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.: 6.13.2008 

An Alarming Trend

As I read about who did what at TNNA I realized that damn, how did I NOT know it was going on when it was in freaking COLUMBUS this year? For someone who is on the internet constantly and uses it to do so much, I am sometimes woefully underinformed, living in my own bubble. As I felt a wave of jealousy-tinged sorrow rise, my thought was, "If only someone had told me about it..."

My next thought was, "WTF? Victim much?" I mean really. I'm pretty sure I get a million con notices at my AC email address which I promptly trash because I don't want to stoke the fires of capitalism that have risen up around crafting (knitting in particular). I don't want to dirty myself by rubbing elbows with the industry whores. But that also makes me the Head High Hypocrite, doesn't it, with my craft book and website (advertising accepted or not), and dreams of quitting my day job. What if I'm not making money at the AC not because I've got the moral highground, but because quitting my job and depending on it is actually a seriously scary thought? (Hello, recession. Please don't take my stable job with really good health insurance benefits.)

What if I'm not going to TNNA because I don't want to stare longingly at the actual invited guests (Harlot, Franklin, Shannon - 2/3 of whom I've met and liked and been liked back by) and feel rejected by the cool kids circle? I am thirty-fucking-however years old (not 34, I remember that much, so somewhere around that) and how long am I going to be mentally ducking-and-covering like I did in high school? This is ridiculous. And sad. Profoundly sad. Pathetic even, and certainly detestable. But really, do I need to hate myself more? No. So fix it. Just fix it, Elizabeth.

I can't keep waiting for people to draw me out. I can't keep waiting to get asked. I can't keep thinking, "Really, I'm smart and funny and creative and cool, if you just give me a chance, maybe they will give me a chance, maybe, maybe, maybe..." I can't rely on Lilas and Ginnys to shoulder the weight of my self-doubt, it's unfair and spectacularly self-involved.

I'm fairly disgusted with myself right now.

So fix it, Elizabeth. Fix it. Fuck it all and fix it. Isn't that how your propaganda reads? That the almighty Zabet can do anything? Get your ass out there. Hawk the book. Hawk the website. Go to the stupid cons and rub elbows with the people who you know are in it just like you, fighting to keep the balance between making a living, finding an audience, and being an artist. Just fix it.

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thus proclaimeth the Zabet  4:37 PM  








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