Am I the Literary Asshole for Thinking All Writers Are Assholes?

Hey there, hello, howdy! Welcome back to another exciting edition of Am I the Literary Asshole?, the drunken literary advice column that isn’t mad at you, it’s just disappointed. I’m your host, Kristen Arnett, and I’m excited to say that we’ve got another round of incredible questions headed our way today! Y’all have really been going through it, huh? Well, I’m happy to be your guide on this, our shared mental health voyage, where we float around some canals like we’re crammed together in a small yet seaworthy vessel, a la It’s A Small World. Let’s hold hands and sing kumbaya, there’s a lot going on. Hallelujah. Amen.

I’m sleepy, but I’m up for the challenge, and half the battle is going to be spiking my coffee with Kahlua so we can get this show on the round. What do you say? Bottom’s up! Let’s grab hands and jump right into the deep end:

1) Hey Dad! So lately (for a while) I have been feeling like the literary world is in need of an overhaul. A grassroots reforming of the status quo. However. I spend a lot of time around people in indie publishing which supposedly wants to do just this. The problem is, at least anecdotally, that all the indie presses I see that start off setting out to freshen up the writing world seem to fall into the very same pitfalls—toxic darlings, hero worship, centering cis white men, not taking risks or veering away from trends in favor of the unfamiliar (but brilliant and exciting—I’ve read a lot of people’s drafts before they get mass-rejected)—everything they once opposed. How do we get Cyndi Lauper when everyone seems to walk out of the salon with the same look?

Oh wow! We’re starting off with a bang!

I’d like to say I have the answer to this, that I can guide us all safely through and provide passage to the other side of this continual lifelong publishing conundrum, but friend… this is a question bigger than one drunken literary advice column could possibly handle. In fact, I’d venture to say that if any of us did have an answer to this question—at least one we felt people would latch onto and give it a real, honest to god try—then the world would be a much, much better place than it is right now.

The truth of the matter is that many of us don’t know what we’re doing. And it’s easier to say that you have good intentions, and that there are things that you want (say, for instance, the desire for “a grassroots reforming of the status quo”) than it is to actually perform those actions in day-to-day life. Truly bringing back my evangelical roots when I say this, but seriously, love is a verb. Actions speak more loudly than simply saying that you want change inside the literary community. Performing the action takes guts. It also, quite often when it comes to the literary world, requires money. And backing from your superiors.

It would be ludicrous for me to sit here and pretend that I can remotely understand how everything works when it comes to the beast that is publishing. I will say that there are people and publications who are really and truly trying to do this work. Can we say the same thing for giant corporations? Of course not. Because corporations are capitalistic, and capitalism requires sameness and homogeny. It wants to make bank. They don’t want to take chances because chances aren’t proven to be financially successful.

To use a cliché that we all know, I will say that you can be the change you want to see in the world. Start reading slush for a journal and be the person who fights for work that’s weird and interesting. Speak out when you feel that toxicity isn’t being addressed. I wish I had a broader answer for you, but so much of change requires everyone’s work, and friend, we all know that the only people we can actually control are ourselves.

So put your money and your time (and your reading habits) into the presses who are actually doing this work. They’re out there and they’re working their asses off to make these dreams a reality. I love you and I appreciate your desire for a better literary world. We can all work on it together. I have faith in that.

Now for something completely different! Lil splash of Kahlua for my fresh cup, and let’s get down to business:

2) Hi, Kristen—

I bristle every time I hear a word (i.e., nonplussed) or the structure of the English language (i.e., grammar) used incorrectly. It never bothered me when my mother corrected me (and she did, often)—I wanted to learn. 

As an adult, I have learned that not everyone (i.e., practically nobody) wants to know. I keep my mouth shut, but it always bothers me—it’s a splinter I can’t remove. I’m not a complete stick in the mud. I accept “impact” and “gift” as verbs and I understand the Oxford comma is not vitally necessary to a sentence. But some things really grate on me!

My question: When even good friends say “lay down” to their dogs, and “enthused” or “nauseous” when they mean enthusiastic and nauseated, or “him and I went….” or “she invited my brother and I,” what can I do to feel comfortable? I am so tired of biting my lip. 

I recently assumed an educated, well-read friend would want to know that her use of “yea” was the opposite of “nay,” and that she meant “yeah,” not “yay.” It almost cost me the friendship.

Please, help!*

Fascinating!

I love that you’ve written to me, a notorious dummy when it comes to grammar and proper language structure, because you have to have known that I would likely butcher whatever response I’m going to give you. I’ve been known to gnaw my way through all manner of sentences. It’s a miracle anyone can read this right now, truly.

God bless my editor (shout out Jonny Diamond) because if he didn’t take a peek at these columns before they went to print, they’d likely be riddled with typos and all manner of grammatical misfortunes. The horrors!

But your question isn’t about my bad grammar, it’s about how you can make yourself more comfortable in these ill-structured scenarios.

You note that even when good friends make these grammar mistakes or use the wrong form of a word, it can make you feel sick to your stomach. You get aggravated if a friend uses poor grammar when addressing their pet (and I’m pretty sure the dog won’t know the difference). Friend, I think it’s important that we look at the language itself here. I wonder if you’re carrying some kind of control issues—namely, grammar and proper usage—in order to deal with the uncontrollable world around us.

Hey, we all do it. Finding something specific that we can have some say over helps us process a lot of our admittedly shitty reality when it comes to living day-to-day with a wealth of bad stuff. There is comfort in this, even if we know that it is unreasonable to expect it of others. It allows us to make it through the day. I do not begrudge you this coping mechanism, and I don’t think you should be so hard on yourself, either.

I think as long as you’re keeping it to yourself, that’s fine. Take a deep breath every time someone does something that grammatically annoys the bejesus out of you and remember that you can control your own actions, but not anyone else’s. Bad grammar shouldn’t cost you any friendships. Try and remember that the way someone shows you that they love you is important, not how they arrange those words in a sentence. Someone could have perfect grammar and be completely insufferable. You choose who sounds like the most fun to be around.

I am wired from all this caffeine, but I’m going to have one more “good time” coffee as we get to our final (very aggressive) question of the day:

3) Have you ever considered that most authors are assholes? It’s a selfish profession.

I have to assume since you’ve written to me and are therefore very likely a writer that you consider yourself to be an asshole. Quite the honor!

I will say that in my opinion (because let’s be for real, that’s all this column is: my opinions), anyone is capable of acting like an asshole. It’s how you choose to move forward from that behavior that defines who you really, truly are as a person. If you’re coming into each day with joy in your heart and empathy; care and sincerity toward other people, then I don’t think that makes a person an asshole. I think that makes them a human being. Fucking up is normal. But it’s how we choose to deal with that fuck up that shows our true character.

Writing isn’t selfish. In fact, I consider it to be incredibly unselfish. It’s an act of vulnerability. Sharing art with others is a loving act.

And that’s all we have time for today, folks. Join me next time when I dig into more of your pressing questions and we also share another drink, or two, or three. Who’s counting? Not me!

With love (and bad grammar),
Dad

*Ed note: This question originally had two spaces after each period and I am done biting my lip about it.

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