After college | did office work for a while, then factory and<br>warehouse work. My size and strength were advantages in<br>factories and warehouses. And no one expected me to<br>smile and pretend | was having a good time.<br><br>1got up at two or three in the morning and wrote. Then |<br>went to work. | hated it, and I have no gift for suffering in<br>silence. | muttered and complained and quit jobs and<br>found new ones and collected more rejection slips. One<br>day in disgust | threw them all away. Why keep such<br>useless, painful things?<br><br>There seems to be an unwritten rule, hurtful and at odds<br>with the realities of American culture. It says you aren't<br>supposed to wonder whether as a Black person, a Black<br>‘woman, you really might be inferior—not quite bright<br>enough, not quite quick enough, not quite good enough to<br>do the things you want to do. Though of course you do<br>wonder. You're supposed to know you're as good as<br>anyone. And if you dorft know, you aren't supposed to<br>admit. If anyone near you admits it, you're supposed to<br>reassure them quickly so they'll shut up. That sort of talk is<br>embarrassing. Act tough and confident and don't talk<br>about your doubts. If you never deal with them, you may<br>never get rid of them, but no matter. Fake everyone out<br>Even yourself.<br><br>1 could fake myself out. | didn't talk much about my<br>doubts. | wasn't fishing for hasty reassurances. But | did a<br>lot of thinking the same things over and over.<br><br>Who was | anyway? Why should anyone pay attention to<br>what | had to say? Did | have anything to say? | was writing<br>science fiction and fantasy, for God's sake. At that time<br>nearly all professional science-fiction writers were white<br>men. As much as | loved science fiction and fantasy, what<br>was | doing?<br>