Can’t we writers just get along? Apparently not.
I was reading a journal called Paperback Writer, which is written by a published novelist with 26 novels under her belt. A new entry complains about a fellow author’s blatant propaganda on his own journal since his first novel was published. The target of that essay, apparently, is John Scalzi, who has written about his novel, “Old Man’s War,” in his personal blog at his own website.
Scalzi’s take on being the subject of such complaints — he acknowledges that Paperback Writer must be talking about him — is that by mentioning the “propaganda,” she has given him yet another reason to write about his book. He also points out that since his journal is about him, he can write what he wants to. He seems to have plenty of readers who aren’t at all bothered by his mentions of the book or the publishing process.
But writing isn’t always a nice business.
It should be, it seems to me, because there are plenty of writers who want encouragement from each other, who happen to need encouragement, whether their current work-in-progress is good or not. As in any other field, too often the ones who have negative things to say are the ones who speak the loudest. Encouraging a fellow writer doesn’t mean that you are diminishing your own writing style or increasing the competition: there will always be competition.
In my main blog, I once had a quarrel with a fellow journaler that apparently began with a comment I’d left at her journal. I disagreed with something she had written about corporate America and its need to pay its employees as little as possible. My comment was polite. She didn’t appear to be offended, but she must have been. A few months later, I commented on another topic, and suddenly found that all of the comments I had left in her journal had been deleted, I had been blocked, and she had added an entry about how no one has the right to disagree with her in her journal. Odd that she’d allow comments, I thought, but it occurs to me now that even that is her own business, not mine.
Just the other day, I had a quarrel with another journaler when I took one remark in one of her entries and gave it more weight than she had intended. I agreed completely with the main thing she was trying to say, but argued the smaller point. She was frustrated that I had missed her main point and that I accused her of being unreasonable on something she wasn’t trying to say anyway.
In my writing journal, there was that business with one fellow journaler — a published writer — who seemed to disagree with much of what I said about writing. Recently, in her journal, she has stated an excellent case about the problems with fiction message boards and the writers who refuse to listen to anyone else’s ideas. She said it is frustrating when something she suggests is criticized, yet when someone else suggests the same thing, it is lauded as a wonderful idea. She wonders whether there are some people who reject her ideas about writing just because the ideas are hers. Ironic. I had begun to feel that my ideas were constantly being argued with by her because they were mine! I can certainly relate to that feeling.
She recently wrote something about a journaler she no longer links to. (I assume it could be me, but of course I could be wrong.) She said she noticed that I still had her links in my sidebar and wondered whether it might mean that I valued her opinion after all, or whether I had just forgotten the links were there. I hadn’t forgotten. And I do value other writers’ opinions, even when they don’t agree with mine.
The funny thing is that writers who disagree often don’t disagree as much as they think. The last writer and I seem to disagree on the “rules of writing.” She is insistent that there are none. Any mention of rules sends her into a rebellious stance. I don’t think that rules are set in stone, either; I merely suggest that any guidelines or suggestions that some writing experts consider to be “rules” exist for the simple fact that following them — especially when you’re new to writing and learning the process — can often help you. Not always.
Sometimes, a writer can be untalented enough that no amount or rules, guidelines, suggestions or common practices can help. Sometimes, a writer can be so talented that rules, etc., can only hold them back. You have to decide for yourself where you fall and act accordingly. I don’t think rules are a bad thing, but I think that knowing what commonly-regarded ones are can be helpful so that you can make up your own mind about how you want to write.
I’ve never suggested for a moment that the way I write is the only way to write. I certainly hope that no one believed I had.
I didn’t outline my current work-in-progress. It’s outlined in my head, and so far, that’s been good enough. I didn’t do page after page of background for each character on paper, though I know plenty about my characters in my head. So far, that’s been good enough, too. I wouldn’t recommend that everyone do without the extra exercises; some people need it. I have in the past myself. This time around — again, so far — I haven’t.
The first writer I mentioned — who as far as I can recall, has no intention of being published anywhere — indicated elsewhere in her journal that she hates men. I can only assume that this, along with our lack of agreement on economic principles, led to our scuffle.
The second writer I mentioned — who is working on a nonfiction book — disagrees with me completely on politics. We accept that about each other and deal with it. We try to tread lightly with each other on that subject, though we seemed to both over-react in this single case.
But we writers tend to be very defensive when it comes to our writing. Sometimes even the most well-intentioned, constructive criticism can sting. I’ve been on both sides of that scenario. Sometimes, when we seem to disagree more often than not with specific writers, we begin to condition ourselves that disagreement will come; when it does, it’s not a surprise…it’s even easy to write-off: “She doesn’t like anything I write, why should this time be any different?”
I’ve received critiques from writers who warn others not to even think about critiquing their writing: good or bad, they don’t want to have any reason to feel like not writing. I can understand that, too. At the same time, I wonder why they’d think of critiquing someone else, particularly when they know how bad it can feel to receive it.
Then I think about that classic cartoon about the wolf and the sheepdog. During business hours, when both of them “clock in,” the wolf does everything he can to steal a sheep. The dog does everything he can to annihilate the wolf. When it’s quitting time, they’re the best of friends.
In the news business, reporters from different stations, even different media, pal around with each other when they’re not on the job. They go out for drinks, attend each others’ parties, and act as though they’d never think of trying to scoop their “buddies” on a big story. It’s this way in plenty of other industries as well.
So what is it about writers that make us less willing to agree to disagree? Maybe it’s that what we write is so personal, one way or another, that we bristle instinctively when we encounter someone else who disagrees with something we have to say. Maybe it’s that if we put our soul into writing, a critique of our writing or how we write feels like a critique of some deeper part of ourself than just what’s on the page. Maybe if our own process is dismissed or rejected, it feels like we’re being undervalued as an individual, rather than just being called different as a writer.
