I Want to Go to There

This weekend was the Hugo Awards at Worldcon (the World Science Fiction Convention) down in ye ol’ Tejas. The Hugo Awards seem to be pretty good representation of what’s popular in the world of science fiction, since they’re both nominated and voted on by the folk attending the convention. A bit insular perhaps, but most people seem to put Hugos in the “for fun” category. It’s a bunch of science fiction, fantasy and horror buffs getting together and celebrating their favorites.

What this meant for me: my Twitter feed exploded into one big nerdgasm. Authors drinking together, photo-bombing one another, congratulating each other. One big room where everyone was geeking out about the same thing: writing.

And waking up on Monday morning, flicking through the Twitter stream, one giant thought kept replaying over and over in my head:

Look, I feel like I’m a pretty realistic sort. I have no illusions of grandeur. Some of these authors are at the top of their game, and I know I would be incredibly lucky to be even half as successful as they are. But that wasn’t really what was inspiring me — I was just excited about the thought of working in the same field as these folks, of being in a whole room full of people who just get it. Who understand the weird pastime that is writing, who get excited about plot lines and their possibilities, who nod knowingly when you say, “I’m sorry, I can’t tonight; I have to go home and write.”

Now, to be totally fair, I do have snippets of this in my current life. My writing group peeps get it — for a couple beautiful hours when we get together, I can geek out about writing and books as much as I want. And actually, even the non-writers in my life are incredibly, ridiculously supportive of this odd goal I’ve set for myself. They ask me how my writing is going, they encourage me to write more, they don’t give me too much grief when I choose writing over an actual, you know, social activity. Damn, typing that out — how lucky am I?

But getting to do that all the time? As a career? Oh, yes please.

On Monday morning I got out of bed and cranked out 1,000 words. The only way to get there is to work harder. Art harder. Follow this year’s motto:

Write Like a Mother Fucker

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