About a year ago, I cut my hand trying to saw a few inches off the bottom of my desk’s legs. With a bread knife. What? It was IKEA wood, not real wood. I thought it would work. It did not. Probably because it was also an IKEA bread knife. But I did get a local hardware store to trim my desk legs for me, because I was newly hung up on the idea that, as person who spends [fill in embarrassing number here] of hours a day staring at a computer, I should start thinking about ergonomics.
Recently, I wrote about the phenomenon of writers complaining about not being paid for their work by saying if you’re a professional writer, producing professional-grade work, you’ll get paid work. Because we do, actually, live in a world where vocational aptitude can and will be rewarded (most of the time). Most people will brains prefer the work of professionals, even when a service technically could be done by an amateur.
Every week, a bunch of stories I have written publish on various websites. A good number of them publish on Wednesdays, so I am often a nervous wreck that day. Every email could be someone calling to complain that they did not like their quotes, found a typo, feel I misrepresented them, think I am a big dum dum in general, etc., etc. It doesn’t happen a lot (anymore), but it does still happen. And it always stresses me out. I’m stressed out right now just thinking about it.
I understand being portrayed in someone else’s words to the public is a very sensitive topic, so much of my stress is rooted in the fact that no matter how ridiculous I think their issue might be (I’m sorry you think you sound stupid, but that was a direct quote from your mouth…), I get it. And I feel bad about it.