I’ve been thinking about this post for about a week now, and still don’t know what exactly I’m going to say. I’m just trying to make sense of some things, basically. So forgive me if this is a tad rambly.

The thing is, I’ve been involved in the online writing/reading community since 2005 now. And in that time things have gotten–in my view, at least–more and more antagonistic and upsetting. I wonder why. This post–this series of posts planned for this week–is my attempt to figure it out, I guess. To express my thoughts and see what yours are, and perhaps to offer a potential solution. And in order to do that I’m going to be very honest, and perhaps harsh in some places, but I’m trying to express my full thought process here. So we’ll see how it goes.

In the past nine days or so the internet–at least the writer/reader part of it–seems to have gone kablooey. Specifically, the writer part of it, in that we’ve had a rash of writers deciding it’s their place to tell readers A) How to review books; B) What is and is not okay to say or think; C) Why their opinion is totally wrong; and D) whatever other ridiculous shit they come up with.

I’m aware of five separate incidents, the latest being a self-published author who, in response to a reasoned but negative review, took it upon himself to leave 40 comments–yes, forty–on the blog quoting the fawning letters he’d received about the book from family and friends. And then many more comments insisting that what he did was totally professional and reasonable and why is the reviewer in question so full of hate, yo? And that’s nothing compared to the others, the writers ranting on their blogs and leaving nasty or argumentative comments on Goodreads and blah blah blah.

Guys…cut it out. Just, seriously, cut it out.

Readers have the right to say whatever the fuck they want about a book. Period. They have that right. If they hate the book because the MC says the word “delicious” and the reader believes it’s the Devil’s word and only evil people use it, they can shout from the rooftops “This book is shit and don’t read it” if they want. If they want to write a review entirely about how much they hate the cover, they can if they want. If they want to make their review all about how their dog Foot Foot especially loved to pee on that particular book, they can.

Why?

Because, and I’ve said this before, reviews are for readers. Because they purchased the book (or it was sent to them specifically hoping they would express an opinion) and so can say whatever they want about it. If you buy a shirt that falls apart in the wash, do you keep your mouth shut about it because you don’t want to hurt the manufacturer’s feelings?

Authors, reviews are not for you. They are not for you. Authors, reviews are not for you.

This is why I get so annoyed when I see authors banging on about “constructive” reviews. Constructive how? What are you going to do, ask your publisher to pull the book so you can go back and rewrite it to suit Doris in New York who thought the MC was an idiot? Or because Amy in California didn’t understand the solution to the mystery? (Note: I pulled those names out of my ass; they do not refer to or allude to any actual readers or reviews.) Really? A review is one person’s opinion. One person. One. What exactly do you hope to learn from that one opinion that will make such a huge difference? What do you think you’ll learn from any review, except what that particular person thinks about the book? Reviews are not critiques and they are not written for you, and reviews are completely subjective.

And dude, if you think it’s possible to write a book everyone will love, I question your understanding of human nature and thus your ability to write a decent character. I have to be honest, when I see a writer talking about “constructive” reviews I generally assume that writer is a beginner and either hasn’t been published for long or has been published with micropresses.

That’s the same way I feel about authors who attempt to game Amazon reviews. Well, no, actually it isn’t. I think authors who read their reviews looking for writing tips are amateurish. I think writers who attempt to game Amazon reviews, by begging family and/or friends to leave them (positive; they claim they want honest reviews but they’re asking family and friends so really, what they want and expect are positive reviews; one of the recent very minor not-really-public kerfuffles I’m aware of was over this very situation) or by asking family/friends to place “Most/Least Helpful” votes in an attempt to move the positive reviews up–which, BTW, is in fact trying to dick around with the system no matter what some people might think…those writers?

Those writers are cheats, plain and simple. They’re sleazeballs. They’re liars. They’re attempting to deceive readers, to trick them into thinking their book has an enthusiastic audience it has not actually earned and a proven level of quality it may not actually have. They’re attempting to trick readers into buying the book based on falsehoods; this is perhaps not quite the same as the PA author who stuck the Grand Central logo onto her book in an attempt to make people think she was legitimately published, but it’s in the same ballpark. I’m sorry, but lying to readers and trying to trick them into buying your book is wrong. It’s sleazy and it’s wrong, and you are unethical and unprofessional for doing it, and you make me angry.

Why do you make me angry? Because when you lie and cheat and deceive, you cast doubt on all of us who do not lie, cheat, and deceive. I’ve heard more than one reader now claim that if a book’s reviews are too positive overall–too high a proportion of 5-star reviews–that reader automatically assumes the reviews are false. In other words, your deception and dishonesty casts me in that same light and makes me look like a big faker. Yes, it’s upsetting that it may cost me book sales, but what’s more upsetting is that I’m guilty by association; I’m an author, so I must be cheating scum who thinks readers are pawns in my Success Game too. I don’t appreciate being guilty by association and I don’t appreciate being penalized because you think lying to people is a great way to promote yourself.

Full disclosure: Yes, not long after I gave BE A SEX-WRITING STRUMPET a new cover for Kindle, I mentioned here on the blog that if anyone who’d read the series or the book wanted to leave a review, positive, negative, or neutral, I’d be grateful. To me that’s a different thing, and here’s why: A) You guys are my readers. And as much as I feel very friendly and warm toward you and would love to help you out in some way if I can, you’re not really my personal friends, at least the majority of you aren’t, and you’re not my family. You have no personal stake in my happiness nor, I’d imagine, do you have any special desire to, and you certainly have zero obligation to. We have a sort of business-esque relationship. I know many of you care about me–I’m still overwhelmed by all the emails etc. I got after Stephen informed you all that I was in the hospital–and I care about you all as well, but it’s not like we know the details of each others’ lives or talk on the phone or whatever else. B) Because we’re not generally personal friends, I don’t know who you are. I don’t know your names or the names on your Amazon accounts; I have no way of checking to see if you personally reviewed me, so I don’t think the pressure is there. In addition, there’s C) which is that even those of you who comment regularly, so I know your names, are only a small percentage of the number of people who actually visit this blog on a daily basis. Less than 10% (ETA: actually, that was a misstatement: it’s less than 1% on average). So how in the world would I follow up with any of you, even if I were the sort of person to do so? Not to mention D) I said specifically it didn’t matter if the review was positive or not and I meant it. And E), which is that I didn’t offer any sort of prizes or incentives or anything else in an attempt to bribe anyone into leaving reviews.

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with asking even given all of that, and I’m still not. But I’d been given so many positive comments from you all, and from people who don’t read regularly, that I figured it wouldn’t hurt to just mention it. And given that the book only has a dozen reviews at this point, I don’t think many if any of you felt pressured to leave a review. That’s wonderful, because I absolutely didn’t want to make you feel that way. I’m genuinely pleased that you didn’t feel pressured; I would have felt awful if you had.

The reason why I would have felt awful is because, again, you have no obligation to me at all. None. Zero. Zip. NO reader has ANY obligation to an author, whether it be to leave a review or to write a “constructive” one. I put out a product. You are consumers of that product. Since when does that mean you have to kiss my ass? Hey, I like Pop-Tarts and eat them a few times a year; since when does that mean I’m obligated to support Kellogg’s in any way except legally purchasing the Pop-Tarts before I eat them? I wasn’t aware that purchasing and consuming a product meant I was under some sort of fucking thrall in which I’m only allowed to either praise the Pop-Tart (which to be honest isn’t hard, especially the S’mores flavor) or, if I am going to criticize a flavor, offer a specific and detailed analysis as to why, phrased in as inoffensive and gentle a manner as possible so as not to upset the gentle people at Kellogg’s.

And you know what? If I hated Pop-Tarts and decided to go online and tell everyone how they smell like vomit and make me feel sick, that’s fine. Because I’m not under any obligation at all to like Pop-Tarts, or to keep silent about my dislike. Because I bought the product (and I don’t mean to imply here that only those who purchase an item can express an opinion about them, it’s just the easiest and shortest phrase; I could be just as negative about Pop-Tarts had I been given one to try at a friend’s house, although I do admit that I get a tad irked when I see people writing negative reviews for books they stole, but whatever; that’s just my personal feeling and not me claiming people who steal books aren’t allowed to leave reviews) I have completed the business transaction, and I am entitled to whatever reaction I choose.

I wonder often how many of the authors who whine about negative reviews and/or yammer on about how reviews should be “constructive” never have a bad word to say about, frex, a movie they watched and disliked? Do they make sure their review is “constructive” so the director and stars can learn something from it–do they actually assume the director and stars are reading their review? When they’re given bad food in a restaurant, are they careful to offer three positive comments for every negative one they make? (“The presentation is lovely and it smells wonderful, but I’m afraid the chicken is raw. Perhaps the chef could leave it on the grill for another five minutes in future. The sauce is great, though, and I’m sure it won’t give me salmonella even though it was in contact with the raw meat. Thanks for giving me the chance to try it!”) You know? If they believe readers are somehow obligated to remember the author’s feelings when leaving a review, how much do they do that when they consume products or entertainment they do not enjoy?

And don’t even get me started on the idea that readers should somehow be frightened or intimidated because authors are reading their reviews. Or actually, do, because I’ll move into that with the next post, because this one is getting a bit long.

But we’re not done with this topic. We’re not done talking about reviews, or expressing opinions, or the writer/reader relationship, or whatever else falls under those umbrellas.

(In the links to that post someone posted a link to a similar discussion on their blog, here–also in a new window. It’s definitely worth a read, and don’t skip the comments; there’s some good stuff there, in particular “Mary”‘s comment at 10:25.)

Anyway, using Dr. Who as a jump-off point, I’m posting my little writing rules, the things that I keep in mind when writing and the things I, well, think make a book good. (There’s a whole big disclaimer on this in the original post, so I’m not going to repeat it here. I will repeat, though, that just because I’m disappointed with the writing, and feel that it’s in general bad writing, doesn’t mean I think the Who writers are bad writers. They’re not. I’m not sure why the writing has gone off the rails so badly, but I don’t think it’s their fault; I think they’re doing the best they can with what they’re told to do.)

So here we go, with the rest of my rules.

6. No Monologuing. Monologuing is Lazy. You know why? Because it means your character(s) can be stupid. It also very likely means that your pacing is off and the first half or more of your book is boring, because you haven’t planted enough clues as to what’s going on. Remember, with most books your main plot–if it has any kind of mystery/suspense/thriller type plot at all–is actually two parts: Whodunit, and WHY. You need to give us clues as to both of those. If you haven’t planted your clues well enough, your bad guy needs to monologue at the end in order to get us all caught up. That’s lazy; it’s you not wanting to do the work of letting your characters figure it out themselves.

Now as with the others, yes, there are places where this can work. I’m thinking specifically of Agatha Christie and all those great old-school mysteries where everyone gathers in the drawing room so Poirot can tell them How It Really Happened. I love those. And if you’re writing one of those, then fine. You still have to have given the reader all of the clues so they could figure out the mystery themselves. And really, you’re probably not Agatha Christie, or Josephine Tey. Odds are greatly against it. (A sidenote: this is where I get so hugely annoyed at people who try to justify their inappropriate adult/teen/teacher/student/whatever “romances” by bringing up LOLITA. Guys, LOLITA is not a romance. You are not supposed to root for Humbert Humbert; you are not supposed to dream he gets his happy ending riding off into the sunset with Lolita. You’re supposed to be disgusted by him [and by her, really, because she's not exactly pleasant either]. Please stop trying to claim it’s okay to write pedophilia because Nabakov did it. You are not Nabakov. End rant.)

7. Your characters must think and behave in a manner consistent with their character. This one is pretty simple, I think. If you tell us your character is smart, they need to not wander around acting like idiots. If you tell us they’re fun and likable, they need to not be dull assholes. Noble characters are not petty; kind characters do not laugh at others; caring characters do not shrug and walk away when others are in pain. This is another reason “Night Terrors” and Amy and Rory’s failure to look out the windows or realize sooner where they were was so frustrating. It was obvious where they were. They should have figured it out sooner. There’s been no indication before, really, that they’re a couple of dolts, so why did they behave that way in that episode? Did the writers really not think the viewers would figure it out? In “Night Terrors” it turns out the little boy is some sort of alien, and the Doctor just leaves the kid there with his hapless parents and no idea what might happen next time the kid gets scared, or if a teacher at his school or a bully or whatever upsets him. The Doctor is supposed to be wise and smart and caring, but in the last season-and-a-half he’s trampled all over lives, ignoring any possible consequences–and why not? There have been no consequences. Real life doesn’t work that way.

Which brings me to #7, which is:

8. Your Readers Are Not Idiots Either. I hate this. I hate this, I hate it so much. Do you know what you as a writer are doing when you have characters ignore obvious clues, when you skim over stuff, when you go back on the rules of the world? You’re treating your readers like idiots. You’re telling them you don’t think they’re smart enough to figure things out on their own. You’re telling them “This is good enough for the likes of you.” You’re taking for granted that they’re willing to just sit there and take whatever you throw at them. Again, to go back to “Night Terrors,” Amy and Rory were trapped in a dollhouse. The thickest viewer figured that out before Amy and Rory did. Additionally, they were in a dollhouse which somehow had these long narrow hallways; dollhouses do not have hallways. Rory said he couldn’t open a door because it had no knob, but it had handles, and last time I checked most dollhouse doors don’t actually have working bolts and/or locks. Not to mention other doors, later, had working knobs. Viewers were apparently expected not to notice or care about any of this.

Now, yes, I’m aware mistakes happen (hell, I’m the one who forgot where Chuck’s was located in Downside; no one has yet pointed it out to me, but yeah, it’s in a different place in the first book than in subsequent books. Sorry. I just fucked up there). But I think there’s a difference between a mistake which doesn’t matter–really, the fact that Chuck’s is at 55th and Ace and not 50th and Ace in subsequent books doesn’t change the story one iota–and a mistake which breaks the rules of the world.

(Interestingly–well, to me anyway–someone emailed me once to say I had done this, with psychopomps. Because psychopomps can’t be killed, right, but in UNHOLY MAGIC Chess kills one, and then again in CITY OF GHOSTS. Here’s why that’s not breaking rules:

Spirit psychopomps–the ones who respond to a witch’s summons–can’t be killed per se, no. But the psychopomp Chess kills in UNHOLY MAGIC is not a spirit psychopomp; it is a living bird (living birds act as natural psychopomps, remember? It’s explained in both books). Living creatures can be killed. The raven psychopomp Chess “kills” in CITY OF GHOSTS isn’t killed so much as destroyed; it’s torn apart, and so cannot move or carry out its duty. But it’s not technically “killed.” Had it been a dog the bullet probably would have just punched a hole in its skull and it would have kept moving, but a bird’s head is a lot smaller, so the bullet reduced it to powder, basically. There’s evidence all the way back to the opening chapters of UNHOLY GHOSTS that spirit psychopomps can be destroyed if the skull from which they erupt is destroyed. So there you go.)

Here’s the thing. I don’t write books for stupid people. (Again, the disclaimer: that doesn’t mean that if you don’t like my books you’re stupid, I’m not saying that at all.) What that means is, I have a target reader in mind, and that readers is smart. That reader gets my little in-jokes and references; that reader gets *me* and my work, and is clever and quick and can keep up or even be a step ahead. I like to let my readers figure things out along with the characters. I assume my readers will be able to do so. I assume they pick up on the little hints and clues dropped in there, even the offhand stuff. I assume they’re just as smart if not smarter than me, and I refuse to preach to them, to talk down to them, to overexplain, to head-pat, or to condescend. I assume that if my characters miss a big-ass clue sitting right in front of them, my readers will see it and be pissed. I assume if my characters are suddenly behaving in a way very different from the way they usually do–and there’s no reasonable explanation for it–my readers will notice it and be pissed. I assume my readers will notice, and be pissed, if there’s a difference between what I tell them about a character (i.e. “Lisa is smart and beautiful and everyone loves her”) and what I show them about a character (i.e. Lisa wanders around the plot like an idiot not doing anything, not solving any mysteries, having everything handed to her and being nasty and rude to everyone else).

As with the others, this bleeds into the next rule:

9. Being Clever Is Not a Substitute For Being Good, and Showing Off Is Boring And Distasteful. Okay. I know I’m going to get a lot of crap for this one. There’s actually a big subrule/adjunct to this one, too, which is

10. Good Writing Is Not Aware Of Itself; Good Writing Does Not Call Attention To Itself.

This is where my big issue with the Steven Moffat run on Dr. Who really gels. Yes, I get it, Mr. Moffat. You’re Very Clever. Good for you! But you know what? I’m pretty clever myself, and I get extremely annoyed when I tune into a TV show expecting to be entertained and instead am forced to watch someone repeatedly jerking himself off, writing-wise. There’s a smug tone to it, a “look how clever I am, la-de-da!” tone to it, and I hate it. I hate it. There’s a comic writer I won’t name whose work I find just as irritating, for the same reason; it’s aware of itself as writing, and it’s very concerned with pointing out its own cleverness, and as I read it I can see the writer grinning and thinking “Ha! That is hilarious! Look how great this is! I am so awesome, man, look at that!” It’s self-conscious, but not in the sense of being shy; it’s self-conscious in the sense that it knows it is just words on a page, and it is trying very hard to impress the reader with those words without thinking or realizing that the words shouldn’t get in the way of the story.

Neither should tricks. I strongly dislike watching something or reading something and having the distinct sense that the writer is fucking with me; that s/he knows the answers but just isn’t telling me. Kind of like the writer is one of those assholes at parties who like to say outrageous or offensive things just to see what people will do, and then insist they were just kidding when people get rightfully offended. As I believe I’ve said before here, playing mind games with people doesn’t make you cool or clever, it makes you an asshole; people are not toys. Playing mind games with your reader may not make you an asshole, but I think it’s bad writing, because it’s all about YOU; you’re not trying to entertain the reader with this awesome story, you’re trying to point out to the reader how awesome you are personally. Good writing makes the reader see and feel the story. Bad writing makes the reader notice the writing.

Plot twists are great. I love them. I put them in a lot of my books, be they large or small (I did an interview a while back for a German reader blog where I realized my attraction to plot twists may well relate to my childhood adoration of MISS NELSON IS MISSING, with its Big Twist ending. I loved that book–it’s the first book I ever read, and I learned how to read it by memorizing it from having it read to me so often–and I love twist endings. Seriously, if you haven’t read MISS NELSON, do. It’s a corker). So I am totally not complaining about the plot twist or twisty plots in general.

But again, there’s a difference between a plot twist that surprises everyone and a plot twist that just makes the reader feel stupid. There’s a difference between a twisty plot where the reader follows along confident that the writer knows what s/he is doing, feeling that they are safe in that writer’s hands, and a twisty plot where the reader follows along feeling as if the writer is playing tricks on them and snickering behind his or her hand. And again, to me the difference is in how good the writing is and how much respect it has for the reader, which leads me into

11. Good Writing Plays Fair. This sort of encapsulates many of the others; it’s sort of the same as #2, and sort of the same as #3, and very much the same as #s 4, 5, and 7. (Here I borrow a joke and say “Yes, but what if six was nine? Wouldn’t you mind?”) It is, I think, the ultimate rule. Don’t deliberately hide shit from readers so you can look like a smarty-smart at the end. Don’t cheat on what you’ve written before. Don’t pull deus ex machina out of your ass. Don’t expect your readers to sit through a bunch of boring nonsense just because you think it’s fun to watch them flounder. Don’t skimp on foreshadowing. Don’t turn your characters into idiots because you’re too lazy to come up with a real problem for them to face, and don’t have conflicts and problems just magically solve themselves because you can’t bear to explore some of the darker aspects of your characters or make them look bad for even a second. Don’t ignore the emotional consequences of your characters’ actions, or the actual consequences; when somebody fucks up they have to live with it, even if they don’t get caught. Good books are often about tough choices, and good writing shows those choices in a realistic light. You don’t just leave the alien kid with the “parents” who have no idea what may happen to him, when you don’t know either. You don’t let the human bomb just walk away into the sunset, where he can accidentally kill lots of people one day. That’s not a happy ending, it’s reckless irresponsibility, and it’s hard to see from a character who is supposed to be wise.

And don’t draw attention to yourself like you’re the star of the show instead of your characters. And all of the other stuff.

So that’s it. I’m pissed off at the bad writing in the last season-and-a-half of Dr. Who, and I’m pissed off at bad writing in general, and those are–mostly–my little rules.

Okay. Anyway. I have not been a fan of the Matt Smith/Steven Moffat run. Sorry, but I haven’t. At all. Moffat wrote a couple of the best episodes of the Tennant run, yes, like “Blink.” But I’m having some real problems with the writing in Series 5 and now 6, and here’s what they are.

The thing is, everyone has a different view on what is good writing vs. what is not. I’m aware of that. These are my opinions. I’m a writer; these are my little “rules” for writing what I consider to be good books. You may not think I’m a good writer and so don’t like my rules; you may think I’m a bad writer who doesn’t follow my own rules. I do think I follow them, but again, it’s all a matter of perception and taste and all of that, so…the point is, this is the stuff I work on and keep in mind. Some of my pet peeves. Things I consider lazy. But just how I also think beginning sentences with participial phrases is an evil thing and hate it with a passion, my feelings and opinions may not match yours (you’re wrong, though, at least when it comes to using participial phrases to start sentences).

I also want to make it clear that I’m not saying the Who writers are untalented. They obviously are talented. They obviously are good writers. But they’re being–I believe–forced into lazy habits, and bad writing is the result.

So. Many of these came up in tonight’s episode. I will tell you about them now.

1. Don’t Use Crutches. By “crutch” I’m referring to the fact that “Night Terrors” ended much the same way as, gee, pretty much the entirety of Series 5, and a bunch of episodes in Series 5, and “Fear Her” from Series 2 (written by the same guy who wrote “Night Terrors”), ended. Oh, you can solve the problem just by wishing it away! Look, the key is in your mind! Just think it right, and it’s right! Yay!

Now, there’s nothing wrong with this ending per se. The problem is after, say, the third time a major problem is solved by “wishing it so/unlocking the key in your mind” it’s a crutch. It’s the same damn story every time.

Not to mention that it leans so close as to touch #2, which is…

2. It Was NOT Just A Dream. How fucking lazy can you get? When people’s minds are going nuts and imprisoning people in some sort of jail built by their minds, or whatever side-gimmick you’ve added to make it seem like maybe you’re not using the exact same ending every time, it’s easy to just pull a “It isn’t real! Pretend it’s not real!” out of your ass and then boom! Everything is back to normal. It’s easy, and it’s lazy; it’s just as lazy as having that character wake up and realize it was All A Dream. This sucks. It’s a cheat.

3. Don’t Cheat. Oh, so much can be and is covered by this one. Cheating is BAD. Cheating is LAZY. Cheating is a deus ex machina, like suddenly the character wins the lottery and all of their problems are solved. Cheating is “You can bring it all back by remembering it!” or “You can save us all by wishing it!” Cheating is giving us a bad guy we’ve never seen before (more on this in a bit). Cheating is having your MC pull a new magical ability or tool out of her ass at the very last second when the reader has never seen or heard of it before, and what do you know, it’s exactly the skill or tool she needs to solve the problem.

Cheating is creating coincidences. Not believable ones, like that the new people in town are evil or that the bad guy and MC both have been to see the only person in the city who has a particular piece of knowledge or information, but unbelievable ones, like that the villain and the MC happen to be shopping in the same store at the same time. Sure, coincidences may happen and characters may overhear bits of information, but you can mitigate that coincidence by having it make sense that what they overhear is being said in that place at that time, and having it make sense that the MC would be close by. Your MC overhearing, while in a bathroom stall at a party, two people discussing her, is a much more believable coincidence than the MC overhearing the villain discussing his or her Evil Plans while the MC is hiding in a public toilet stall at a state fair. You know what I mean?

Cheating is making the plot happen to the MC rather than coming from decisions the MC has made. Again, yes, every story is going to have an element of this, a “Something bad is happening? Maybe I should check it out!” sort of thing. But the MC’s decisions should push the plot; the MC’s actions should bring him/her to the attention of the bad guys, should lead to clues or make things worse. The MC should not be passive; things should not just happen to him or her, but be reactions to his or her own actions. To have a story where the MC just stands around and reacts is cheating. Cheating is not fully making your character and his/her problems part of the world; the story you tell should be a story only able to be told in that world, with those characters; if a character trait makes no difference to the plot, shows us nothing about the world, and matters not one bit to the story, it doesn’t belong there. If a rule of the world doesn’t actually effect the plot, story, or character it doesn’t belong there. Good writing inhabits the world of the story; it doesn’t just exist in it.

Cheating is more than that, too. It’s introducing a character who hangs around contributing nothing and then suddenly at the end is a genius at whatever esoteric task needs doing. It’s not giving the reader clues (more on that in a bit, too) as to who the bad guy is, what the bad guy’s plot is, or how it will be figured out. It’s having your characters make insane leaps of logic based on the most minor of clues and surprise! They’re exactly right! It’s having your characters suddenly know things there’s no way they could know. Or–and this leads into the next one–it’s having characters ignore information just because you want to do a Big Reveal. Yes, Cheating is also–can be also–part and parcel of

4. Don’t Make Your Characters Morons. In the “Night Terrors” episode, two characters who are supposed to be smart people find themselves somehow teleported into a strange house. They’re trying to find a way out. They walk through several rooms. All of those rooms have windows which are curtained or shuddered. Do our “smart” characters do what any halfway-intelligent human being would do, and open the shutters or pull back the curtains, so they can either A) escape; B) see if they can gauge their location; or C) both? No. Of course they don’t. Why? Because if they did, we–the viewer–would then know that they are in fact inside a dollhouse (which we all figured out well before they did anyway), and so would they. The writer didn’t want to tell us yet that they were in a dollhouse (although it was fairly simple to guess, even with the inaccuracies of design–dollhouses do not have hallways. But more on that, too, in a minute) so the writer simply decided to make the characters stupid, rather than coming up with a better way to keep that information from us (like having the windows boarded or painted over).

This is a hard rule to follow, it is. It’s hard to find a way to keep information from readers while still making it clear that the character isn’t a dimbulb. Tough, though. It’s your job to do so. If your character is supposed to be smart, you cannot have him or her running around missing obvious clues left right and center just because you don’t want him or her to know that stuff yet. (When the hubs read this he brought up The Usual Suspects and the Sixth Sense, both of which have twist endings in which we discover characters have missed Big Clues. Again, though, we’re talking about a different type of story structure. It was very clever writing, not lazy writing, that kept us from knowing about Keyser Soze and the truth about Bruce Willis. And, the whole point of both of those twists–well, not the whole point, but you know what I mean–was that Bruce Willis was in fact willfully blind, and Keyser Soze did in fact outsmart Chazz Palminteri. You can have characters miss clues, sure, but there should be a reason for it, not that they just didn’t think of that really obvious answer.)

This is where red herrings come in (and that’s one, too). You can use a red herring to throw the MC off the track, to give yourself time, etc. But it still has to be believable. Your characters cannot just ignore big glowing GUILTY signs and obvious clues hanging over the heads of others. Your character cannot just decide s/he doesn’t feel like chasing the killer that day or decide to keep that doctor’s appointment instead. Your character cannot fail to check the wallet s/he found for ID just because you’re trying to hide the bad guy’s identity for a few more chapters. Your character cannot, when tied up somewhere, figure “Oh, well, damn,” and not even try to untie the knots. This moves into the next rule, which is:

5. Red Herrings Must Be Worthwhile. The “Night Terrors” episode spends some time–five minutes, perhaps seven or eight–setting up the Evil Landlord and the possibility that, being Evil, he could be behind the Bad Things. The landlord serves no other purpose in the story except to threaten. About five or ten minutes after the Red Herring scene, we discover that no, the landlord is a victim as well. Which means that whole bit was a big-assed waste of time and effort.

You can’t throw in a red herring who does nothing for the story except just being a red herring. A red herring must exist in his/her/its own right; it needs to serve some other function. If the only time Mr. Green appears in the book is to say something suspicious and then wander off, and delivers no information/provides no clues as to the real bad guy’s identity/does not advance the plot/etc., your red herring is a waste of space and needs to either do something real or go away.

It also shouldn’t be heavy-handed. Just as it should not be obvious from the second he’s introduced who the villain is–if your bad guy walks into the book kicking puppies before him, twirling his mustache with one hand while writing racist graffiti with the other, you really ought to think about his character a bit more–it should not be obvious, either to the MC or to the reader, that your red herring is innocent. Your character should not be stupid, remember? An effective red herring is neither so obviously guilty that the reader won’t buy it when they turn out innocent (or loses interest), nor so obviously innocent that your MC just looks like an idiot for suspecting them. (Note: Yes, there are some story structures where the reader knows who the bad guy is right off the bat, and that’s different.)

Like I said, I’ve cut this in two because of length, so tomorrow I’ll post the rest.

Last night I saw a link–I’m not going to repost it here, the poor girl has been through enough–to the blog of a writer who had just self-published her novel. The link was to a new post, in which the writer announced–with palpable and understandable excitement–that Jodi Reamer of Writers House (that’s a big-name agent at a big-name agency, for those of you unfamiliar) had seen her book, emailed her to offer representation, and gotten her a deal with (if memory serves) HarperTeen. A big deal, a six-figure type deal.

Obviously people were thrilled for her, in the way so many of us are thrilled for another person–happy for them, perhaps tinged with a bit of envy, because we’re all only human and at heart most humans are, frankly, selfish, evil little beings. Socialization and morals and ethics and all of that teaches us how to deal with those selfish, evil little thoughts, but they’re still there.

Anyway. A few people were not as thrilled; they were skeptical. I admit to being in this camp. I’ve seen publishing deals happen at lightspeed–I know a few people whose agents submitted their work in the morning and had offers by the afternoon–and of course agents can offer to represent at lightspeed as well (my agent offered two days after my initial contact with him, and I’ve known people who’ve gotten offers on the same day). It does happen, sure, but to get an agent and a large deal all in a day or so is extremely unusual. To be able to announce that deal so quickly is even more–well, no, it’s not even unusual. It is, frankly, unheard of. Generally deals aren’t announced until contracts are signed, or at least until the contract stage has been reached (meaning, the fine points are agreed to and we’re just waiting for the paperwork). Lots of us wait until our deals are announced in Publisher’s Marketplace; not because we have to, but because it’s fun to be able to post the little blurb they print in there. It makes it feel real. (In fact, my agent rarely reports to PM, and did so for me because I asked him to, batting my eyelashes and all of that while I did. Okay, no, I didn’t bat my eyelashes, but I did ask, because I wanted that announcement; I wanted to see it confirmed somewhere, because so many people read PM and it’s exciting.)

But this isn’t about deals being posted or anything. It’s about the fact that apparently the expressed skepticism of some people alerted the writer that maybe she should just double-check everything. So she called Writers House.

And discovered that an extremely cruel joke had just been played on her. And not just her, either:

From today’s Publisher’s Lunch:

Writers House has learned that a series of fake emails claiming to be from WH agent Jodi Reamer have been circulating to self-published authors this week. “These emails, which contain a number of false statements, have not in fact come from Jodi Reamer and should thus be disregarded.” One easy “tell”: they advise that any e-mail from a non-Writers House address “expressing interest in representation is counterfeit.”

I cannot even begin to express how absolutely horrified I am on this poor girl’s behalf (and on behalf of the others to whom this happened); I can’t even imagine how it must feel to think you’ve accomplished something like that and to discover that no, you were simply a victim, something to be exploited for someone else’s sick enjoyment. That you were treated as if you’re not even human, less than nothing, not a person with feelings but some sort of computer construct to be toyed with. Who the hell would do something like that? What the fuck is wrong with people? Do they like to kick puppies, too, and maybe wander up to random children and tell them they’re useless, stupid little shits who’ll never amount to anything in the world? What kind of person gets their jollies from doing this sort of thing?

When did we forget that those other people, the ones on the other side of the computer, are in fact people, real people with feelings, and not Sims?

A while ago I did a post on bullies. It feels like things have gotten worse since then. No one is content to just let someone else have their own opinion anymore, and I’m sorry, but the fact that they posted that opinion on the internet does not mean it’s okay to gang up on them and call them names. You want to disagree with their opinion, fine. I personally don’t always see the point in making a big deal about disagreeing with it–I tend to just think “Huh. I don’t agree with that” and move on, unless it’s factual misinformation, in which case I still strive to be polite and respectful–but if you feel they need to hear your point, go ahead.

But there’s a difference between “I disagree with your opinion” and “Dude, you’re a fucking idiot.” There’s a difference between “This is incorrect” and “Dude, you’re a fucking idiot.” And why the hell do you care what they think, anyway? Why is it so important to you to lurk on people’s Twitter feeds and make fun of them in your own? Why do you need to send hoax emails to people just because they have dreams and are trying to accomplish something? Is that really fun? Do you even care that a human being is on the other end of that, a human being you’re being purposefully cruel to just because you can?

Yes, sure, people shouldn’t put things out there if they don’t want others to react. Yes, people should expect disagreement and not get all butthurt because someone does disagree. Yes, we’re adults and need to take responsibility for what we put out there.

But other people’s lives are not a fucking game. Just because someone doesn’t think or feel the way you think or feel doesn’t mean it’s okay to call all of your friends to gang up on them and giggle in public. Just because that person exists doesn’t mean you have the right to stomp all over them. Does it make you feel good about yourself to reduce another person to tears, to make them the butt of your jokes? Have you proved that you’re cool, because you can take an offhand remark they made and turn it into a huge debacle, or misinterpret something they said and spread that misinterpretation around, encouraging others to pile on as well, or play a prank on them and make them think their dreams have come true? Is it really that much fun to treat other people like shit? How the fuck do you people sleep at night?

I’m sick of it, is all. I’m sick of this internet culture that makes people think that other people are simply toys for their amusement, and that it’s okay to jump all over them and keep jumping, that it’s fun to do so. I’m sick of the idea that because it’s a group of people doing it, it’s okay to join in. I’m sick of the idea that it’s open season on anyone and everyone, and that if they wanted to have feelings they should have thought of that before they logged on to the internet. I’m sick of the idea that this kind of shit is cool, and I’m sick of the way people are dehumanized, and I’m sick of the internet culture that reminds me so strongly of Christians thrown to the lions.

Next time you go to comment on something, just think for one second. Is it really necessary to share my opinion here? How much does this really matter, in the big picture? Does this person really deserve my scorn? How would I feel, if someone said this to me? Am I sure I’m interpreting their point correctly?

I’m not saying you can’t have opinions or make them public. I’m not saying you should never respond. I’m not saying you can’t gossip with your friends in email or whatever else. I’m certainly not saying you shouldn’t speak up when someone is being unjust, or that you shouldn’t alert people to that injustice and/or warn others away from it, or stick up for those who can’t stick up for themselves; I absolutely believe you should.

I’m just saying, don’t forget, that other person is a person, too. Being cruel to them, picking their words apart when they didn’t mean to offend, playing tricks on them, laughing and kicking them when they’re down, publicly encouraging others to go and pick and laugh too? It doesn’t make you cool. It makes you a fucking asshole, and I’m sick of seeing it, and I’m sick of watching people be bullied online and then told they deserved it for daring to put themselves out there.

Just saw a link to this:

Another ETA: I want to make it very clear that my post is NOT referring to any other posts written about this specific situation. Indeed, it’s not about any one blog, blog post, or specific incident; or rather, I’m very angry and upset about this situation and on behalf of this writer but when I speak of internet culture etc. etc. I’m speaking in generalities, and absolutely NOT referring to or accusing anyone of anything over this particular situation (except the actual hoaxers, of course).

Just wanted to mention that, because I know a couple of other posts have been written about this. I read those after I wrote my post, and am not at all reacting or responding to them here.

I missed a few things while I was away, sigh. First, and most importantly: L.A. Banks has been diagnosed with adrenal cancer. It’s serious and it’s awful, awful news, and her medical bills are and will continue to be astronomical.

An auction–several auctions, actually–are being held to help raise money for her. I heard about it/got involved too late so couldn’t offer anything; fortunately many, many other people did hear in time, and there’s lots of awesome stuff available to bid on. Please, I urge you all to go have a look. Leslie is really a fantastic person and writer; one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.

Nowhere near that in importance is the fact that SACRIFICIAL MAGIC is now up for pre-order on Amazon (I don’t see it on B&N.com yet, and Book Depository has it but with the incorrect release date [though you can still pre-order it]) and Amazon UK! So if you’re planning on buying the book anyway, you could pre-order it now, and that would be frankly awesome.

I understand that while I was away there was something of a kerfuffle about this whole pre-order business and the “How you should buy my books” thing again and that whole business. I’ve already made my position on such things clear, but since people have a tendency to forget, let’s just go over it again quickly, shall we? Let me make clear too this particular comment isn’t directed at any one author, or at least not at the one this mess seemed to be directed at.

But I do have issues with authors who think it’s okay to scold people and make them feel guilty for buying her book on the Monday before it comes out rather than the actual Tuesday release date, which is such bullshit. First of all, the NYT counts book sales for the week. They tally numbers Sunday night, which means, unless no book ever sold on a Monday ever counts, that a “week” in those terms runs Monday morning-Sunday night. So a book bought on Monday? Fucking counts, so shut up. Second, shut up anyway, because your arrogant assumption that your listing should matter to your readers grosses me out. You want to grumble privately? Fine. But to make them feel guilty and bad? *gag*

Sorry, but I can’t see myself ever having the ego-driven nerve to assume I’m going to make any kind of list. Perhaps that’s because I’m barely midlist, sure, but either way. And even if I did… Seriously, dude, do you really think that if your sales are going to be big enough to give you a shot at the NYT, those ten or twenty copies people managed to buy early is going to keep you off it? Really? Especially when it’s a day early, which I remind you again, still counts?

Also, pre-orders count, and pre-orders matter. Pre-orders help determine print runs and convince bookstore buyers to place bigger orders. Pre-orders count as first-week sales. Again, even were that not the case? Pre-orders are fucking sales. They count. Every fucking sale counts. (When the previous “Buy my books this way so I can hit the NYT” thing broke out I actually had a chat with my editor about it; she confirmed that yeah, every single damn sale counts as a sale, and that–ta da!–helps our sales numbers, and those determine if we get to write more books or not.)

Getting to write more books or not is what matters to me. Would I love to hit a list one day? Of course; what writer wouldn’t? But honestly? What I care about is getting to write more books. Please, please let me get to write more books. If I could get paid a little more for them that would be great, sure. If I could get a bit of recognition beyond the circle of incredible awesome people who’ve actually read my books and are kind and wonderful enough to talk about them that would be pretty cool, too; I’d love to have a bigger audience. But really, I just want to write more books. I dream about getting to write more books. I can’t imagine being so secure in myself and my sales that I think I can totally hit a list as long as those damn readers don’t fuck it up for me, and worrying they will fuck it up by exercising their rights as a consumer to buy available products.

You know what I worry about? Whether or not they’ll like the book. Whether it’s as good as the last one. Whether they’ll understand why Chess did X in that scene or if I didn’t make it clear enough; whether they’ll see the changes being made or not and like them or not. I worry I’m not giving them a full enough experience, that this book will be a let-down, that I haven’t made it exciting enough, sexy enough, thrilling enough. I worry I’ve failed them–you. That’s what I’m crying about in the weeks before release. That’s where my focus is, what’s on my mind. Not “Will they buy it on the right date?” but “Will they love it?” I honestly, again, can’t imagine being in a position where worrying about what on what day the book was/is bought overrules my absolute terror that my readers will hate my new book, or be disappointed by it.

I just can’t explain how furious I get; not when I see the initial posts about “How you can help me hit a list,” because really, they bug me but oh well. Read it or don’t; follow it or don’t. I dislike the implication that it’s the reader’s job to care about such things or that they exist to serve the writer, yes. As I said above, I dislike the sort of arrogance implied by “My book is going to sell big numbers, y’all, so let’s get me some accolades for it.” The initial posts annoy me. But those aren’t such a big deal to me; it’s the follow-up comments about how no one is following instructions or how they’re obviously not reading the posts because if they were they wouldn’t be behaving so damn badly by buying the book when they see it/in the format they’re buying it in/whatever or how they’ve just made the author cry and they should be ashamed of themselves for doing that when I get angry. That’s what infuriates me; that’s where I start to get that sort of deep raw burning rage inside me that makes me want to start screaming and punching people. That’s where slight rudeness or even innocence of tone becomes real arrogance.

Why am I saying all of this now, when the current little internet mess is over? Well, because I’ve just posted pre-order links, that’s why. And I want to make it clear that while I would love you to pre-order the book, I really would, because I need every sale I can get and a sale is a sale, you’re under no obligation to do so. My sales numbers are not your problem; you are not required to do shit for me, my career, or my sales, frankly.

Yes, maybe it is the case–as I’m sure will be pointed out–that it’s easy for me to say all of this because I’m not in a position where I could hit a list, the implication being that because I’m not a big success I don’t have to worry about growing that success, I only have to try to hang on with my fingertips, whereas these people actually are successful and what do losers like me know about that. But I also know writers who have hit the NYT–quite a few of them, in fact–and none of them made a stink about buying the book the day before release or tell their readers they’d made them sick by buying the book a day or two early. And again, oh well. Maybe I’ll never hit a list. I don’t really care. I care about having a long career, and selling enough to make my publishers happy and make them keep offering me contracts. I care–deeply–about writing books my readers love, books that make them happy and make them want to see more books from me.

I got into this business so I could write books. I stay in this business because I still want to do that. That’s all I want to do. I want readers to like my books. That’s all I worry about.

So pre-order my book or don’t. I hope you do. I’m not worried if you don’t. I just want you to LOVE the book, and be excited by it and not feel let down, and that’s what I’d much rather focus on: you, the reader.

So, lately I’ve been putting the TV on in the daytime, while the girls are in school. And is it just me, or is every goddamn show on these days either about cupcakes or makeovers? Seriously. All these “fashion makeover” shows, whose soul purpose seems–to me at least–to be to rip the fucking soul out of people and force them to conform no matter what.

What the fuck, man?

You have “What Not to Wear” on TLC–an update of the British version with Trinny and Susannah which I actually enjoyed to some degree–with some horrible bitch who’s using my name (although to be fair, I think she had it first *cough cough*), who seems to think people don’t even have a right to wear comfortable underwear much less anything else, and has some sort of vendetta against women over the age of thirty wherein we’re all required to dress like librarians. Jesu forfend we, you know, have a personality and express it through clothing, or *gasp* be comfortable instead of prancing around to pick our kids up at exclusive private schools wearing tasteful calf-length skirts and sweaters in dull shades of pink.

You know what? I turned thirty a few years ago. Never mind how many. Less than ten, okay, and that’s what’s important, not that it matters if it was more either because fuck you, clothing Nazi. The second a woman crosses that “thirty” line is not the very moment she must give up showing her legs forever, or the moment she has to stop wearing stuff she likes and retreat into some kind of fucking Ralph Lauren lethargy full of neutral colors, nude lipstick, and one-inch heels.

Except “What Not to Wear” isn’t the only bullshit You-must-conform-to-our-snooty-corporate-standards show on TV. There’s also this crappy “How Do I Look?” thing, which is basically exactly the same: Random Subject had personal style, TV Presenters do their best to stamp it out at any cost. It’s almost like a Goodfellas-style situation: You prefer a certain color? Fuck you, pay me. You like to wear T-shirts? Fuck you, pay me. You live a very casual life, huh? Fuck you, pay me. Like Paulie is controlling the clothing for every woman in the world, except Paulie in this instance is a prudish matron who hates everyone and strongly desires a homogenous society full of country-club look-alikes. We’re all supposed to look like we belong in the Pottery Barn catalog and generally be dressy all the time, and there is absolutely zero thought given to what our lives are, what kinds of people we are, who we are in general. It seems to be especially fun for these dickwads to pick on lower-income women and stay-home moms, too, which says a lot.

It’s slut-shaming on a grand scale, and the slut is any woman who dresses for comfort rather than style, any woman who expresses any form of personal taste rather than buying and wearing whatever she’s told to wear like a good little lemming, any woman who rejects “fashion” and wears what she likes or sees clothing as a way to express herself. Such women are not to be tolerated, the whores, and they must be shown up as evil on national–international–television and made to see how dirty and wrong they are, and how all of the “normal” people should point and laugh and look down their noses.

You know what? Fuck you, What Not to Wear. Fuck you, How Do I Look. I don’t give a fuck what you think. I will continue to wear the things I like to wear. I will continue to wear my skirts above the knee because you know what, skirts below the knee don’t look so good on me and I have nice legs despite being that horrible over-30 age (which of course would normally mean I should retire quietly into the Neutrals-and-Earthtones-convent with skirts that hit my ankles and capri pants and tops that button to the neck and deep, deep regret for my whorish tattoos). I’ll keep wearing black almost exclusively because that’s what I like, and I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like it because who the hell are you? Just because you’re boring doesn’t mean I have to be, and just because you spend all your time studying issues of Vogue doesn’t mean I have to. I will have my own personal style, and I will look the way I want, and I will teach my daughters that they should wear the clothes they like, what makes them happy, what makes them feel good about themselves.

Because you know what? Who they are matters more than what they wear, just like who I am matters more than what I wear. And who I am is someone you can’t fathom in your narrow-minded existence. Who I am is someone you’ll never understand, given how you judge people according to one narrow set of standards, how you think the only worth of people lies in their bank accounts and their conformity to a false ideal.

I won’t conform. I won’t be what you want me to be. I’ll wear what I want, and I don’t give a shit what you think about it. Go fuck yourself, fashionista; all we women are okay just the way we are, and we don’t need you.

I went to get my hair cut today (yes, I just bitched about this on Twitter. So? I have something else to rant about too, so if you’ve already read this–oh, your time is soooo valuable, you can’t read a little rant more than once–feel free to skip.

Last week hubs and I were doing a bit of online browsing at Daddy O’s, which we do quite often and have done for years and years now, almost since it opened. And we came across pictures of this model and her adorable hair, which we both really liked, and thought would be really cute on me. So I’ve been thinking about it all week, and hubs printed out the pictures so I could look at them, and I decided, yeah, today I’m going to get do it. Because yes, it’s shorter than what I have now, but it isn’t, like, microshort or anything. I wore my hair a lot like it fifteen years or so ago, and it never took long to grow out.

Problem, of course, is that I don’t know where in this area to go. The last place I got a professional cut closed, and even if it hadn’t I wouldn’t have gone back there, because it was too expensive and the girl really didn’t listen to me or do what I wanted, which just sucked.

I drove past a few places, but they were all, like, “Day Spa/Salon”s, which means they’re going to be outrageously expensive too. Finally I found an open place, walked in, and was greeted by this incredibly dour, frumpy little woman with that burgundy-auburn dyed hair, do you know the color I mean? Seriously, she looked like Rosa Klebb. Without the cheer.

I already had that sort of nervous icky feeling in my stomach, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to let Mama Steelboot there near me with scissors. But I showed her my pictures anyway, figuring who knows, maybe she’s an excellent stylist who just has bad person taste, right?

Her thick eyebrows rose up to her weirdly side-swept bangs. “You want to go this short?”

I don’t think the cut is that short, actually, and that’s what I said. She sort of looks at my hair again, raises her eyebrows further, and says, “Well, it’s shorter than what you have now.”

Um, yeah…that’s why they call it a hair cut. Also, duh, I can see that it’s shorter than what I have now; I even brought pictures to reference, and am perfectly capable of understanding the concept of varying lengths. Also, fuck you, lady.

She took my name, and went to start sweeping up, and I stood there wondering why I was even contemplating letting this woman who obviously didn’t get me or what I wanted, and who I suspected might deliberately sabotage my hair just for pleasure, at all near me, so I didn’t. I told her I wanted to think about it more, and ran.

Why is it so damn hard to find a decent stylist? One who will actually listen to what you want, and give it to you? I just don’t get it. This is why I cut my own hair. I just don’t feel confident I can do that cut myself, because of all the layers in the back.

Anyway. This leads me to another rant, which was brought on by a humorous discussion on Absolute Write, and I’m basically going to repeat what I said. (Hmm. Maybe I should have called this post “Recycled Rants.”

The discussion was about celebrities eating during interviews, and how just once it would be cool to see someone polish off a cheeseburger or something. I commented that only very thin actresses get to do that, in the guise of A) proving they’re not anorexic; B) proving they just naturally have the metabolism of gazelles, hee, and it’s just natural on them. Both of which are bullshit, and piss me off.

What pisses me off even more, along those same lines–and this is a blast from the past–is a scene in the Charlie’s Angels movie. Drew Barrymore, who produced it or whatever it was she did, insisted that there be a scene in it where the Angels sat down and ate burgers and fries, to convey the massage to girls women should eat and that they shouldn’t starve themselves to be thin or some crap like that. Except it’s bullshit, and Drew knows it.

If you want to be thin, you cannot sit down and tuck into plates of cheeseburgers and fries every day. You just can’t. Once a week, sure, especially if you’re fairly careful the rest of the time. But the idea that thin women gorge themselves at every opportunity is, IMO, just as damaging to young women as telling them not to eat.

It’s yet another unrealistic ideal for them to live up to. Not only are they supposed to be size 2s, they’re supposed to be able to eat half a cow and STILL be a size 2. For the record, I am a size 2 (actually, the jeans I’m wearing at the moment are a Juniors size 1, but they’re a bit tight). I worked hard to get to this size. I work hard to stay this size. That means I don’t get to eat burgers and fries every day. I don’t get to eat half a chocolate cream pie in the evening; in fact, I rarely eat anything for dessert except a bar of taffy (I like taffy, especially strawberry taffy. It’s not as good as Drumsticks–a taffy lolly I used to get in England–but I digress). When I’m hungry during the day I have a few pretzel sticks or something, or I don’t have anything at all.

In 2007, see, my weight hit 143 lbs. Yes, I know, for some women that looks great, but let me repeat that I’m barely 5’2, and very small-boned. I looked very round. Very round indeed. My features were distorted. I looked miserable, and I was miserable, and I got tired of wearing baggy t-shirts and having only one pair of jeans that fit me. So I started counting calories and making better choices, and by the time I was done in mid-2008, I’d lost 40 lbs.

Do I eat? Of course I eat. You have to eat to live. Do I get to eat whatever I want, whenever I want? No. I don’t. Neither do 99% of slim women, frankly. That’s a fact. It’s bad enough all the pressure on women to be thin, to be beautiful, to be perfect, to be sexy but not slutty, all that other stuff, without also adding the pressure that they should be able to have that perfect thin body without any effort, and that if they can’t stay thin while eating their weight in french fries there’s something wrong with them.

Not to mention, why, in determining that it’s necessary to show women eating–which is in itself kind of an insulting little thing to do, really–why choose burgers and fries? Why not a steak and baked potato? Why not some pasta? Why deliberately choose something extra fattening, that will make young women feel especially inadequate? If you want to set an example, why not have them sitting down to a really healthy meal? (Note: I honestly don’t think anything is wrong with burgers and fries as a meal, I don’t. I love them. I eat them probably once a week or once every couple of weeks, and my homemade burgers are delicious if I say so myself. But while I don’t think they’re the health disaster so many people do, I also don’t think they’re as good for you as fresh vegetables or leaner meats or whatever else, and I don’t see why, if you’re consciously setting out to set an example for young women, you wouldn’t want to set an example that shows them how to truly eat right).

We need to stop pretending that normal people are just naturally thin, and that no effort is required to maintain it. We need to stop pretending that our weight is something we have no control over, frankly, because that damages everyone (IMO). We need to stop sending the message, deliberately or not, that you are somehow inadequate if you can’t eat a plate of lard every day and not gain a pound. Oh, and you should be able to get up and run a marathon after, too.

Those super-skinny actresses are super-skinny, and they wolf down those burgers in interviews, because they probably haven’t eaten more than dry salad for a week preparing for that splurge. Being thin takes work. And you know what? It doesn’t look good on everyone, either. Certainly being super-skinny doesn’t. I always remember how pretty Laura Flynn-Boyle used to look before she became just leathery skin stretched over old bones.

If I had a different figure, I’d happily gain some weight. I would. I’m not a very curvy woman. I’m fairly straight-up-and-down; I don’t have a large bust, I don’t have a cushy, callipygian bottom. I am slight, petite in a word, and because of that every extra pound shows, and the only way I can feel comfortable and look good in my clothes is to be quite thin. If I was curvy, busty? Then I’d be happy to be curvy and busty, and I wouldn’t worry so much.

I don’t mean this post as The Personal History Of Stacia’s Weight, or as some kind of justification for my own appearance or anything else. All I mean it as is an attempt to be realistic, and to say something realistic to people. Yes, you can control your own weight, except in very rare cases. But yes, you do pay a price for that, and the price is food. Once you hit your goal weight you can relax a bit, sure, but you can never completely let yourself go (not to mention that after the first month or so your stomach shrinks and you just can’t eat as much anyway). Getting and staying thin is, for most of us, something we have to work at, not something that we can just tra-la-la through life not worrying about at all.

So why do we insist on lying to our young women about that? Why do we insist on making them believe that not only do they have to be thin, they have to be effortlessly thin? Yeah, I get the desire to keep them from becoming anorexic, but I believe that whether we’re honest or not about what it takes to maintain a certain weight, anorexia will still happen. I think it’s more dangerous to tell them there’s no connection between what they eat and their weight, personally, but that may be just me.

And yeah, all of this may be just me. But it’s my rant, too. I just think we put enough pressure on young women without adding another in the idea that they should be eating like hogs at every opportunity while still staying very thin and gorgeous and perfect. It’s time we were honest with young women, and everyone else, about how difficult it is to hold to those artificial and often harmful standards.

Or maybe we could just give up those ridiculous standards anyway? I know, I know, too much to hope for. Sigh.

I’m out of rant energy now.

So I do wish I’d been more comfortable/experienced with that. And, you know, that I didn’t sound so silly and like I wasn’t actually answering the questions posed. Sigh. But still, it’s fun, and Caitlin came to hang out with us partway through so she’s in there too, which is of course awesome except all of our little asides and stuff aren’t in there, heh. Anyway. Go read it if you like.

I’ve also done another interview, with Julie at Yummy Man and Kick Ass Chicks, which was, again, lots of fun. That’s going to be posted at some point tomorrow, Saturday the 11th. (Which, has everyone forgotten what that day is? I don’t think we should have a national day of mourning forever, but I do think it’s sad and upsetting that I’m not even seeing mention of it anywhere.)

Anyway. A few months ago I had a discussion with a few friends about this subject, and now it’s come up again. Will someone please tell me when everyone decided that they had to be right all the time, that they never had to take blame for or accept responsibility for their mistakes or the effects their words and/or actions have on others, and that apologizing in any way is a terrible, weak, dumb thing to do?

As I think I’ve said before, we all–every single one of us–has at one time or another hurt another person. We said something we didn’t mean. Or we meant it when we said it but regretted saying it after. Or it was a flip, throw-away comment, made as a joke, that inadvertently really hurt or upset someone else. Or made them angry. Or whatever. Maybe we were having an off day. Maybe they were simply someone who doesn’t and never will understand us, and so the ability to connect and follow meanings just isn’t there.

We’ve all done it. All of us. We’re human, and that’s what humans do. Show me a person who has never in their lives hurt another person and I’ll show you a person who’s spent their entire lives in one room, or who has simply never spoken to anyone, although even then, what if someone tried to speak to them, and they didn’t reply? Wouldn’t that be hurtful? I think so.

But when did it become such a horrible, evil thing to do to just say you’re sorry? When did we decide we would rather argue and argue and argue, instead of just saying, “I’m sorry,” and letting the matter drop?

My friends and I were discussing a few of the biggest internet kerfuffles of the last year/year and a half or so, and how big they got, and how painful they were for so many people, and how in pretty much every case, the whole thing could have been avoided had one person, early on, just said, “You know, I’m not sure I understand why you’re upset, but it’s enough for me to know you are upset, so I really want to apologize because I certainly didn’t want to hurt you or make you angry.”

Apologizing is not giving in. Apologizing is not admitting you’re wrong. You don’t have to believe you’re wrong to apologize. It’s simply the right thing to do. The polite, civilized thing to do. And in a society which is supposed to be polite and civilized, I notice a disturbing number of people lately who don’t care who they hurt, who don’t care how many people they drag through the mud or rip apart, who don’t care how much filth spills over onto other people who had the misfortune of being in the same area. It’s all worth it if they get to prove they’re right. They are unequivocally, absolutely, totally right, and all the people who don’t see that are obviously morons with no soul, and if Person A just explains him- or herself enough times, or offers enough justifications, then Person B will of course realize how wrong they’ve been, bow meekly, and walk away, leaving Person A victorious.

Except life doesn’t work that way, and people don’t work that way, and all that will happen is everyone will get angrier and angrier and angrier, and friendships and reputations will be ruined and psyches scarred, just because everyone had to be right.

Why is it so damn hard to just say, “I’m sorry?” To just be graceful, and admit that although you meant no offense, obviously whatever you said or did had an unintended consequence? Why are people so reluctant to do that, why are they so determined to sacrifice the feelings of anyone and everyone else just so they can be right? Why are they so determined to convince themselves and the other people involved that they were wrong to be offended, or to take the comment that way? That it’s all their fault for being oversensitive, or babyish, or for expecting special treatment? People will rely on the worst self-serving pop-psychology bullshit to justify their own nastiness and insensitivity, because apparently just acknowledging and respecting the feelings of another human being is just way beyond their skill level, or what they’re prepared to do.

I don’t get it. It pisses me off. Grow up, you fucking morons. Just apologize, the way an adult does. Only a child needs to insist on being right all the time, and in resorting to this “blame the victim for their obviously skewed worldview” crap so they can avoid taking responsibility for their own actions. And you know, if you’re like that, and you seriously need so bad to be right all the time and to believe that you personally exist in this ethereal bubble of spiritual, social, and mental perfection that no mere mortal can possibly understand, then go fuck yourself, because you’re an asshole.

Yes, there are some people who deliberately set out to hurt or offend others. But most people don’t. I get that. Most of us get that. And like I said above, we’ve all done it. I can totally understand the “I really don’t understand what I did to upset you,” feeling. I’ve been there. I can totally understand the “That’s really not what I meant, and I find it pretty impossible to even understand how you misunderstood me so thoroughly, or why you assumed the worst like that.” I’ve been there too. I understand how it hurts to be misunderstood like that, because again, been there. I’ve been on the giving and receiving end of hurt feelings and offense. And it’s not pleasant. It’s not fun. Nobody likes to be hurt, and honestly, no decent person likes to think they’ve hurt someone else.

But sometimes we just have to suck it up, you know? If I make a joke about trees, and someone’s cousin married a tree and they then take offense, I need to apologize. By doing so I’m not admitting what I said was wrong. I’m not admitting defeat. I’m not admitting that I am an anti-tree hatist of the most evil proportion. I’m just saying that I didn’t mean to hurt or offend them. How is that wrong? How is that a lie? How is that insincere? Why is that so hard for people?

And even if I think both the person and their cousin are completely nut-rot crazy, I apologize. Yes, because again, I hurt or offended them, and that’s not a good thing to do. But also because perhaps someone offended by something like that is a bit unstable or is simply having a really bad, painful day, and by apologizing I can make them feel better. Maybe someone offended by that is the type who’ll stick around arguing for hours and hours, who’ll start spamming the blog or sending crazy emails, and I can head all of that trouble off at the pass just by saying I’m sorry. (That’s another thing too, about the Need To Be Right: why do you spend so much time and energy arguing with someone online? Why not just shrug and walk away? Stop replying to comments about it, stop engaging in discussions about it. It’s very simple. Let it go.)

By arguing and arguing, and needing so badly to be right, I prove not only what an insecure, needy little twat I am, but that I truly have no manners, that I truly am a selfish boor. Who wants to hang out with that kind of person?

There comes a point in every argument where the best thing to do is simply to give up. I believe that when you’re hurt someone, it’s your duty to apologize right away. But if that’s not what the argument is about, or if it’s past that point or whatever, there is still a sense of class and grace in being the one to walk away. It doesn’t make you look weak; just the opposite, in fact. Being willing to apologize, being willing to say that although you can’t agree, you don’t want to argue anymore, makes you look braver, stronger. It makes you the bigger person. I admire someone who can gracefully apologize and walk away. I do not admire someone who will resort to anything, any argument no matter how low, any justification no matter how crappy, any defense no matter how far-fetched and desperate, to prove themselves right. And especially, to lay the blame on the other person.

You know what? An argument–whether in real life or, especially, online–isn’t a fucking trial to save you from a murder rap. You’re not trying to escape a death sentence. It’s just not that damned important; it shouldn’t be, certainly. It shouldn’t be so important that your entire self-worth and self-image hinge on you being deemed THE VICTOR in this particular throwdown. It’s just a disagreement. You apologize and move on. And you know, if you’re so offended by the other person taking offense, maybe all of the bullshit you’re trying to ascribe to them apply to you as well, hmm?

It’s never pleasant to be told something you said or did was taken badly and upset someone. Nobody likes to feel like the villain. And certainly, when there are issues like racism or sexism involved, that can be really upsetting. But the way to prove that you’re not isn’t by arguing and yelling and claiming anyone who saw that in your statement is obviously a moron and way oversensitive. The way to prove you’re not is just to apologize. “Oh, man, it didn’t even occur to me that someone would read my comment that way. I’m so, so sorry it made you feel like that!”

It’s very easy. It’s part of being a member of society, whether that’s an online one or a Real Life one. And it’s part of being a decent person, frankly.

You don’t need to be right. You do need to behave like a human being. Just fucking apologize. Or soon you’ll have no one to apologize to, because no one will be speaking to you–except, perhaps, a couple of other sycophantic tools, but how long do you think that will last, when you’re all so rude, unpleasant, and convinced of your own superiority?

You hurt someone, you own your words. Whatever. Just do it. Grow the hell up.

Only the link didn’t go to Alpha Reader. It went to one of those content-collecting sites, a book focused one. That site has a Twitter account and when they “collect” a review, they tweet it, which is how I found it. Now that I’m thinkig of it I realize I’ve seen them post a duplicate of another review before, but as the review was for a site with many reviewers I thought the reviewer herself owned the “collecting” site (obviously I didn’t realize it was one of those sites) and was simply reposting her own review.

Of course I retweeted the link, thinking it was original. Immediately another reader informed me of the situation, which shocked me and made me feel ill. I deleted my tweet and reposted it with the correct link, giving credit to the actual writer of the post. By name, which the “collecting” site didn’t do; they had “Source: Alpha Reader” in the bottom left corner in a very pale gray font, which wasn’t easy to see.

That pissed me the hell off.

Here’s the thing. I’ve seen it mentioned a couple of times that writers should not acknowledge any reviews at all, be they positive or negative. And I think that’s bullshit. Why in the hell would I not give someone credit for their work? Why would I ignore it, when they’ve said wonderful things about my work, and took the time to write it all down and post it for anyone to see? When they are recommending my books to their friends? Why in the hell would I not at least give them a nod, let them know I did see it and appreciate it?

Not to mention, a lot of these reviews are incredibly well-written. These are reviewers with talent. Thoughtful, intelligent people who really pay attention to what they’re reading, who analyze it. Reviewers who really truly understand the books and what they’re trying to say, who really truly understand the characters. That’s a big deal. That’s a connection with people, a connection you cannot buy. It’s an amazing thing; it’s the best thing about being a writer, it’s the reason why most of us become writers. We want to share something, say something. When you discover that someone heard that and understood it and appreciated it, that something that means so much to you also means so much to them, that’s a big deal.

As far as I’m concerned, someone who reads my books, enjoys them, and takes time out of their day to write a review–especially a thoughtful, detailed one like Danielle’s or like any of the dozens of other fantastic reviews the Downside books have gotten–deserves credit for that. We all like web hits, right? So isn’t it a good thing to do to link to them, to encourage people to check out their blogs? Isn’t it a good thing for those who read my blog to maybe find a new reader blog they’ll enjoy? Maybe they’ll meet someone whose taste is like theirs; maybe they’ll make a new book-friend. Why the hell shouldn’t I do that? Why the hell should I ignore the hard work of someone who has acknowledged mine so kindly?

The “Terrible Fever” Goodreads group has over fifty members now (yes, I realize that hardly makes me a big name or anything, but I think it’s cool). How many of those readers knew each other before they joined up? I haven’t been reading the posts there because I don’t believe that’s my place–reviews are one thing, but discussions on forums among readers are another–but I’m willing to bet that not all of them did. That some of them met each other through that group. Isn’t that cool? Would that have happened if I hadn’t linked to the group here, or retweeted it? It’s very possible, sure, but it’s not definite.

I don’t read the Goodreads group; I don’t think it’s my place to do so. That’s a forum for readers, and they’re having their own discussions, and that’s not my business. I feel like if I popped in and started talking it might stultify the conversation, make them all self-conscious and uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I want to do. And frankly, yeah, I know there are few places that are reader-only anymore, and that it can be frustrating to have writers always popping in to comment. Yes, it’s disappointing and depressing; I am a reader, after all. I’ve been a reader all my life. But it feels sometimes like even if I’m trying to comment as a reader, I’m still not seen as one, and you know, that’s just the way it is, and it’s the price I pay for getting to do this job that I love more than anything.

Here’s the thing. I can’t email reviewers. I can’t contact them and tell them how glad I am that they caught this or understood that, or why the thing that disappointed them happened, or what the implications of the thing they’re curious about will be down the road. I can’t do that. I’ve learned that no matter how diplomatic you try to be, no matter how good your intentions are, no matter how happy you are or how interesting you think such a discussion is–no matter how much you think it would be fucking awesome to have a conversation like that with a writer whose work you read and had thoughts about–some people will always see it as an invasion, as writers butting in and trying to tell them what to do.

But what I can do is link to them. Acknowledge them from a distance. Say in my post that I loved this one or that one, that I found this line or that line particularly well-written and that I appreciated the effort that was put into it. Just as my novels are art to me, so those reviews may well be art to those reviewers, and they’ve put it out there hoping people will see it and understand it and connect with it.

Those reviews, those reviewers, those readers, are what make this whole thing worthwhile. They’re the ones who make all of the blood and sweat and tears, all of the emotional nakedness and pain, every bit of yourself that you put into your work, matter. I think they deserve to be acknowledged for that, and told that they matter. And I’m going to keep doing it.

I’m sure you’re probably getting sick of seeing my reviews, but I do have another quick one to share. From WickedlilPixie at Writings of a Wicked Book Addict:

Unholy Ghosts is the first book in Stacia Kane’s Downside Series & it was phenomenal! It is one of the most grittiest, in your face Urban Fantasies I’ve ever read & I loved it…If you read one new Urban Fantasy series, make it Unholy Ghosts.

So something I’ve been thinking about for a while, as you guys know, is what urban fantasy truly is as a genre, and where it’s going, and how my books fit into it. (Remember the The Books Are Out There post?

And of course we’re now exactly one week away from the official release date of UNHOLY GHOSTS. And I’m wondering how people will respond to it, whether they’ll love it or hate it, whether the darkness will be too much for them, whether they’ll accept a drug addict as a heroine, all of those things that I worried and wondered about even as I wrote it.

But here’s the thing. I feel like urban fantasy has, as a genre, been somehow relegated to the “Girl” section. It’s been dismissed as “Girl books.” And many guys really do seem to think this way. I’ve seen a lot of them in various places referring to UF as “just paranormal romance with a little more action,” or “hot girl in leather solves mystery, sleeps with paranormal creatures.”

And honestly? I think to some extent that’s true. No, hear me out. Other worlds and paranormal creatures do tend to be a big part of urban fantasy. The heroines often have sex (mine certainly do) and it’s often with paranormal creatures (Megan sleeps with a demon, for example, but in Chess’s world the only paranormal creatures are ghosts, and they don’t really make good bed partners, what with the trying to kill you and all).

But I don’t see where that’s necessarily a problem. Why is it that as soon as romance and/or sex become genre tropes, that genre is automatically consigned to the Girl Ghetto, and judged to be “not real,” (as in “not real fantasy”) or “not as good.” Why is it that just saying it’s “for girls” automatically has such a negative connotation?

That’s not how urban fantasy started, and it’s not all there is to the genre. But even if it was, I don’t see what the problem is. Do men dislike reading about sex? Somehow I doubt it. Do men have a problem reading about hot chicks? Again, somehow I doubt it. So what is it? Why has urban fantasy become essentially chick-lit fantasy, and something men automatically avoid?

I think in part it’s because it’s considered “not manly” somehow to like books where there’s an emotional story s well as the main story, and where that emotional story is given a place of importance. Personally, I think that’s crap. Fantasy readers are supposed to be smarter than that, and less worried about what other people think of them. I get incredibly sick and tired of the idea that fantasy is only for boys, that comics are only for boys, that science fiction is only for boys, that shows like Doctor Who are only for boys, that fandom is only for boys, that comic conventions are only for boys. Who put them in charge?

You could make the argument that for years they’re the ones who kept various fandoms going. (I’ll never forget the movie Trekkies, when they interviewed some guys who did an annual birthday party for Captain Kirk [if memory serves] and one of the guys said, “Last year we even had a girl come.” Ouch.) And you know what, if that’s true, then I can see the resentment, at least to some extent. I really can. Nobody likes to see a genre or subculture or whatever to which they’ve given their time, attention, care, and support suddenly get co-opted and turned into some big huge thing. It’s irritating when those same people who laughed at you or spit at you or beat you up or called you names five years before are suddenly acting like they’re your best friends and always have been. I’ve been there.

But I’d really think that men would welcome women. If nothing else, it greatly increases their chances of getting laid, right? And nobody’s saying they can’t still have their boy-only gatherings. Just that it would be nice if they’d stop actively and loudly resenting the women, and dismissing them, and poking fun at them, and basically doing to them what many people in the past have done to them. It’s not right, and it’s not fair.

My love of fantasy came from my brother, who was way into D&D. He’s five years older than me, so at the age he was really getting into role-playing games and Lord of the Rings, I was seven. He used to test some of his new games on me, and occasionally I’d just ask to play one with him, because it was neat. I liked being a tough girl warrior; I liked inventing new characters and writing them up on sheets of graph paper. We watched LOTR, the animated Bakshi version, almost every day. For like a year. We read Warlord comics and I became obsessed with them; I had a huge crush on Travis Morgan, and wanted to go to Skartaris so bad it hurt. I wanted to own the Hellfire sword!

And you know, I bet there are a lot of women out there who had similar experiences. Or, as in the case of both my daughters, had parents who were very into that stuff, and so were raised with it. My girls collect Justice league action figures, and they can name every member. They read comics. They watch Doctor Who with us (and that’s another show that earned lots of grumbles and ire when a romantic subplot was introduced). They love the Superman and Batman animated series. I fully expect that will continue as they grow up, and I hope they find when that happens that they’ll be welcomed by everyone, that they won’t be looked at as “she’s just here because her boyfriend is here,” or “now we’re going to have to add kissing to everything,” or whatever.

But I’m straying from the point. Yes, there is a lot of urban fantasy that has sex with paranormal creatures. But there’s a lot that doesn’t too. There’s a lot written by men (I consider both Charles de Lint and Neil Gaiman to be urban fantasy). There’s a lot that deals with complex moral issues, that makes you think, that asks questions.

That’s what I was going for when I wrote UNHOLY GHOSTS, in fact, and I hope I succeeded. I wanted to write the kind of fantasy I wanted to read, something dark and gritty and tough, something morally ambiguous, something that wasn’t filled with beautiful people being slick and cool, but with people struggling to get by, people who weren’t perfect. I’ve been told by several men who’ve read it that they loved it. Ironically, in fact, the only negative comments I’ve seen about it have all come from women, who have issues with the drug use, or think the world is too dark, or whatever. The men seem to like it because it’s not a stereotypical creature-sex-and-snark urban fantasy, and the few women who haven’t liked it seemed to dislike it because it’s not a stereotypical creature-sex-and-snark urban fantasy. And hey, to each his or her own; nobody’s going to like everything all the time, and I’d much rather write a book that inspires passion and thinking than one people just sort of shrug about, and forget five minutes after they’ve finished it. Although what this says about my “UF isn’t just for girls, and it isn’t just thinly veiled paranormal romance” topic here I don’t know.

My Demons books were very close to paranormal romance. I still don’t think they were, because ultimately they were Megan’s stories, and about how she came to accept herself and the changes in her life, and ultimately she was the one who had to defeat the Big Bads. But I freely acknowledge, and did when they were released, that they skirted the line between paranormal romance and urban fantasy. The Downside books really don’t. Yes, there’s a romantic subplot, but it’s a small part of the series (it gets more attention in the third book, but if the series continues I expect the third book will still be the most romance-heavy of the series; I don’t have any plans for it to get any more romantic).

In writing the Downside books I wanted to stretch the limits of urban fantasy. I wanted to return to its roots. I want to raise questions and examine issues. I wanted to make people think. Because I think that’s what great urban fantasy can do, and what it should do. I think it’s an amazing genre, one that can really turn a bright light on society and humanity and expose the underbellies, both the good and the bad. So it makes me sad to see that it’s become a genre (or subgenre, really) so easily dismissed as “sex with vampires.” It makes me sad to see men automatically turning away from it because they think–many times without even having read one, or having just read one they grabbed at random–that that’s all the genre is, and so they put it down and decide it’s just for those wimpy, sappy girls who need material for their sexual fantasies (as if the preponderance of incredibly–and improbably–large-breasted women with teeny tiny waists and Callipygian asses has nothing to do with male sexual fantasies). In saying all of this I certainly don’t mean to imply that mine are the only urban fantasies that do this, of course. There are many that do. I’m just saying what my specific goal was.

This is turning into an incredibly long post, and I really should wrap it up. So I’d like to know what you think. Do you think urban fantasy deserves its reputation as just chick books? Why do you think men avoid it or put it down? How do you think that could change, or do you think that could change? Or do you have any other thoughts?

Feel free to comment anonymously if you like. Either way I’d love to hear what you think.