Ruminating On: The Disconnect

I’m leaving this as my final post until I return from my sabbatical. This is for those of you that might have missed that I’m going on vacation or for new readers who’re looking to chat me up after sampling one of my books. I’ll be online until the 6th. If you have any questions or concerns, now is your time to voice them in the comment section. I’ll be gone for a good, long while, and this post will be lengthy, so sit back, relax, and let’s have a conversation.

First, some need to know information:

I’m a natural introvert. I dislike crowds and gatherings of any kind. I’d much rather chill at home with a DVD or Bluray than I would go out to my local theater. I have to force myself to enjoy birthday parties and holiday get-togethers for the sake of friends and family. Social media is something of a requirement in my profession, a necessary evil if you will, as fans and readers like to be able to connect with the authors whose work they enjoy, but I hate the daily grind of sorting through emails, throwing on my game face, and playing pleasant when most days I’d rather be lost in a good book or writing Minecraft fan fiction. This has nothing to do with the friends I’ve made online who I talk to on a near-constant basis. It has everything to do with me being happier whilst playing in my own head. Because of all this, I need breaks from the clusterfuck that is Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and, most recently, Booklikes. I have a bit of an addictive personality, and the internet is my current drug of choice. Jeff Brackett says I need to learn the definition of “moderation”. He’s half right, because I know full and well the meaning of “moderation”, I just do not subscribe to its principles even though I should. I mean, you only live once, right? YOLO, and all that bullshit. Why not ride this motherfucker until the wheels fall off then take the remains and receipt to Walmart and get your money back. Shit, don’t I wish that was possible.

Why do I need these breaks? Well, the simple answer is, I lose some of myself in the swarm of comments and posts and memes and the drama that is the world we’ve all created online. Though I can multitask better than a pornstar with four arms and two penises who’s jacked up on Viagra and No-Doz, I find my writing lacking after spending too much time on the world wide web. I stretch myself thin blogging and chatting and noveling, and wind up wasting my word count on a picture that would have one believe George W. Bush is our Lord and Savior, amen. I’ve dropped more quotable lines in chat messages and Facebook statuses than I have in any of my novels combined, and, being one that hates repetition, I never use those lines again. I’ve been told I should write a book about the craft of writing, or a series of self-help drivel to keep people from swallowing shot gun barrels, but that’s not me, and many would agree that I have nothing of import to add to either topic. Yeah, I have a way with words, but the accomplishment of collecting the proper ones into a single volume still eludes me. I have yet to pen the perfect novel, and by perfect I don’t mean error free or even immaculately plotted. Perfection for me would be to write a book on par with some of the greats, the classics, like Hemingway’s FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS, or Faulkner’s AS I LAY DYING or Steinbeck’s OF MICE AND MEN or or Keseu’s ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST or King’s RITA HAYWORTH AND THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION. None of my work thus far will withstand the test of time, and, after I’ve shrugged off this mortal coil, I will drift off into the ether along with other genre writers. Because, at the end of the day, I am a genre writer, no matter how much I loathe that label. Yes, I add in elements of drama and comedy and action into my horror novels but they are, every one of them, horror novels. I enjoy ripping apart the human condition and watching it bleed out. I like writing about good guys who’re bad, and evil people who do good things. I don’t believe in black and white. Gray is much more interesting to me.

The harder answer to why I’m taking a break is, I’m not happy here. Sure, I love the friends that the internet has provided me whom I wouldn’t have found any other way, and I do not regret a single relationship that I’ve built or destroyed since starting my Facebook account (The Big Blue Book of Faces being the first real social media site I joined when I decided to make a career out of my lifelong hobby). That being said, I don’t like a single one of you more than I love my family. I appreciate all the support I glean from friends and fans online, but that means nothing in comparison to my wife and children’s opinion of me. This is partly the reason negative reviews don’t mean a whole hell of a lot to me. I’m just glad the reviewer read the book. Because, when it’s all said and done, I have to face my family, I don’t have to face Juan Hunglo from Rancho Cucamunga who thought my book was only slightly better than Ina Garten’s dissertation on social economics by way of copulating with pastries. If you hate my work, that’s fine, because my wife is much prettier than your opinion. Same with positive reviews. Fine, you think I’m brilliant, that I’m Tom Cruise’s gift to words, and all that, but if Chelle thinks I’m a pompous ass who needs his ego deflated, I’m more apt to hand her a safety pin than email you a thank you letter. It might sound harsh, but it’s how I remain sane. If I were to listen to everyone else’s opinion of me and my work, I’d have downed a handful of sleeping pills and given myself the Pulitzer years ago. If this changes the way you think of me, oh well.

I dig the internet, I do. Research goes smoother than it did even ten years ago. Dictionary.com and Thesaurus.com is much easier to navigate than the expansive volumes of text I once had to peruse in order to not use “recanted” improperly (and I still have issues recalling the difference between “recanted” and “recounted” because I’m a fucking idiot). The internet is also a lot of fun for a creative person. I can be anyone I want without having to offer up explanations for who I am not. If I deem fit, I can post a picture with Fabio’s hair on my head and make an entire group of brain-damaged individuals believe that the photo is actually me (Thanks for your hard work and attention to detail, Nettie!). I can then post a picture of a sixty-year-old tranny I stole off Google images and watch the internet fucking explode. It amuses me that some people are that stupid. I can write entire blog posts filled with errors and watch certain groups rip it apart. It brings me joy to know that some people have nothing better to do than to give me every ounce of their attention. Because I’m a publicity hog at heart. In some way, all authors are. If you’ve published work which you then charge people for, you have to be a bit of an attention whore. Not to mention, an egotist. Imagine the inner workings of a mind that thinks, “I’ve created something intangible and now I want people to pay for the privilege of reading/watching/experiencing/listening to it!”

Now on to some things I’ve grown tired of, they are as follows: The flood of posts about how certain people are deciding not to read independent authors for [insert reason here]. While I understand your reasoning, I don’t agree with this blanket statement. To me, proclaiming your distaste for indie authors as a whole is akin to saying you don’t like poor people because of the recent rise in crime in urban areas, or stating you don’t like so and so race because they’re known to lie, cheat, and steal. I’ve never been a fan of stereotypes or broad generalizations period, nor do I suffer racist and elitists. Lumping in all self-published authors because you believe the majority of them are BBAs or worse is a shitty practice. Although several of you who have created these posts have said, “E. is not included here,” I cannot condone the thought process. Mainly because I know far more educated, talented, all around great people who also happen to publish their work without the aid of a bigger publisher than I do the douchenozzles you hate. You’re doing yourselves a great disservice by ignoring some fantastic fiction simply because a barrel of bad apples has soured your taste for Granny Smiths and Red Delicious. There are many extremely talented individuals who refuse to self-publish because they fear people like you. They want to see their work under some publishers name because they’ve been fooled into thinking that’s the only way they’ll ever find self-esteem. Because self-publishing is for the dogs. Forget the fact that their work deserves to be seen instead of wallowing in some acquisition editor’s slush pile. Ignore that their work is better both technically and story-wise than anything Patterson or Koontz has written in a fucking decade. Turn your nose up at the fact that getting your work seen by a publisher is more about who you know and how well you’re able to brown your nose than it is about the quality of the work you submitted. I’ve been both trad-pubbed and self-pubbed and I choose to be an indie nowadays because I want complete control over my future. The straw that broke the camel’s back was me being told that my work was no longer mine. And you know what? They were right. I signed that contract, I made that deal, and nothing further was required of me aside from changing the book into what they wanted, my thoughts and opinions on my characters be damned. I was told that readers don’t like to read stories wherein the main character is a bad person (because Breaking Bad wasn’t a thing). That’s the reason I’m an indie again. Not because I wasn’t good enough, but because I wanted my characters to be who I wanted them to be and not who someone else thought they should be.

Continuing on with things that I’ve grown tired of: The line in the sand regarding readers/reviewers and authors. No longer is that relationship merely the entertainer and the entertained, but it’s become a warzone where authors attack the people who pay their bills and reviewers fight back by dropping authors’ ranks and ratings. The same reviewers that deride authors who strike back at negative reviews are the same reviewers who attack other reviewers when they don’t agree with their opinions. So and so gave so and so a one-star review on so and so’s favorite book. Let’s blast them out of the water! They don’t realize they’re doing the same thing to one another that enrages them when authors resort to the same tactics. It’s one hell of a double standard that almost no one talks about. I don’t respond to negative reviews because it’s rude to attack someone over their opinion. It’s theirs. Let them have it. Same with your fellow reviewers. Respect their opinion and leave them alone. Tom Cruise forbid they come onto your review and disagree with you. Just watch the fur fly if they do. If you want your opinion respected you should learn to practice what you preach. And I’m not talking about intelligent debate over the book in question. No. I’m talking about someone commenting, “You don’t like Harry Potter?!??!?!? Well, suck every dick on earth once you manage to yank your swollen head out of your lard ass! Owned! Boo-YAH! See if you ever diss J.K. Rowling again, chump!” Yeah, because internet badassery is a thing, and you’re King/Queen of Rage Text. No, authors should not respond negatively to negative reviews, but reviewers should not attack each other over differing opinions either. No wonder some of these writers think they can get away with fighting back. They see our community doing it to each other all the time. Some reviewers (myself included) use snark in an attempt to heal the wounds of a poor read and to entertain those who read our posts. There’s nothing wrong with using witty sarcasm to express yourself, especially to cover up rage-filled, expletive-laden commentary. It’s all in good fun. Problems arise when individuals who lack a sense of humor or have a sense of pride as large as Jupiter decide to read too much into these snarky reviews. I’ve lambasted Dean Koontz in numerous reviews, and he has yet to respond to a single one of them. Mostly because I’m a nobody with a nobody’s opinion and he probably hasn’t even seen the reviews much less knows who I am. This is, in part, why I feel I can be so harsh on him. He’s a big shot who won’t be affected by my layered sarcasm. Now, when I review indies, or those whom I know will read the reviews I’ve posted, I’m less of an ass. I’m no less picky, but I word these reviews differently than I would a critique of a successful author’s work. Just ask Evans Light, Gregor Xane, and Jason Parent who’re all authors I know personally and have written books I’ve given less than stellar reviews. I try to be helpful in my critiques of their work, even though I do not owe them such. To me, this is simply professional courtesy. Should they expect this from all reviewers? Nope. In fact many reviewers believe it is not their job to point out what they didn’t like about a book, only that they couldn’t fucking stand it. I tend to agree with them, too. No one owes me an explanation as to why I failed them as an author, but when they drop that knowledge on me, I’m appreciative. My main point here is, respect is earned, not given. If you choose to attack your fellow reviewers because they do not agree with you regarding your favorite fiction don’t be surprised when an author does the same to you. It’s not acceptable behavior when it happens, but you shouldn’t be surprised either. Treat each other how you want to be treated, unless you can handle being attacked yourself, then do whatever the hell you want.

Even more about shit that exhausts me (told you this was going to be a long post): Stop feeding the monkeys. You’re giving them the nourishment that they then digest and turn into the shit they fling at you. If they see you moping around all sad panda because they’ve offended you with their bullying, they’re only going to continue on with their efforts. They know they don’t matter and nobody likes them. They’ve accept that they’re the lesser of humanity, and would like nothing better than to drag you down into the stinking floor of their cages with them. Let the ignorant wax each other’s naughty bits. Let them call you names and pick at your sexual preferences. They’re just pissed that you’re better than them, that inside you’re a gorgeous person, while they’re ugly, hate-filled bigots with mouths bigger than their brains. It hurts to be as stupid as they are, and inflicting pain on others has a narcotic effect on them. They need it. It’s their precious. Hell, you’re getting upset over the opinions of people whose opinions are suppose to mean nothing to you. Wash your hands of the nonsense and walk away. You’re loved by the people that matter, and I’m tired of you believing that these people are worth your attention.

It’s almost over, I promise…

I’m tired of the disconnect between all of us, and I need a disconnect because of it. You’re different from me because I’m an author, and I’m different from you because you’re a reviewer… or something like that. I’m a man and you’re a woman. I’m married and you’re single. I’m fat and you’re skinny. I’m an idiot and you’re clever. I’m blah and you’re so on. Rigmarole and gibberish. Words and stuff and things. Fuck all this noise. Fuck the disconnect, and fuck you for being disconnected. Fuck me for wanting to disconnect for a while. I’m tired, guys. So tired I can no longer see straight. The lines have blurred, and I’m starting to see things the wrong way. Back asswards, and shit. I’m beginning to believe the bullshit, have been hypnotized into thinking what I do doesn’t matter. I’m only an inch or two away from pulling the plug entirely and quitting the rat race. And that would be a damn shame for those few that are actually entertained by my work. So I’m leaving you to yourselves for a while. I don’t expect anything to change, because they never do. What would I like to see when I return? I would love to see nothing but book reviews and discussions about books. I would love to see that BBA activity has been lessened, and that members of my amazing community have stopped warring with each other over the opinions they supposedly respect. I’d love to see more crazy cat/dog pictures and early morning music video sharing. More random shit and less belligerent grandstanding. Loads of love and friendship. Zero separation and segregation, on all fronts. Most of all, I want to continue to share books that I enjoy, and whip my satirical tongue at those piles of offal that piss me off. Alas, I’m only E. My wants and opinions only mean about as much as yours.

See ya when I see ya!