The Historian Found

I’m a history instructor. I can say that because it is true. I’ve been at it for coming up on three years now. Becoming a college history instructor was on the list of Things Very Unlikely to Happen to Murphy four years ago. Now it is reality.

I have a lot to learn, both as an instructor and as a historian. There are gaps in my knowledge and worse yet, sometimes I do not present things as clearly as I’d like. Yet, strangely enough, I do very well in evals by students and peers.

I’m reliable enough to be given other courses when peers go out for one reason or another. In fact, I do not think a single semester has passed since my first where I was NOT called upon to cover something.

Granted, I wish I did a better job and I am definitely my own worst critic. Still, I love what I am doing. My only fear is that I will always be stuck in Adjunctland or worse, languishing in some awful college in the middle of nowhere on pay not much better than my Uniguard Era salary.

The Writer Lost

My writing career is stalled. There is no other way to describe, it is well and truly stalled. Here are the problems as I see them.

First, when I write a story, the first thing that comes to my mind is, “Who can I sell this to?” In fact, that causes me more aggravation and anxiety than anything else. It is the source of so much kicking and screaming at the walls over the last decade. Overly restrictive submission guidelines simply shut me down cold. I deeply resent them and I will always resent them. This saps a lot of energy out of any desire to write at all.

Second, if I do find a story I want to write that I think I can sell, I have trouble finding the time and a decent place where I can write WITHOUT INTERRUPTION. It seems to be a hallmark of my life that no matter where I go, someone will interrupt me. If someone doesn’t interrupt me, someone will have their screaming kids there, or they’ll be talking loud enough to be heard five counties over (to be fair, I am guilty of the later).

And for whatever reason, everyone seems to think that if Murphy is staring at a screen or a pad of paper, that must be the perfect moment to talk to him.

Third, I let the internet distract me even though there really isn’t that much there for me these days.

Fourth, what time I do have is often sucked off into prepping history lectures. I suspect that once I get a solid frame of lectures built for my classes this issue will ease off a bit, leaving me with tests to grade, things to tweak, polishing and such.

Fifth, on those rare moments when I do get time, I almost never have any energy.

Trinity said a frightening thing to me this morning but she is not the first to say it.

Maybe teaching is my calling and writing is only a hobby.

That goes against everything I understand about myself. I AM a writer and it IS my profession, just as much as I AM a historian and it IS my profession. It always grated against my nerves during the Uniguard Era when folks asked me, “Why do you still read history books, Murph? Not like you are ever going to get to teach.”

I am lost as a writer, that much is certain. The marketplace is changing and I can sense that. The formula that worked for nearly a hundred plus years doesn’t work so well today and I suspect its effectiveness will decline over the next few years. That means there is probably some new way, some better way of moving forward. I don’t know what it is yet, no one really does but it doesn’t change the fact that yours truly is well and truly lost.

However, being lost doesn’t mean that I am not a writer. It doesn’t mean that writing will always be some sideshow in my life. I simply refuse to accept that.

Here is a guess on what I think might happen.

It is not uncommon for me to allow a part of myself to go fallow for a period of years while I wait for an opportunity or a reallocation of personal resources to take place. Perhaps, if you believe in the Flying Spaghetti Monster (I don’t, or any other higher power), it is part of the Plan to go through this spell as a writer. Gardner Dozois once related, not long after I sold Tearing Down Tuesday to Interzone that he went three years between his first and second sale. Lou Antonelli, the last writer to sell to Gardner at Asimov’s prior to his retirement, waited for a number of years between professional sales as well.

In the meantime, I suppose I should see what I can do to reorder my life. I’ve been talking to Trinity about ways she can help (namely, if she sees me trying to read or write something to please, please, please, oh please for the love of God please do not ask me to do something right at that moment because everyone in my life has done that to include my very parents when I was a kid). She wants to help, I know she does. She wants to understand, I know that as well.

Also, I really don’t have a writing space anymore. I lost that when I left Uniguard, ironically enough. Funny how that part of my plan, to write my way out of that security guard job, succeeded a little too well. Trinity and I are going to sit down, look at the Pod and see what can be done about creating such a space.

I am frustrated, folks. More frustrated than anyone can possibly know. I’ve got to find a way to get back into the saddle and stay there.

Enough self indulgence. Back to Andrew Jackson.

Respects,
Steven Francis Murphy
Author of The Limb Knitter and Tearing Down Tuesday
North Kansas City, Missouri