"A great deal of the conversation about publishing and diversity is grounded in the idea that there simply aren’t many writers of color. One of the most frequent derailments during any conversation about this topic is the belief that because of historical, institutional racism and the socioeconomic consequences thereof, there simply aren’t as many writers of color. It’s also popular to create an exhausting statistical frenzy by talking about data collection and submission ratios and the like. These are comforting explanations. If we can blame history and institutional racism, if we can blame math, we don’t have to accept responsibility for reading narrowly."

                                                                                                                          ----Roxane Gay
                

"I hate writing. I love having written."

              ---Dorothy Parker

"You fail only if you stop writing."
 
                      ----Ray Bradbury

Wear Them Big Girl Britches Bitches: Taking Harsh Criticism As a Writer

First off, I gotta get hip with this whole linking thing. I am just so sure that one of these days someone somewhere is going to go all ballistic on me for improperly linking to something of theirs. It's going to happen. 

Now, as I have decided to momentarily crawl out of my navel grazing yurt of pity and angst-dome, I came across this interesting little piece at Cuddlebuggery which is a YA book blog I frequent from time to time (not as much now though). 

Anyways, this blogger at Book Hollow ran into some issues when they reviewed a self published book of some author "no-one-really-knows about". The author pretty much threw a hissy fit because she felt the reviewer was being "mean spirited" and having a "bad day" when she reviewed her book. Never mind that the reviewer actually wrote a very honest and tactful review, with the only vitriol coming in the form of sarcasm, the author felt that she was a "victim" of bullying and has since flooded Goodreads with her many blog posts detailing her treatment. 

Righty-o. So in my time of writing this I decided to do a little digging into this bullying of authors self published (or otherwise) thing. So, I discovered that the site stopthegrbullies.com is devoted to providing support to these ailing darlings of apparent abuse from reviewers and all around trolling assholes. 

Now let me first address the whole hissy-fit author issue first: Based on the review from Book Hollow and the author's subsequent response, I'd have to say that this woman has a major case of NTGAPS-- Needs To Grow A Pair Syndrome. Seriously. 

You criticize the reviewer of having a bad day and being hurtful toward your book when they were just being honest about what their reading experience was? Plus, given the actual review, there wasn't anything there in the least bit entailing that the reviewer was trying to put her down. She didn't attack her personal integrity, told her to never write another book again, or called her a stupid poo poo-poo-face. Sarcastic or not, she addressed her issue with the novel in as straight forward a way as possible. 

Did I mention the reviewer WAS honest? 

So the author's response is to be super offended and then talk in her blog post of being an utter victim and whatnot. Again, I say to her, please grow up a little. A LOT. Please. People are going to be assholes when they review your book. Sometimes they're going to be honest (which is what you got from Book Hollow) and sometimes they are just going to respond with a flat "didn't like it" and you'll never get much more out of them. Heck, sometimes you'll even get an "I liked it!" in more or less a short, blithe way and, let me tell you, that's not always good either (though this chick seems like she needs the validation). So people suck. Reviewers can suck. Getting a negative review can suck but that is the way of the writing world. You enter this realm (or at least you should) with the expectancy of someone not quite liking the novel you've sweated, cried, and bled over. Again, it sucks. Of course I want someone to like my stories as much as I do, but you gotta realize that that is an unrealistic expectation, and whining over someone merely giving their opinion has to be the most unproductive, immature thing to taint your writing career with. 

On to stopthebullies. So the site is made for support and details posts which point out instances of abuse from reviewers, yadda, yadda. While some of the issues I came across could very possibly (and I say that with extremely flat empathy toward the whole thing) contain legitimate issues of bullying and harmful cyberstalking for the sake of being a bastard, there's one post that really raised my skepticism level up to a hundred and ninety. Basically, the "bully review" is considered such because the user accidentally gave a one star review on the author's page just for the sake of asking a question about the book. While she was quickly corrected by other users, since her one star review didn't demonstrate an actual grievance with the book, STGRB pretty much used her as an example of what it means to leave a "bully review" despite the fact that what she did was obviously a mistake and in no way meant to offend anyone. 

So this really irked me. You're using someone as an example (not a very good one at that) in order to show what you consider to be bullying. I just don't see how this articulately conveys what STGRB is trying to do. It was a mistake, an accident, and while they point out they aren't calling the user a "bully" her one star debacle somehow qualifies as "bully reviewing". Last I checked bullying was the act of someone purposely targeting an individual, group, what have you, with the intents of inflicting ridicule, harm, and any other form of assault. So for this site constantly whining about how so many of the members are victims to in turn use someone as a example to fuel their agenda--not cool, dudes. NOT cool. 

As I said, there could very well be real cases of bullying that finds its way into some of their posts. A lot of accusation of taking comments out of context spew from both sides and it would take some real tenacity to follow each and every case to make a definite stance on who's actually to blame. I'm skeptical of STGRB as a whole, but I'm not saying no one on there isn't being bullied. It happens, and as whiny and nutless as I find some of the entries (for instance there's a whole username list of "toxic" offenders which comes off kind of--childish---to me; kind of like a kid in elementary school writing out a crayon scribbled list of classmates they consider dum dum heads) and the general tone of the whole site, I still can't wholly say someone isn't being abused. IT HAPPENS. 

But that's just it, right? It happens. As a writer especially, it's going to happen a lot. You're going to feel bruised and battered and just outright pissed on by the world at large because someone didn't react positively to your work. Sometimes people are going to criticize you for whatever reason. J. K. Rowling (who I kind of personally admire) has got the shit end of people's asses for years since HP's arrival. Many are famously known for not even reading her books and calling her out as the harbinger of Satan and all that is unholy and not good. People believed she was on a personal mission to turn children into demons and coerce them into drinking blood with her and summoning the dead. Did it hold water? Uh, hell no, but there you go. Any rationally minded person can see that this it was just idiotic assholery on the bestower's part, but it happened. And she dealt with it. Many greats before her have dealt with it. 

So you deal with it. People shit on you and you try to be objective about it and you deal with it and keep writing. Yeah, sometimes you'll be hit a little too personally, and in some instances maybe you have to defend yourself, but it's just plain dumb to assume that you're immune to it. 

Personally, has it happened to me yet? No. But it will. I even kind of want it to. 

Am I glutton for cruelty? No, but many times back in college I felt that no one had really given my work the hard edged eye that it desperately needs. Not that I want someone telling me that because my works sucks than that must mean I am a considerably sucky waste of human existence as well, but I know it's out there and there's a reckless (but realistic) part of me that wants to face it, to get some mud thrown in my face. I want someone to shred my work to pieces so I can (once I stop crying and nursing my wounds with chocolate) sit down and figure out how to put it together again. Constructive criticism is always great, and generally preferred, but I've got to get hit with a few flame bullets before I can learn how to properly dodge them the next time. 

I want that experience any day versus walking around in some narmy, overly sensitive head cloud that tells me I'm a good writer and I deserve only praise when the one thing that may save me is to have that cloud waved away and reality give me a little lesson in what it really means to be an artist. 

It starts with learning how to wear them big girl britches. 

 
 




 

"I'm writing a book. I've got the page numbers done."

                               

                                              ----Steven Wright 

Halleloo.

Wake Up, Bitch!

Dear Our Creator-- the Writer Person Who Refuses to Acknowledge Us Anymore,

Hey. 

Heeyyyy. 

How ya doin'? 

Good? 

You okay? 

What? 

You are? 

Really?

REALLY?

Hmmmmmmm. 

Nope. 

Nope, we don't think so. Not buying it.

In fact, we think you're lying. 

In fact, we think you're a lying bastard and consider this letter to you our reasoning of why. 

What? Who are we? 

Well, we are your novels. Your works in progress. Your scenes that have too long been kept in stasis. 

Your protagonists stuck in their rooms staring balefully at their ceilings and wondering about our next move. 

Your plot that is all exposition and no climax. 

Your hanging resolution to that world shattering conflict the whole story is built upon. 

Your first chapter that is only three words without even a frickin' period at the end. 

We are those things. 

Ah, ah. Wait. Don't bail on us just yet. Don't scoff with a bitchy roll of your eyes and stalk off to watch some TV show you've seen over a dozen times. 

Please just listen, writer-person. Please just hear what we have to say. We swear we'll make it quick. 

First: what's been up with you lately, huh? One minute you're all into us--you're pacing the floor in excitement because you've just had an epiphany about why the damn villain is a sociopathic maniac--then you've suddenly killed them off and then we have no villain. 

Or---you're working on us---like really working on us, like getting up at six in the morning and sitting for four hours with sleep encrusted eyes while you type up a chapter---working on us and then all of a sudden there's nothing. You won't get out of bed, you won't shower, you won't even give us a glance as we sit there shivering on your desktop next to that obnoxious McAfee pop up thing and that downloaded episode of King of the Hill. One minute you're here and then the next you're gone and we're all sitting around looking at each other, silently mouthing, what happened? 

You have to understand-- we're not really angry at this point, but we are kind of sad. Things were going so well. 

Okay, so maybe we are a little pissed. Just a little. Okay. A LOT, but it's with good reason. You've hurt us, you know? You're hurting us. We love you and all we want is for you to see us through to completion. 

We're so distorted right now, so disfigured and blotty. A few characters here, some misguided motivations there, a rickety conflict over there, and half a setting to make camp on. We mean, what. The. Hell? 

We just want to be whole. We just want to be cared for and loved and you're the only person to do it. 

That is, of course, unless you suffer the most crippling misfortune of somebody ELSE suddenly having the same ideas as you and then that person writes us down, and gets us published, and they make a bazillion dollars and three movies, and we become totally there's even though we really wouldn't want to. 

That could happen, you know. It scares us and we don't like thinking about it. 

Or you could...well die, but we REALLY don't like thinking about that. 

Look, our point is that we need you back. We're so lost without you. You're our everything and we swear that if you give us some more chances we can be something meaningful for you. We swear it. 

We'll be so good. We'll follow along with your decisions, walk into scary houses even if we know there's a crazed axe murderer waiting to chop us into pieces; we'll become powerful goddesses with mechanized body parts and even kiss a dead person if you'll just come back to us. We can be so amazing to you, just like you're already amazing to us. 

Look--with this letter we are only trying to reach out to you. Consider it a written intervention. We don't mean to come off as harsh or furious or even disappointed. 

We just miss you, okay? Soooo much. 

So, look, despite all that stuff from before--forget about it. Really. Water under the bridge. Nobody likes to be kicked when they're down. You come back to us when you're ready. 

Seriously, no pressure, really. We are so not being sarcastic. Keep taking some time. Relax a little, play some video games, take a nap, go for a walk, eat something sugary. Think. Reflect. Meditate. Do a little yoga. Become one with yourself. 

And then consider coming back to us. We love you. We need you. 

Most importantly, we believe in you. 

So go get 'em.

 


 

Raise Them Stakes

So I said I wasn't going to do this. 

I was going to TRY and make this blog feature more things of note---links to interesting articles, my thoughts on said articles, my opinion of various conflicts in the world news, perhaps a witty anecdote or two about my day to day dealings--that kind of stuff. Stuff that is pertinent, interesting. Stuff that paints me as this person who at least has something relevant and thoughtful to talk about. 

I'm...not that person. 

I would be at least a little optimistic and say yet but...I don't know, guys. My life isn't the worst or anything, and really it has less to do with MY life and more to do with my feelings. Me emotionally. Ain't gonna get into detail about the nitty gritty but there's a reason I feel so craptastic these days and well...my writing is suffering majorly cause of it. 

I just don't care anymore, you know? I don't really care about writing. In fact, just got an email back from this place, the literary online journal Juked, that told me they would not be accepting my story submission. I just didn't care---care that it didn't make it, care to keep trying. I. JUST. DON'T. CARE. ANYMORE.

My day to day life is sad: I wake up, turn on the TV, and spend the rest of my waking hours on the computer surfing shit; endless and endless eons of stuff that isn't making me a better writer or a more productive human being. While I'm fully aware of my mental state of dishabille, I just pathetically take it all stride. There's no desire to try and do more, there's no drive to even be the least bit determined. It's just one day to the next, one day to the next...nothing. I'm dimly aware of the stuff that I have to take care of, the goals that I set, but they are hazy things that seem so far away and even not worth fighting for. 

I don't care about my appearance, what goes in my stomach. I hate that I'm trapped in what seems to be a sinking---well, it's not even a sinking ship. It's a shipwrecked vessel that's just floating out in the middle of a vast ocean. A huge piece of shredded wreckage that's moving along, every once and while bumping up against a mild wave and gaining only a little momentum. It's covered with bird shit and algae and there's me in the middle of it all---to lazy to do anything about it, no longer caring about being rescued. 

Yes, that's VERY melodramatic, but the short end of the stick is that I feel like nothing right now. Not a writer, not a former student, not a daughter, not a girlfriend, not a sister, an aunt, a granddaughter. I feel like a lump of dung crawling with flies and maggots. I just sit there and collect more. 

So I call this post "raise them stakes" because in my tenure in creative writing classes I've been pounded this sentiment relentlessly like Muhammed Ali after a liter of Red Bull---raise the stakes in whatever you're writing, in a scene, a setting and keep the reader interested they tell me. 

I've failed at this. There is no suspense in my writing, no clear conflict. There's no excitement, Michael Bay-esque explosions around every corner with a hot girl sauntering away while giving an eyeful of panty for the audiences---my characters on the page struggle to make up their minds about what to eat for dinner, what route to take to work. Nothing of interest basically. Nothing to keep someone plunking down twenty five bucks to get my latest novel. Maybe it's because I love my characters and I don't want to see them hurt, maybe it's because I need a few learner's courses in "how to write action filled scenes". 

Or maybe it's because my work so closely mirrors my own life. 

Yes, I love the characters I've made up. I have an entire cast of fictional peeps that have a beginning, middle, and end names along with a family tree dating back from their descendants who came to Ellis Island, but I'm no fool either. I know there's no use in having a character sit at a table for twenty pages musing about the state of the world while sipping from a cup of coffee and munching on a donut. I know that's not exciting. 

So that's where my apathy comes in. I don't care about making stuff happen. I don't care about readers, or keeping people interested or making a good book. My characters no longer do stuff because I didn't care when I was in class writing about it and I don't care now. Just like me they stay in their pajamas all day and look at the same Wikipedia article ten times because they can't figure out why their drive suddenly went over a cliff. 

I feel powerless when it comes to making stuff happen in my fictional world when I can't even make stuff happen in my own world. Writing is no longer an escape from me, it's a neglected pet that I'm watching die as a I starve it, vaguely interested to see how long it will take it for it to die. 

So, in short, that's why I haven't been able to post anything for the past couple of days and many, many days before that. 

I'm going somewhere---good or bad---but I don't care when or how I get there right now. It all means nothing.