Rosemary Kirstein

In the comments, “Madscientistnz” responded to my perplexity at the people in the other office not acknowledging my helpful phone call…

I can think of a few reasons to not say anything:
1 – can’t remember your name (that would be my reason – I am so bad at remembering peoples names/faces)so don’t know it was you that left the voice mail)
2 – didn’t catch the name on the voice mail (I find voice mails are very hard to hear)
3 – didn’t know what to say, overthought the whole thing, panic!, pretend it never happened
4 – office is shared, only one person knew about the voice mail
5 – embarrassed to have not been perfect, pretend never happened

And that’s without getting into time-travel, spies, clones, identical twins etc…

I responded at such length that I thought I’d repost as a post.  Here’s what I said:

Ah, all possible. But you left out:

6. They think I’m weird and creepy.

It could be, and I would hardly blame them…

See, the other offices in this building are being used as offices. Make your phone calls, file your stuff, meet with clients, interact, present yourself to the business world. There’s a tendency for offices to be decorated with impressing the incoming client in mind, and doors (which are mostly glass) are habitually left open to the hallway. Business clothing is the norm — casual, but professional.

My office functions more as a studio. My desk is a big table, and it faces the windows with my back to the door, so I can look out while musing. I’ve got whiteboard-type dry-erase wallpaper on one wall with maps and notes and arrows drawn all over. Not only do I keep my door closed, I’ve put white paper over all the glass, so people walking by don’t see what’s on my immense computer monitor.

Not exactly an “office” office.

I arrive in jeans and change to yoga pants. I come at the end of the day, and stay who-knows-how-long.

I wear little, if any, makeup.

I have an inexplicable haircut. No one here knows I was treated for cancer last year, so the fact that when they first met me I was just this side of bald, probably had an effect.

Without judging them negatively, I do have to say they are deeply of the Mundane world (as we SFF fans call it). People who don’t fit their expectations probably give  them pause… I suspect that I just don’t make sense to them.

The one exception: The free-lance computer programmer in one of the littlest rooms. Despite the fact that he’s in his twenties, cute as a bug, dresses modern-professional-metro cool — a sort of mutual recognition passed between us. We say hi, chat occasionally.

He’s a nerd, I’m a nerd. We get it.

Back in October, Hugh Howey (you know, of Wool fame?) wrote a blog post that addressed a matter of particular interest to me:

“… It’s 1 time out of 100 that I write in public (usually by necessity, not by choice).

It’s 1 time out of 100 that I write a scene that makes me cry (again, no stopping it).

It’s 100 out of 100 times that these two overlap. Why the hell?”  [see the whole post and the many replies…]

I was one among the many who replied — I just had to.  I said:

Crying can be an issue, but in theory I can avoid public writing when working a sad scene…

But I’ve got this whole other problem: my face reflects what I’m writing, ALL the time.

If my characters are angry, I look angry. If they’re puzzling something out, I’m wearing a quizzical squint. Startling revelations? Transcendent epiphanies? Betrayal by presumed sweetie-pie? Right there on my face.

And, oh, yes: I write Science Fiction and Fantasy, so monsters are possible. And bloody death. And even exaltation.

More than one total stranger in a cafe has asked me if I’m all right. Worse yet, a friend once treated me to a re-enactment of my sequence of expressions, which he thought was completely hilarious. He laughed and laughed. I just sat there stunned and appalled.

Since that time, when I write in public, I rarely write actual prose. Generally, it’s analyses, outlines, journal entries — working through ideas in some way. Much safer.

It’s one of the reasons I got myself an off-site office.

Other reason: elbow room. The table I used as a desk in my bedroom had 1/3 as much usable space this one does. And put my nose less than two feet away from a wall.

Some people are great at ignoring their surroundings, so what they see around them doesn’t distract, beckon, admonish, oppress, or prompt response.  Not me.

In fact, I cleverly trained myself to really notice stuff, starting back when I was a kid — intentionally, in order to improve my writing.

I feel it’s served me well.   But it’s hard to turn off sometimes.

Thus: office!  And thank you, ebook purchasers, for making it possible.

Other other reason: windows. No, they do not distract, they encourage standing with a cup of coffee in hand, sipping, while gazing into the far distances contemplatively.