On 27 January, 2023, I came into the office late.
I came late because I spent the morning filling out my application to the SFWA (Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers’ Association), including proof of income, my union dues, and volunteering however they want me. I’ve been waiting for this day for twenty-five sacré years, since I sent off that first package of manuscript to Sheila Williams over at Asimov’s one fine day in 1998.
Today, I got the news: My application was approved. I am a Union Man.
The SFWA was started in 1965 by Damon Knight as a means of support and even collective action in dealing with publishers, editors, agents, and producers. They’re the ones you turn to when your publisher disappears into the night with your rights and your check. They’ve also evolved into public advocacy for science fiction and fantasy, as well as running workshops, mentorship programs, medical funds, Writer Beware, and, of course, the Nebula Awards.
(as a new voting member, I officially take bribes in children’s equipment and fine alcohols. :P)
The SFWA has been a source of prestige since they fought for Tolkien’s rights to his American royalties. Associate member status (which I now possess) requires at least $100 in lifetime sales, which is a much, much harder number to reach than folks outside SF/F realize. Full membership requires a cool grand in income. It’s a select group, and I am proud to burnish all my future manuscripts and queries with “SFWA member” at the top right front-page header, selon Shunn. Editors don’t mind seeing it either. It won’t get a bad story in…but it might tip the scales against an equally good submission.
And…I’m a union man. I can feel Jack London slapping me on the back and welcoming me to the family, Bayard Rustin grinning that shit-eating grin, George Orwell nodding in sour approval. I am standing with my comrades, as loose as the SFWA is about comradeship (but any organization that had Heinlein in it would have to be). I signed up to mentor, to read, to help other writers, to “give my heart, my soul, to give some friend a hand.”
This morning I am born again. I’m in the promised land.
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