Growing Old in This Culture
This is from facebook.
It's another gray day and I am in another gray mood, in spite of getting a third of the very wet planetary romance revised yesterday. I'm aiming to finish by Thursday, so I can email it out to my writing group. Eek. Thursday is soon. Maybe I will email it Friday.
I have decided, based on a one word comment on facebook, that I am out-of-date, passe, an OF. I suggested to Wiscon a while back that they do another panel on growing old in science fiction, but I can't remember if the panel was supposed to focus on literature or on the human experience of being an aging writer or fan. Worth doing, I think.
What happens when one is no longer cutting edge in a field that is supposed to imagine the future? Though my very wet planetary romance is a pretty darn fine vision of the future, if I do say so myself.
This is not a plea for reassurance. LeGuin said -- or wrote -- that as she aged, she found people ignoring her. If it happens to LeGuin, then no one is safe. It's this phenomenon I'm interested in.