Ironic....

Be warned this is a rant. Which I guess is like every other blog post. So, go forth and read. Ye be warned.


Something that I've come to accept is that some of my best friends, whom I've been roommates with for the past give or take six years, will never understand how my brain works and why I write. Then again from some of the writers that I've talked to about this it is a very common occurrence to not be understood. That our passion is a hobby. Nothing more.

When one of the roommates sees that I'm once again reading a Paranormal novel or what they call a cheesy romance novel that they wouldn't be caught dead reading out side the house (though they will read them inside sans possibility of being seen), I'll hear the phrase, "Of course you are reading that." Which makes me confused. Yes, I read genres I write in. I've tried to explain that it's basically research. Something that the roommates should understand as scientists. They themselves delve into research constantly. Even reading books on by Mary Roach which delve in to science of the corpse, sex, space and the spook.

I've learned over the last few years to not divulge what I'm working on when it comes to writing. Same goes for new ideas. This is all because I get the same "You are a weirdo. Of course you are going to write about something paranormal with lots of sex. Or have some short story with BDSM with a female dominatrix." The fact that this is a passion, a potential job, and something I take very seriously isn't something that they can comprehend.

The analytical mind of a scientist can't quite cope with that of my creative side that I've let run wild in the past only to harness to turn in to something tangible that with my business experience can be turned into my dream job. One that doesn't always have me in the classification of what falls under a real job for them.

Now here is what I find ironic. One of the roomies works with bodies that are donated to science, where the hospital she works with teams up with medical companies to teach surgeons new procedures with new medical supplies or new techniques.

*I suggest you stop reading if you get squirmy at all.* You've been warned.

On a weekly bases she works with not only full cadavers (they call all body parts specimens so that they can disassociate themselves with the fact that they are in fact working with human bodies that were donated for this purpose) but with specific disembodied parts. This job alone would make for a great comic or novel (something I've said and had eyes rolled at me for saying, sorry my bad for finding the job interesting). I mean how many people can say that they sat in on someone learning how to do a craniotomy, a heart procedure, a hip replacement, and other procedures.

Basically here's the irony. I'll talk about my imaginary friends and the some times morbid crazy things that happen in there plot lines to get a weird look. Then when I hear about "Oh I got to work with over 10 disarticulated heads today in prep for head surgery corse," is totally ok. There is no comments of some thing not witty saying of course you work with body parts. There is no calling her Jack the Ripper of a butcher. It's cause IT'S HER JOB. She just happens to get paid to help doctors teach other new procedures as science advances.

Don't get me wrong I think she has one weird job that you have to have a strong stomach for, but it's so bad ass. She is literally working with decapitated heads today! And legally!

She might not understand the irony of the whole situation, but we both have jobs (I just don't get paid for it yet) that people don't understand. We both are passionate about what we do and love doing it. Her's just happens to be the human body and the physiology of it.

I guess I should state that this isn't her dream job. That would be working with reproduction sciences, working with dulas and midwives, and that sort of things. As you can see she has a specific area of what she wants to do. I know exactly what I want to do. And am actively chasing after it.

That last point makes me wonder if her and other roomies comments are due to jealousy. That we all have aspirations of your non typical dream jobs, which I have no shame of talk about mine, yet they have to shame others.

I find it ironic cause in a way we are all scientists. We are delving into doing research and case studies. Mine happens to deal with 80,000 words of a world I've created. I send it out to beta readers to see what works and what doesn't. I change up the formula of those words to recreate a product in hopes for a successful out come, which just happens to be a finished novel that people want to buy.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe I don't understand why they "tease" me about the genres that I hold so dearly. Some of which they read and love as well! Fantasy, historical, etc, we all love them. Mine just happens to have romance as a key factor in the story. I've even introduced them to one of their favorite historical/contemporary authors (even getting the latest book signed by the author).

Maybe it's not ironic at all that we all have such abnormal jobs and enjoy the same genres of books only to make fun of the others about it. Maybe it's just me? Who knows really.

Personally I've gotten beyond the point of registering any bad comments of the genres I love and write. I embrace them. Yes, of course I write that and read them. Thanks for thinking that idea is weird. It means that you haven't seen it before. Awesome! I'm original! WIN!

 In the end I'll always ask the roomie about what procedures she watched that day. Cause I find it another way of inspiration. Cause it's not the normal job of sitting at a desk. I do that to pay my bills and it's not exciting. Working with cadavers and surgeons is something that you never know how it will exactly go.

While I mark it up as irony I trudge on with my head held high as I continue to actively chase my dreams. That way when I make the roomies buy my book off Amazon or go to the bookstore to see my book sitting on the shelves there maybe it will make sense to them.

Then again I've given up trying to explain it to them and trudge on. Now if you excuse me I have one of those books to edit.