What's the point?

I believe that the year 2007 may be the year of my existential crisis.

I’m going through the motions of working towards my goals. I’m writing and meeting my word targets. I’ve written reviews. I’m writing. And yet one thought keeps on recurring to me: What’s the point?

Maybe this is depression creeping back in. Maybe it’s just a natural part of things. I’m still driven to succeed in my chosen career, but still this thought is there, overshadowing everything.

Back in the day, I was headed towards a career in medical research. Before, when I was well, it was planned out. I’d finish my PhD and then go and do a post-doc overseas. My supervisor had already smoothed the way for me to go and do some work in Vienna towards that goal.

I knew what was driving me then. I wanted to make a difference in the world. Discover something that could have a real world application in the treatment of allergies. That goal was simple, an arrowhead pointing in a straight path. Of course, as anyone who’s worked in research knows, that’s an illusion. Nothing is straightforward when it comes to the actual work. But the goal was there, and it was clear.

And now. Many people are surprised that I don’t write science fiction, given my background. There’s actually a simple reason for that – there’s very little sf that I actually enjoy reading. My genre of choice these days is urban fantasy, usually leaning into the darker side of things. And thus, that’s what I write.

Here I come back to that overshadowing question. What’s the point? We need medical care. Do we really need stories?

The answer, of course, is that yes we do. I remember many times when a book comforted me, let me feel like I wasn’t alone. Books can be cathartic, for both reader and writer alike.

Humans have always been storytellers. We have always created and explored alike. I should, in fact, feel privileged. I’ve had the opportunity to explore through science. And I have the opportunity to create.

Midway through this year, it will have been two years since I could call myself a working scientist. I don’t regret that time or training – I learned a lot of self-discipline writing the PhD thesis. I don’t even regret having to give up that career goal most of the time. I’m lucky to be in a place where I can pursue my creativity, lucky to have a husband who supports me. True, I have limitations, but who doesn’t?

What’s the point? Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe there are millions.

Mirrored from Stephanie Gunn.

Progress notes

Words for the week on Daemon: 10, 075.

Difficult week all around for writing. I don’t think I had one day when I actually looked forward to that writing time. Every day it was an act of will just to get my butt into the chair with the laptop and get the words down.

It’s funny, because I actually had an epiphany about one of the main plot points behind this book and yet I’ve had no enthusiasm about actually writing it into the manuscript. Blame it on the fact that I’m heading into the middle of the book. Blame it on health taking another downturn. Blame it on the ever-present insomnia.

Hopefully this week is going to be easier.

Mirrored from Stephanie Gunn.

What's the point?

I believe that the year 2007 may be the year of my existential crisis.

I’m going through the motions of working towards my goals. I’m writing and meeting my word targets. I’ve written reviews. I’m writing. And yet one thought keeps on recurring to me: What’s the point?

Maybe this is depression creeping back in. Maybe it’s just a natural part of things. I’m still driven to succeed in my chosen career, but still this thought is there, overshadowing everything.

Back in the day, I was headed towards a career in medical research. Before, when I was well, it was planned out. I’d finish my PhD and then go and do a post-doc overseas. My supervisor had already smoothed the way for me to go and do some work in Vienna towards that goal.

I knew what was driving me then. I wanted to make a difference in the world. Discover something that could have a real world application in the treatment of allergies. That goal was simple, an arrowhead pointing in a straight path. Of course, as anyone who’s worked in research knows, that’s an illusion. Nothing is straightforward when it comes to the actual work. But the goal was there, and it was clear.

And now. Many people are surprised that I don’t write science fiction, given my background. There’s actually a simple reason for that – there’s very little sf that I actually enjoy reading. My genre of choice these days is urban fantasy, usually leaning into the darker side of things. And thus, that’s what I write.

Here I come back to that overshadowing question. What’s the point? We need medical care. Do we really need stories?

The answer, of course, is that yes we do. I remember many times when a book comforted me, let me feel like I wasn’t alone. Books can be cathartic, for both reader and writer alike.

Humans have always been storytellers. We have always created and explored alike. I should, in fact, feel privileged. I’ve had the opportunity to explore through science. And I have the opportunity to create.

Midway through this year, it will have been two years since I could call myself a working scientist. I don’t regret that time or training – I learned a lot of self-discipline writing the PhD thesis. I don’t even regret having to give up that career goal most of the time. I’m lucky to be in a place where I can pursue my creativity, lucky to have a husband who supports me. True, I have limitations, but who doesn’t?

What’s the point? Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe there are millions.

Mirrored from Stephanie Gunn.

Progress notes

Words for the week on Daemon: 10, 075.

Difficult week all around for writing. I don’t think I had one day when I actually looked forward to that writing time. Every day it was an act of will just to get my butt into the chair with the laptop and get the words down.

It’s funny, because I actually had an epiphany about one of the main plot points behind this book and yet I’ve had no enthusiasm about actually writing it into the manuscript. Blame it on the fact that I’m heading into the middle of the book. Blame it on health taking another downturn. Blame it on the ever-present insomnia.

Hopefully this week is going to be easier.

Mirrored from Stephanie Gunn.