First of all, let’s address the fact that my bag looks like a giant drooling face. Okay? It’s out of my system now, so we can all move on. It was gonna haunt me.
Second of all, I’ve gone, once again, full society dame. From twee to sinister to eccentric matron. Such is the circle of Skyfe.
In other news, I’ve been in kind of a funk lately: everyone wants to read good writing, but pitifully few are willing to pay for it. In the age of instant downloads, people feel entitled to art on demand. I am all for open source culture and expanding the marketplace of ideas, but that shouldn’t mean artists work for free. You wouldn’t believe how many journals/blogs/online magazines I submit to every month. Most of them are happy to print my work – in exchange for “exposure”. Fine, but I can’t eat exposure. Exposure doesn’t keep the heat on.
My partner Josh, who has a master’s degree in 3d printing and emerging technology, has the same problem. I suspect it’s because what we do looks deceptively easy. “Pff, anyone can write a short story. Anyone can press a few buttons and run a computer program.” I worked as a copy editor for two years, and the number of people who doubted the necessity of my position was ridiculous. “Why do we pay her to fix typos? Anyone can do that!” My imagined reply: okay, if you can, then WHY DON’T YOU?
I am actually – perish the thought – considering going back to school, if only to keep myself busy while I figure out what to do. And a few more credits to my still-unfinished degree can’t hurt.
In the meantime, I’ll keep tweeing up the place, flirting my way into burlesque shows, and having a lot of things to say.