As I scroll through the writerly blogoshere I sometimes feel strange and out of it.
I'm a writer who is totally and completely uninterested in finding an agent. At all.
I'm an editor, a pretty good one, but don't feel like an authority and dislike taking that tone on my blog. Yet I mostly post about writing, editing and publishing issues-- just not as an expert.
I am with a small press and have absolutely no desire to go anywhere else. Yet I think I am ambitious. Sort of.
I follow so many blogs that I can't keep up with all of them and still have a life and a career. Sometimes I have to pull back when other chores take precedence. Hopefully everyone is okay with me not stopping by and commenting as regularly as I'd like.
I am not 30-something. I am as old as your grandma. I'm totally uncool.
I am not thin and attractive. It's really hard for me to find any photos that make me look halfway decent. You won't see photos of beautiful me plastered all over my blog. It's all I can do to get one for an avatar that doesn't make me look like a witch.
I don't drink coffee or alcohol like writers have done through the ages. I eat cookies. I shouldn't, but I do anyway. I love cookies.
I am not outgoing. Which is why I am much more comfortable talking to you like this instead of in person.
I'm not someone who appreciates interruptions when concentrating. Or sleeping. So phone calls like the one I just got asking for donations for my alma mater really annoy me. "Just ten dollars." No! Go away! And why I will now close this post because I also am not one to vent on my blog. Much.
So that's me. Who are you not?