I am exhausted by the mess going on around the Hugo Awards.
I have always written because I felt I had to for my sanity. I have always loved writing SF because it’s what I always enjoyed reading. Even on becoming a professional writer, writing was not stressful because I loved it–I loved the people with all their crazy ideas and creative solutions. I loved talking about it, fanning out about what was new and brilliant.
My day job is often stressful. Family life is very rewarding, but can have its added stresses. SF and its community was my hidey-hole, the place I could go to, pull the lid over my head, and forget about the shit, all the while sharing the joy, the glee (and yes, even the hiding-place) with others who loved SF.
These days, I find my feeds filled with a river of cess I would rather not have to wade through to express and explore my simple joy over the latest book, show, or comic with other like-minded folks.
I am not sure what to do about it, but I really do feel bereft of the place I used to go to for relief and I hope that folks get their act together and decide to treat one another better and with less disrespect.
The trolls have been fed, and the rest of us bled.