DeMisty's status updates without so much noise. Still, I'm on twitter and google+.
I am a: writer, academic, lecturer of English in a public university.
“Don’t accept your dog’s admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful.”
― Ann Landers
(substitute mother for dog, lover for dog, best friend for dog, etc.)
So this is the last announcement of publication, award, acceptance, accolade, etc. here. I’ve been feeling like a blowhard. It all came about from the lovely list, compiled by Roxane Gay, on The Rumpus of writers of color. If you have not viewed it yet, do. I have. I downloaded it. I saved it. I plan to read at least one thing by everyone on that list (and I have read some stuff from many on that list). There are well known names, and there are up-and-coming names.
I’m on the list. I’m very happy to be on that list. Proud! I consider it one of the biggest achievements I’ve ever had as a writer. But announcing it on various social networks, I started to feel like a braggart. In real life—and this is real life, too, this blog, but it’s not physical so you can’t hear my modesty and I hate using visual cues for emphasis (it makes for lazy writing)—I believe I’m very modest. But maybe, I just don’t know that I’m vain. It could be that I’m a vain writer.
Maybe, though, it’s what I call it: promotion. I am not well known. I have a few stories and fewer poems published, but no book. I feel, to get my name out there, I need to shout whenever I get some notice. But now I’m thinking that I probably shouldn’t do that.
I still need to promote myself, though. Somehow. I have to think about how.