#30: All the May that's fit to print (so far)
Good morning, ladies and germs! This week -- this month, really -- has been what is referred to in the parlance as busy. I know, it's a technical term, but stay with me.
The past couple of weeks have been jam-packed with Author Stuff. It's important to note that Author Stuff is not Writing Stuff; in fact, for me at least, it's an enjoyable opposite. But I've managed to get a decent amount of work done on my secretest of secret books anyway (I've told maybe two people in the world about this one, and neither of them is an agent or editor yet -- I have a little time in my schedule to just write a whole ms. and so that's what I'm doing and it's funny and weird and probably no one will want it but I'm having the best time), so the tick-tick-tick of panic that sometimes sets in during Author Stuff-heavy periods has been quieter. It helps that a lot of it is local/regional. By design I tried to schedule less travel away from home this spring so I could get more writing done. Returning to the cocoon of home where I write best and most at the end of the day, with the doggos and that cat and the ability to even eat a salad or vegetable at some point, helps.
Last week ended with a huge surprise -- Lois Lane: Double Down is a finalist for the 2017 Locus Awards for YA novel, among some incredible company. I have zero ZERO hope of winning, but I'm seriously delighted. This is my first award nomination of this type and I've been a Locus reader and news follower for more than a decade. Not a surprise, because I did the interview, but an equally surreal thrill is a new long interview with the delovely Nivea Sarrao for Entertainment Weekly about all things Lois and Clark in honor of Triple Threat's publication. Nivea knows Lois and comics (and many many other things) like few journalists do and it was a blast to chat with her. Christopher and I have been doing school visits for Supernormal Sleuthing Service: The Lost Legacy all week, which have been wonderful -- I knew he'd be great at them and we have so much fun, and the kids are just THE BEST and so excited about reading; we can't wait to set up more for the fall and some skype visits too. (If you're a teacher or librarian interested in maybe setting something up, just get in touch.) (Oh, and we did a post for Tor.com on some of our influences and a Big Idea for Scalzi. Buy the book! It's perfect for any kid you know's summer reading. And maybe your own!) And then last night I read at the 21C Museum Hotel in Louisville as part of Spalding MFA's Voice and Vision series; it was a spectacular night of readings and I started mine by saying, "Welcome to this dream about imposter syndrome I'm having. Thank you for coming."
Perhaps it's no surprise after that paragraph that I've been making a lot of jokes about imposter syndrome lately. I hate imposter syndrome jokes. Almost as much as I hate imposter syndrome. It gives it more power to name and indulge it, I think. There is always that little voice whenever something good happens (or when something bad happens) whispering things like: Everyone knows this is a fluke. There's no way you deserve this. No one likes your work. Elementary school doesn't go away, it just lives inside you and gets meaner. I don't want to overstate this -- I am mostly able to shrug this off. Just as I was mostly able to shrug off jerks growing up. I've always found that working insanely hard helps in making the voice less distinct. I don't feel like imposter syndrome itself is a big problem for me, at least not more than it is for most writers I know. It's just there, sometimes or usually. You just wave to it and get on with your work and try not to look at it too directly. (Making eye contact with the Imposter Monster is always a mistake.)
But also? And this is one of those terrible truths -- people love imposter syndrome jokes from women. It makes you seem more approachable. It makes people less likely to consider you cocky. Self-deprecation is a valuable skill for women who write (and who do most anything else well). Should it be, though? This is what bugs me about making the jokes and why I'm telling myself to Quit It and you can hold me to it. I know the little elementary school voice isn't going anywhere, but I don't want to play that game that tells women they can't be publicly proud of their accomplishments. That we ever have to apologize for being at a podium or in a room. If nothing else, the fact we keep working and creating in spite of the Imposter Monster means we should at least get to brag once in awhile without worrying that people are sitting out there judging. I LOVE bragging about other people's accomplishments, especially the amazing women I know. I don't want to miss anything that happens that you guys are proud of.
So sing them loud, ladies. Own what you've done. Ignore the voice of doom. (And germs. Germs can have accomplishments too. I kid, you know I love you men reading this. I'm talking to the women because men -- whether you feel this way or not -- usually just get to be marked Confident and not Cocky when you own your accomplishments. I want us all to be able to do that.)
All right, now I owe you a funny story. So last night at this reading (which was truly great -- the other readers were fabulous), I decided to read a scene between Lois Lane and Perry White in which she has to tell him some stories he wrote that were nominated for a Pulitzer and brought down a mayor were wrong and that it was actually all far more sinister. It felt fitting after this week of news. The gallery we were in was the environmental-themed one and filled with some spectacular art. The photos on the wall behind me in that picture are of a room at a woman the photographer befriended's crumbling estate in Cuba; the one you can see is when he got to know her, and the one I'm in front of is after her granddaughter moved in and added to the space where the chairs are a clothesline and more light. On the other wall was an Italian photographer who did a series of beautiful work of buildings that were abandoned and decaying but hadn't been vandalized. These were mostly government institutions, including asylums. Picture corners of Versailles in shambles. An auditorium of empty, fading seats and a piano. Obviously, I'm saying, appropriate art -- Lois Lane would look at these photos and see a reflection of the scene in Washington at the moment. So I did my reading and people seemed to like it (I alone did not have to apologize for being depressing at any point, so there's that!).
Afterward I was circulating and this older man came up to ask me something. He says, "I just had to ask you, did you say Barry White?"
I blink, unsure if non sequiturs are just something this guy does. He seems sincere, so I say, "No, why?"
"Well, I thought you said Barry White and I saw a car when I was parking with a personalized license plate. It said Barry White. So I just wondered."
"Oh no! I said Perry White. You know, the editor from Superman."
"Do you think Barry White is here? In town for a show?"
At this point, I realize this guy is completely sincere and has no idea who Perry White is. But I also have bad news to deliver... "Um, he's dead? So it seems unlikely."
The kinds of strange conversations you have post-readings sometimes.
Wishing you all a lovely weekend, many accomplishments, and the best of non sequiturs,
G