SFWA, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

As long time readers of this journal know, I have vacillated on whether I would join SFWA or not when the time finally came for me to join SFWA. On Monday, I took $80 and spent it on my Associate Membership.

BTW, have you bought YOUR copy of The Mammoth Book of Dieselpunk yet? Have you read Mountains of Green? If enough of you haven't, I might be living a lie, so you might save me from myself and get out there and buy that book. Constable and Robinson thank you, and I thank you.

Okay, so SFWA. I belong to a union at work, the NEA, our state version the ISEA, and our local Kirkwood Faculty Association. As a matter of fact, I am this year's President Elect, which means next year I'll be President. Again. I did this in 2002-2003 in the salad days of my youth. So, I know that SFWA is NOT a union, but it is the closest thing that authors have to a union. It's more like a solidarity organization for writers with a bit of clout in the strength of the membership.

It's also seen a fair amount of news-covered controversy in the last few years, including that of the opinions of the few being represented as the opinions of the many (as Spock might put it). SFWAis growing and changing and expanding its ranks, and there are inevitable cultural changes and growing pains. Still, some of these stretch marks were unsightly, and I have enough work-related angst to know I didn't want that in my life, so I was certain I would welcome SFWA into my life.

Reasons I've heard to do it and not do it.

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Mirrored from Writer Tamago.