The Cult of Melinda

The gAyTM is closed! No gay rights, no gay $$$!

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Back into the Fray, Maybe

I've decided to do something brave and potentially futile. As many of you know, I haven't published in a long time due to, well, events beyond my control. (Yes, THAT.) I've approached a couple of web publications in an attempt to get back to what I do best. One is a site I wrote for for some time, ending in 2006. The other is one I haven't written for before. However, a former editor of mine, whom I wrote for for 3 1/2 years, writes for them. I sent them both emails yesterday, but I'm not very optimistic. The Google haunts me still today.

It's strange. I've written for numerous publications from the local to the international, in print and on the internet, on subjects ranging from lesbian pop culture to nuclear security. In the four years after I received my MA, I published about 100 times, was read on six continents and was cited on three. I got to see my name on a masthead and a cartoon of me in the pages of a lesbian magazine. I've shaken hands with rock stars and been thanked by the "little people" for acknowledging that they exist when they were being ignored by the MSM. One piece changed all that.

My last published piece, a book review, was submitted in December 2006, just as the magazine was going under. So, it's now been about 1 year 4 months since last my byline graced the printed page. Many publications simply stopped responding to my emails. Things I'd had "in the works" disappeared without a trace. I've worked and reworked the next great nonfiction book since then and blogged a little, but mostly I've become a former journalist turned government drone.

Yes, I work for The Man, as a rather low-level "functionary" in a local government. I take pride in being very good at my job, which I can't discuss in detail here except to say it involves a lot of writing, editing, webmastering and the like. But, as a coworker said today: It's not what I do.

Right now, I'm terrified. If I fall on my face, I don't know what I'll do next. If I succeed, I don't know what I'll do next. What if I've lost my touch? What if I had my 15 minutes and it's over? What if I get back out there and the crazies come out of the woodwork again? What if....


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