Authors – Jaye Em Edgecliff

So I was reading this really cool article (with me it’d be #2 99.99999% of the time, the remaining fraction would be #7 in parallel universes where I’d go to things like that without having an anxiety attack).

It made me wonder: how abnormal or normal am I for a writer?

I mean, am I the only one whose wife would have to drag her kicking and screaming to the RITAs or Hugos or Nebulas or whatevers if I were nominated (or gods forfend, actually win and then have to give a speech?!) to be fair I’d love the excuse to go shopping at Utsav and wear a super pretty dress, and would have to use an elephant tranquilliser to get my wife in something appropriate.

Not that I wouldn’t be honoured! No no no no, not that. I just don’t want all that personal attention. I’d be happy, ecstatic, elated, and probably six other words starting with an E (happy should start with an E as well, damn it). I mean, hello? Authors, notoriously introverted, reclusive, anti-social, etc? What sick mind came up with the idea of a big formal (authors, in formal dress?!) party and award ceremony?! Seriously?

Proper award for writers: Announcement in paper that [Title] by [by-line] has won [Award] beating out [nominees with by-lines] in a few big papers, a lovely little mantle decoration of some kind arrives on the writer’s doorstep delivered by an anonymous UPS guy. Yay! Virtual hugs and silent clapping! No where’d I put that damned teapot?