Lena in "Singing in the Rain," who says to a crowd who have come out to see the premiere of one of her movies, "Thank you so much for letting our movies brighten up your hum drum little lives."
Um. Well. Yes, I'm a professional writer, meaning that I've written books that have been published. But please believe me, I'm just a person like everyone else. If you've been following my journal for a while, you know that I also have a very mundane day job, have to cope with a messy house, and periodically have to fight off the urge to throttle my kids.
Yes, I'm friends with some other writers who are well-known. Some I've known for a long time (Pat went to college with Rob), and some I've just gotten to know gradually over the years. Some I've known since long before they were publishing.
(And here's the part I'm really nervous that I'm not going to express very well:) I hope that you understand that when I talk in my journal about a pleasant evening with Pat and Lois it's not because I'm trying name-drop, to get across the idea "I hang out with famous people (and you don't)." Yes, Pat and Lois are very well-known. But I don't think about that when I spend time with them, because they're both very friendly and down-to-earth people. In that way, they are a fine example for me! Part of what I'm doing (I hope) in this journal is demystifying writing (and writers). We got together for dinner, like friends do, and we talked about Lois's trip and looked at post cards, and I went home with Pat and admired her walk in closet. Very normal, isn't it?
Listen, I understand the urge to be a fan-girl. I understand it because I've been a fan-girl, too. I remember when my heart would pound and my hands would sweat whenever I tried to talk to someone whose work I admired. I sought out authors for conversations, because I wanted to learn all I could from them, but felt so self-conscious, so afraid of saying the wrong thing, like they were demi-gods or something, who would look down their noses at me because I wasn't published, and therefore not as cool as they were. And what's more I'm still a fan-girl. There are still writers that make me feel that way when I have the chance to speak to them in conversation.
I think I started mulling over this for the first time when I read Emma Bull's War for the Oaks, and I went to her book signing. We'd known each other as sort of distant acquaintances in the Minneapolis sf fandom world. I had brought a card for her in which I told her how much I'd loved her book. I was so nervous giving her the card, afraid she would think I was a dork. I got the book signed, and then went and browsed nearby bookshelves, but really trying to eavesdrop on her conversations with other people. I heard her open the card and exclaim aloud to herself when she read it, in delight and awed disbelief: "Three times! She says she read it three times!" I suddenly realized that while I was overwhelmed at the very idea of trying to talk to her, Published Author, she was overwhelmed at the very idea that I liked her work so much.
It feels extremely strange to realize that I'm starting to have that effect on other people. I am surprised when I realize that people sometimes get nervous talking to me. I've been brought up sharply once or twice by the realization that what I say in my LiveJournal carried an inordinate amount of weight, simply because my books been published.
I remember once years back when I was working on an sf convention committee, and one of the things we did was to send a letter to the SFWA list of published writers, telling them that if they would be willing to come to our convention, we would be happy to have them and would waive the registration fee. I got a phone call from one author (who shall remain nameless) who seemed irate that we would DARE to invite him to a convention without paying his hotel and travel expenses. Didn't we have any idea how important he was? He was accustomed to better treatment than our shabby little invitation. I remember hanging up the phone and telling Rob that I hoped that God would strike me dead before I ever got that egotistical and puffed-up with myself.
So I guess what I want to say to you is, if you ever see me at Nimbus or Wiscon or at a book-signing somewhere, and you'd like to talk to me, don't be shy because of who I am or who I know. Come on up and strike up a conversation with me. I write books, but please don't let that intimidate you. Many of the people I respect the most, whose conversations I enjoy the most have never dreamed of writing books. I really REALLY don't ever want to become a Gilderoy Lockhart, narcissistically fixated all the time on my own fame. But if you do feel nervous about meeting or talking with me, I'll understand, believe me. It's okay.
(Okay. Now I'm hesitating whether to post this.)
(Okay . . . posting.)
(And ducking)
Cheers,
Peg
I've thought about this periodically through the years, throughout my growth as a writer, and it came to the forefront again for me just recently because of some of the replies I received on my entries concerning career envy and my dinner with Pat and Lois.
How to say this without sounding . . . um. Like I'm being coy. Or like someone who presents a face of false modesty, but is really a condescending, egotistical boor. Like Gilderoy Lockhart. Or Lena in "Singing in the Rain," who says to a crowd who have come out to see the premiere of one of her movies, "Thank you so much for letting our movies brighten up your hum drum little lives."
Um. Well. Yes, I'm a professional writer, meaning that I've written books that have been published. But please believe me, I'm just a person like everyone else. If you've been following my journal for a while, you know that I also have a very mundane day job, have to cope with a messy house, and periodically have to fight off the urge to throttle my kids.
Yes, I'm friends with some other writers who are well-known. Some I've known for a long time (Pat went to college with Rob), and some I've just gotten to know gradually over the years. Some I've known since long before they were publishing.
(And here's the part I'm really nervous that I'm not going to express very well:) I hope that you understand that when I talk in my journal about a pleasant evening with Pat and Lois it's not because I'm trying name-drop, to get across the idea "I hang out with famous people (and you don't)." Yes, Pat and Lois are very well-known. But I don't think about that when I spend time with them, because they're both very friendly and down-to-earth people. In that way, they are a fine example for me! Part of what I'm doing (I hope) in this journal is demystifying writing (and writers). We got together for dinner, like friends do, and we talked about Lois's trip and looked at post cards, and I went home with Pat and admired her walk in closet. Very normal, isn't it?
Listen, I understand the urge to be a fan-girl. I understand it because I've been a fan-girl, too. I remember when my heart would pound and my hands would sweat whenever I tried to talk to someone whose work I admired. I sought out authors for conversations, because I wanted to learn all I could from them, but felt so self-conscious, so afraid of saying the wrong thing, like they were demi-gods or something, who would look down their noses at me because I wasn't published, and therefore not as cool as they were. And what's more I'm still a fan-girl. There are still writers that make me feel that way when I have the chance to speak to them in conversation.
I think I started mulling over this for the first time when I read Emma Bull's War for the Oaks, and I went to her book signing. We'd known each other as sort of distant acquaintances in the Minneapolis sf fandom world. I had brought a card for her in which I told her how much I'd loved her book. I was so nervous giving her the card, afraid she would think I was a dork. I got the book signed, and then went and browsed nearby bookshelves, but really trying to eavesdrop on her conversations with other people. I heard her open the card and exclaim aloud to herself when she read it, in delight and awed disbelief: "Three times! She says she read it three times!" I suddenly realized that while I was overwhelmed at the very idea of trying to talk to her, Published Author, she was overwhelmed at the very idea that I liked her work so much.
It feels extremely strange to realize that I'm starting to have that effect on other people. I am surprised when I realize that people sometimes get nervous talking to me. I've been brought up sharply once or twice by the realization that what I say in my LiveJournal carried an inordinate amount of weight, simply because my books been published.
I remember once years back when I was working on an sf convention committee, and one of the things we did was to send a letter to the SFWA list of published writers, telling them that if they would be willing to come to our convention, we would be happy to have them and would waive the registration fee. I got a phone call from one author (who shall remain nameless) who seemed irate that we would DARE to invite him to a convention without paying his hotel and travel expenses. Didn't we have any idea how important he was? He was accustomed to better treatment than our shabby little invitation. I remember hanging up the phone and telling Rob that I hoped that God would strike me dead before I ever got that egotistical and puffed-up with myself.
So I guess what I want to say to you is, if you ever see me at Nimbus or Wiscon or at a book-signing somewhere, and you'd like to talk to me, don't be shy because of who I am or who I know. Come on up and strike up a conversation with me. I write books, but please don't let that intimidate you. Many of the people I respect the most, whose conversations I enjoy the most have never dreamed of writing books. I really REALLY don't ever want to become a Gilderoy Lockhart, narcissistically fixated all the time on my own fame. But if you do feel nervous about meeting or talking with me, I'll understand, believe me. It's okay.
(Okay. Now I'm hesitating whether to post this.)
(Okay . . . posting.)
(And ducking)
Cheers,
Peg
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(no subject)
Date: 2003-04-28 12:22 am (UTC)I was an amateur writer before I became a fangirl... and I'm *still* more interested in the 'writing' part than the 'drooling' part, simply because that's what I want to do: write. It doesn't mean I find fandom 'inferior' though - even if my work involves non-fiction and my dreams lie with publishing original fiction. I love fanfic for many, many things and particularly for all I've learned - both good and bad.
Yeah, I'm a RL editor and translator (non-fiction) with a whole lot of stuff I've worked on published or in mass circulation. So much for bragging. BUT, God help me if I come over as a know-it-all. I often volunteer to edit and beta fanfic because I honestly want to contribute and in doing so to (quite selfishly) learn more about fiction writing as I do so. Sure, I warn my 'victims' what I do for a living, mostly so they don't get uptight when I spill a lot of red ink on their stuff (adding that it's to take or leave as they choose in most cases - this isn't 'RL' editing!). I try very hard not to come over as the 'one true beta', mind, because that simply isn't true. Others, however, react in ways that range from obvious disappointment when I don't gush, or at times sheer spite: 'who does she think she is?'. Ouch. It's been pointed out to me that I make typos and other blunders in my own writing: ones I immediately spot in other people's work. Dammit of *course* I do. Being an editor isn't the same thing as being a writer.
No, you weren't name dropping. I get pulled up occasionally with people I edit for who write about crime because I quote facts from one of my major clients, and get a rather snippish 'how would you know'. It's not easy to retort 'because I've just written a report or translated a document involving world experts on bioterrorism / counterfeiting / human trafficking, etc.'. It's not showing off: it happens to be what I do. If they then want readers to suspend belief, that's their call but usually they actually ask 'could this happen' and I'll give an honest answer even if it's not what they want to hear. And hell no, it's not a glamorous part of my profession for most things: I'm just the hired help with the skills they need. OK, it's fun being met at foreign airports by policemen and skipping customs, or having discussions around coffee with a group of ex-FBI and Secret Service guys, just as it must be to have dinner with other authors or to do a signing session. There's nothing wrong with being *proud* of what you do and enjoying the perks, but there's a world of difference between that and boasting.
So keep on being yourself... and I'm off to Amazon to find one of your books. Can't think I could pick one of the shelf in Switzerland unless you're translated into French or German, and I'd rather read the original anyway.