Am I the Literary Assh*le? In Which Everyone Talks Sh*t About Everyone Else

We’re back for round three of the internet’s favorite drunken biweekly “news” report, Am I the Literary Asshole—the only advice column that asks you to consider the fact that BOGO wine isn’t just a lifestyle, it’s also a state of mind.

Today I ask you to join me for a glass (or three) as we dive into a bevy of your writing life quandaries. Nothing says “I can offer sage and sound advice” like enjoying a literary Big Gulp full of room temperature Pinot Grigio. So let’s pop that cork, let the wine breathe for a moment, and then put our lips directly to the mouth of the bottle and drink deep. Literary gossip is so juicy, am I right? And much like a fermented grape, it gets us a little fucked up if we enjoy too much of it at once.

Got your tasting notes ready? Then let’s get right to it!

1) AITLA for shit-talking my good friend’s new book in a group chat? It was fun at the time, but since then I’ve seen my friend in person and am now experiencing a lot of guilt. We’ve known each other for years and they’ve always been great to me. Should I say something to them about it? Admit my wrongdoing and (hopefully) be forgiven?

Woof, buddy. We’ve all been guilty of saying something we shouldn’t about people that we really care about. Maybe it’s not even about writing, right? Sometimes people just shit-talk. Gossip satisfies a particularly nefarious itch in us. And sometimes when people get together to gossip—especially in group chats and DMs—the results can turn quite messy.

The first thing I’d like to address is your guilt over this. You know you did the wrong thing here, that’s step one. It’s normal to feel bad that you talked down about someone that you care about. But I would offer this bit to chew on: you didn’t say that you talked shit about the person, you admitted that you talked shit about their work. Unless you went into this chat and really roasted the hell out of your friend personally, I think you can knock off a large chunk of this guilt you’re currently experiencing.

The second thing we need to talk about is your compulsion to tell the person who you’ve wronged about this particular wrongdoing. For the love of God, please do not do this. You unloading on this unsuspecting soul isn’t going to make them feel any better. In fact, it will probably make them feel terrible! After all, it wasn’t just you talking shit about them; it was an entire group chat shitting on their work.

This is the part about your question that would maybe, yes, maybe, make you the literary asshole. Because if you told your friend about it, you’d only be doing so to relieve your own guilt. It has nothing to do with your friend’s feelings. So I suggest you zip your lips, keep it moving, and resolve not to do it to them again. Because hey, the next time someone might send the offended party a screenshot!

Speaking of shots, I’m due for another drink. More wine! And next question!

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2) So this isn’t a real instance of Bad Art Friend or anything, but I guess it’s a little along those lines? One time a non-writer friend told me a bizarre story about something that had happened to them in real life when they were a child. Nothing bad or anything, just weird. I went home and wrote a short story about it, and now, several years later, it’s going to be published. I can’t imagine my friend will see it—it’s coming out in a small literary print journal and they are more of a film person than a reader—but I worry that they might hear about it from someone who isn’t me. AITLA?

Writers do this kind of thing all the time (yes, even Bad Art Friends). We’re human beings. We move through life hearing-seeing-tasting-touching-experiencing the world around us. Naturally we absorb everything we come into contact with; we’re like sponges mopping up a slew of spilled wine. And if someone tells us something that feels especially riveting, as writers, we become especially absorbent. But the real party foul isn’t taking our experiences and crafting them into narrative. We do wrong when we knowingly and with ill-intent take someone else’s story and try to call it entirely our own.

Gentle reader, I think you can probably cut yourself some slack here. Unless you’ve gone and typed up the entirety of this person’s life, they truly are unlikely to care. By your own admission, they are not a writer. In fact, it’s possible they would be flattered and consider the fact that you’ve taken this small bit of their life as a compliment!

I think as writer’s we can be a little protective of our own ideas—there is this feeling that every plot and sentence we come up with is its own completely unique thing, like our fingerprints—but in reality, we share many themes and tropes and colloquialisms and yes, even clichés as we make our art. Because you’re a writer, you’re looking at this situation from your own perspective—because if you’d told that story, you would probably be upset if another writer used it. People who aren’t writers probably don’t feel that same way (probably, I say, because people are all different). It’s a small literary print journal; you didn’t make millions off this tale.

I wouldn’t worry about it. But if it winds up in a collection, buddy, you better dedicate the book to them.

Hey, my glass is empty! Let’s fill her up again, swirl the wine, sniff the bouquet—then down the hatch as we contemplate our third and final question of the day.

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3) So, I’m getting a degree in Creative Writing right now, and I just wrapped up my capstone class. It was workshop-based, of course, and going in I both knew a couple people and had other classes with a few others. One of these people was my friend, who I knew was probably a good writer but who I’d never shared a classroom with before, and so it was kind of heartbreaking to see that they were, in fact, a menace of a workshop partner, to the point that, e.g., they told someone writing a SciFi story to use less world building—just absolutely unwilling to engage with other people’s work on its level, but more than happy to insult it while believing their own work was Above Reproach (it wasn’t).

Being my friend, they would also often text me deeper insults and complaints during class, and I just sort of went along with it. I felt really icky but I didn’t know how to call them out for being a tool of a workshopping partner. I feel like I was kind of enabling them. AIT(literary)A?

I’m sensing a theme here today. Many people dealing with how sometimes friendships can get twisted up in our writing processes. In your particular case, I’m going to address the AITLA part first: no, you are not the asshole. If you had known how this friend would behave when you went into the workshop and then encouraged their bad workshop behaviors, then yes, you probably would be. But you went into this with as much knowledge as anyone else (and honestly were probably MORE hurt and surprised by their behavior, because you were friends and assumed they were a cool, good person). I would say that in this case, they are the asshole, and they put you in the very bad position of having to deal with their toxicity.

Friend, take this as a blessing in disguise. Because now you know what this person is really like when it comes to writing and reading and workshop and, hell, empathy for other people. You’ll never send them any of your work. You’ll never point another person their way when it comes to critique. You’ve learned a valuable lesson about who they are and buddy, that information is invaluable.

Yes, you could have said something to them at the time. But honestly, what would it have changed? They are kind of mean to other writers and, per your letter, are not very good at taking criticism. I’m sure that people left workshop with plenty of other critiques in hand that would combat whatever this bad friend told them. If you’re feeling strongly about anyone they particularly harmed—say, for instance, someone who might have really taken that bad critique to heart—there’s still time. You could always talk privately and amend the situation.

But reader, you don’t have to be the one to confront this bad workshop person. If they’re as terrible as you say they are, someone else will eventually do it for you—probably sooner rather than later. And you know what? They likely won’t be very nice about it, either.

My bottle has run dry, friends. See you next time with even more drinks and even more literary takes. And remember, please send me your questions! I love your beautiful brains!

XOXO, Gossip Dad

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Are you worried you’re the literary asshole? Ask Kristen via email at AskKristen@lithub.com, or anonymously here.