Posts Tagged ‘random’

Your Stupid

May 27, 2011

I finally broke down and bought the shirt I’ve been wanting for years.

click for larger image

I’ve refrained for so long because

a) I’m cheap and the shirt isn’t

b) I’m a mother and, apparently, am supposed to be setting a good example.

Now, personally, I think it’s setting a good example to teach your children WHY this is a funny joke and not the grown-up equivalent of “stupidhead!” Anyway, my ten year old gets the joke now but still thinks it’s rude.

Well, can’t win them all. I just won’t wear it when he’s with me. 🙂

Rant Coming On: Writers & Readers

May 12, 2011

I ran across a comment on an agent’s blog the other day, in response to a post about how writers feel when they see bad books getting published. It went something like this:

I used to get frustrated and resentful when I didn’t get a bite for my own much better books. But I finally accepted that, the majority of people, all through history, have preferred inferior entertainment to genuine art. Genuine art challenges you, and a lot of people don’t like to be challenged; they just want to be titillated.

So now I accept that I’m not writing for the masses. I don’t need to care about what they like. There are enough people like me  to give my books a modest but discerning audience.

It also encourages me to remember that once in a while, a truly fantastic book becomes a bestseller. So the masses do have some sense, after all.

I just want to say, for the record, statements like the above really chap my ass. Oh, let me count the ways:

1.) “Good” and “better” are subjective terms. Do we mean profound subject matter? Elegant prose? Creative approach to storytelling or the craft of writing? Is a book only “good” if it makes us laugh? Cry? Think? Wakes us up to a social ill that needs to be acknowledged?

What if we just want to take a break from the stresses of daily life, the horrors on the nightly news, and the tragedies in our own lives and just read something purely for entertainment? Is this no longer “good?”

Let me tell you, I’ve read some of the “best” books in both the classics and modern times and came away ready to slit my wrists. Is A Thousand Splendid Suns “better” than Sanderson’s Way of Kings because the first was monumentally depressing, though well written and on the topic of suffering we know is genuinely occurring, while the second was well written, fascinating, but pure fantasy?

Why?

Which plays right into:

2.) Don’t want to be challenged? Well, actually, I’m not going to apologize for wanting my entertainment to be… entertaining.

3.) The contempt for the audience, the sheer arrogance of proclaiming the STILL READING public to be little more than a mindless mass is just… well, it’s just something not very nice that I’m not going to say.

But if I knew an author felt that way, I wouldn’t read his or her book, I don’t care if it was the Bible. Shoot, even God has a little humility.

4.) Who holds the copyright on the definition of “genuine art?” I mean, really. Some of what is called “art” I call crap. And sometimes crap (literally) is called art. I’m glad you think your book is “genuine art” but, quite frankly, there’s no universal truth that is “genuine art.” Sorry.

Don’t get me wrong, I think my book is great. I think it’s good writing, and I think it addresses issues that are pertinent to our times and our social consciousness. I think it’s more than “titillating” and that it wouldn’t kill a “discerning audience.”

And it has spaceships.

Quick! Call the Genuine Art police.

/rant

Confess Your Deepest, Darkest, Writerly Secrets

March 17, 2011

Because, this isn’t the internet or anything. No one will ever know. 😉

OK, so maybe I’m a little crazy.

But, the point is, I know I’m not the only one who has a shameful little secret, something that, as a writer, I am embarrassed about, and rightly so. You too? Oh good. Well, I’ll show you mine, you show me yours?

I don’t like Tolkien.

That’s right. I’m a sci-fi/fantasy reader and writer and I don’t like Tolkien’s books. I’ve said it. I feel FREE!

(Don’t get me wrong, the movies kicked serious butt. And if the last man I ever see in my life is Orlando Bloom as Legolas, well, I’ll die a happy little writer.)

 

See?

OK, your turn. What’s your writerly sin?

 

National Grammar Day: A Funny

March 4, 2011

In honor of National Grammar Day, here’s a re-run of a flash piece:

I’ll admit, I had a reputation. I was the Comma slut. They all knew I was easy with the Commas. Well, you live and learn, right?

I had one of those epiphany things and fell for the respectable, mature Semicolon. We’ve been together a long time now; it’s been good. But I’m beginning to realize he may just be an enabler; that I really haven’t changed my profligate punctuation ways at all.

As much as I love him, Semicolon’s never been quite enough; I’ve managed to hide the affair with the Parentheses for a while now. (Yes, it’s so cliché, the hot encounter between the mysterious twins. You’d do it too if you thought you could get away with it.)

Thing is, I met Em Dash at a club the other night. He showed up with En-Dash and that should have been my warning right there. En-Dash is always trying to stick people together.

I really was just there for some innocent(ish) fun. It was Colon’s birthday and, come on, she’s as solid and predictable as they come — I’m still not quite sure how we talked her into that particular armpit anyway.  (I think exclamation point had something to do with it.  She’s so damned excitable sometimes you just do what she says so she’ll shut up already!)

So there he is, so dashing and exotic. Jesus but words just failed me – and I really hate it when they do that, the bastards. But Em Dash. So flexible and, well, don’t kid yourself, length does matter.

Apostrophe almost saved me. He’s such a spaz, always showing up everywhere, butting in, all OCD about everyone’s possessions, always there when someone drops something, and then bitching about everyone using him too much. Maybe I knew Em Dash was trouble for me and did that Freudian thing ’cause I dropped my purse twice and there’s Apostrophe, right there where it fell. “Hey hon’, it’s your purse again.” Yeah. And Em Dash looked away.

But I touched his arm and he was mine again. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have turned to Period. He was right there, and he’s seriously straight-laced. Just so definite and absolute about everything. I could have used him as a full stop to the whole situation; a cold shower. I didn’t.  I couldn’t. I didn’t stay until the morning, if that matters. Ellipsis came to pick me up at god-forsaken a.m. because she’s a sucker for innuendo and I didn’t tell her… much.

I don’t have his phone number — cause I didn’t ask for it, so wipe that smirk off your face.

Call me whatever you want; it’s my life not yours. And my sentences thankyouverymuch.