Bubble

I live in a bubble.

Like a lot of writers, I spend an inordinate amount of time alone. Well, it's what passes for alone with Demon Baby and three other kids. I live in my head a lot, and sometimes, I have to say, I feel much safer there.

Oh, I venture out. I got a call yesterday that the local food bank is in serious trouble. Turning people away. So yeah, a food drive is immediately in order. I have my friends. But very often, if you feel as sensitive as a tuning fork or a divining rod, you learn to stay where you feel it's safe. For me, that safe spot is more often teaching ESL to immigrants or going to the food bank than it is at social events with people who seem to have so much and give so little--and worse, seem to define strange values for the children, who are meaner than snakes sometimes.

So into my little arrangement in the world comes being a writer. I haven't Googled myself in well over a year, maybe more. Two years? I don't even know. Maybe even longer than that. Occasionally, Oldest Daughter will tell me something (like there is a fan page for me on Facebook, which is very cool). But generally, the bubble system works fine--for real life and for publishing life.

I answer every email I receive from readers--so it's not like I don't respond at all. I answer them all, even the ones who occasionally "yell" at me (got one of those two weeks ago from someone who was not happy about an ending). So yesterday . . . JVZ sent me this link.

That sound you heard yesterday was, I am sure, collective shock in the book world. Breaking Dawn came out, and the fan reviews are largely heinous. Don't read the reviews if you don't want spoilers--but you can see the breakdown on ratings. It's not even like they are breaking down into a bunch of mid-range reviews. Meyer's fans either like it--or overwhelmingly LOATHE it. Not just a middle-of-the road "meh." They HATE it. I read the spoilers (of course, I did! I read last pages of books first), and I would say that I can totally get where the angry ones are coming from.

And I gotta wonder what that must be like. Does she know? I would guess yes. Her publisher's got to be freaking out. The people who are bringing out the MOVIE of the first one can't be thrilled.

Now, on the one hand, as of this writing, over a thousand people have already reviewed it. It's number 1 on Amazon. But I wonder what the author owes her readers to give them the ending they wanted or needed. Should authors live in a bubble of their own choosing, completely unswayed by fans? There are readers seriously questioning if she even wrote the book.

Even if you are not published yet, I wonder . . . would you be prepared for THAT kind of reaction? I know I wouldn't. I have a hard enough time when readers yell at me--and that's me getting maybe twenty or thirty emails a week (when I don't have a new release), and maybe once a month someone gives me grief. I like my bubble just fine, thanks. I have a November release from Red Dress Ink. I already know there are going to be mad people. You don't make God a woman and have no one react. You sure as heck don't mock the Hail Mary football pass (involving betting and the Virgin Mary). You don't have demons who like sushi and angels who like a shot of whiskey. You don't stick Albert Einstein in drag. You just don't--and not expect to hear from SOMEONE whose sensibilities you have seriously pissed off.

So thoughts? I know some writers are like, "I would just be thrilled to have Meyer's kind of money and her number of readers." But I don't know. Could you stand people sort of uniformly being furious at you? In real life it's hard enough--but this is your BOOK. It's your BABY!

Discuss.

The B*tch Surcharge

There are some people so not ready to be published. How do I know? When they vehemently--angrily . . . confrontationally react to even the slightest criticism. Because if you're going to put your stuff out there, there are two facts you cannot escape.

One . . . your work is going to be criticized.

Two . . . guess what? You don't get to hand-deliver your manuscript to an agent or editor. You don't get to go into their office as they read it and "explain" the parts that seem to give your CPs or contest judges, or hired editors or beta readers pause. You don't.

Consequently, I am considering instituting a B*tch Surcharge to the next manuscript I am asked to edit. If the author is nothing but wonderful, the surcharge is not invoked. The B*tch Surcharge is also applicable to men. Just because they have a penis doesn't mean that can't be a B*tch.

As an aside . . . I have an editor friend at a major house. She works with a major name. She would LOVE to tack on the B*tch Surcharge. But my editor friend and I have decided . . . B*tches are born, not made. They are B*tches of long-standing, mulched with the manure of success.

Unbeknownst to me, Nathan Bransford wrote on this topic a few days ago. He called it something different.

Be gracious to criticism. Don't be defensive. In short, get over yourself.

Thoughts?

What They Bring

It is one of those lessons of life that you can't make people like you. You can be as kind as you know how, but the very essence of who you are may butt up against the very essence of who someone else is and they may not like you, no matter how hard you try. My mother-in-law despises me--in fact hasn't spoken a word to me in 10 years, despite my writing letters and cards asking for her to get to know my children. So about a year ago, after being rebuffed again, I gave up. Lesson learned. What I brought to the table of the relationship wasn't enough in her mind--or more precisely, it wasn't the "right" stuff.

Recently--this week, in fact--another mother did something I consider horrendous. She attempted to really and truly embarass me in front of a group of other mothers by demeaning my child. And she had a five-minute riff on it. I have spoken two words to this woman my entire life and I really had nothing to say to her little comic (in her mind) rude (in my mind) schtick. However, what she "brings" to this passing nod of a relationhip is irritating to me. I move on, I move past . . . maybe what she brings is the best she can do--and I spent about ten minutes speculating on that before deciding I was wasting brain space on this woman.

Which brings me to the very big lesson this teaches about writing.

I was once visiting a blog in which someone decided she HATED this book I wrote. Not just a little dislike but full-on hate. And someone else wrote in and said I was one of her favorite authors and maybe this reader should try a different book. And the hater of my work said, "Nope. I never give authors second chances."

Moving on to another . . . someone once posted a LONG diatribe on why she hated a book of mine because she didn't believe in love at first sight. Or a passionate encounter of intensity after a brief meeting. "It's never happened to me, and I frankly don't believe it exists."

So there's the thing. When you are creating, it's a living process. It may not FEEL fluid and living when you are struggling to find just the right word. Your book may be dormant for a week or two when life intervenes, but it is a living process to create your art. You POUR yourself into it. You sweat it, breathe it, sleep it, dream it. It fills your head 24/7 a lot of the time. You CREATE (a verb).

Then it simply is.

The book--or manuscript--is printed on paper and it exists on a shelf until someone picks it up. You may not know this person or it may be your critique partner. And then it becomes ALIVE again because they BRING something TO it. What they bring is out of your control. They can hate it for reasons that have nothing to do with your writing and more to do with WHAT THEY BRING. They may ADORE it for exactly the same reasons. Of course I love the hundreds of happy reader emails I get for any given release. They brought something that meshed with what I brought.

An editor may decide your work is wrong for them. They can hang their hat on "it didn't grab me" or any one of dozens of common reasons for rejection. And you can try to address those things that nag at you as "Hmm, I think they're right." But there will always be an element of WHAT THEY BRING. Always.

So . . . what does any of this mean? I suppose it means, which is obvious, develop a thick skin. Hone your craft, get better at it . . . but know what they bring is not something you have any power over. You only have power over what you bring.

It also--importantly--means don't DILUTE your work to appeal to the broadest cross section. Know sometimes people are simply not going to like you . . . and are not going to like your book (which, like the story of Horror Mother, is like not liking your child). And that's okay. Don't let your internal editor become an editor for the whole world at large.

Thoughts?