I Want to Put a Dozen Blurbs on My Book: Am I the Literary Asshole?

Hi there, champ! It’s time for another glowing installment of Am I the Literary Asshole?, the advice column that makes a 2am run to Taco Bell after a long night out at the bar sound like a terrific idea. I’m your host, Kristen Arnett, and as always, I’m required to inform you that no one gave me a degree in parceling out drunken advice. But hey, I’ve got a lot of heart, and that’s what really matters. Listen, most of us say we’re proficient in Excel on our resumes, but are we really? Much to ponder.

I’ve got a great the lineup of juicy questions locked and loaded, so why don’t we grab a hard seltzer (if you think about it, it’s technically water), and dive right in. I’ve got the kiddie pool filled to the brim and the temperature outside is soaring into the nineties. It’s summer in Florida, baby. Time to get toasty and toasted.

I’ll drink to that!

1) How can I let myself just enjoy “trashy” fiction? For some reason I don’t have a problem with suspension of disbelief when watching a silly film, but I struggle a lot more with just enjoying the romp when it comes to novel-reading. Does it have to do with length of time spent (silly/trashy film = 2 hours vs. silly/trashy book a lot more time)? I want to be one of those people who feels free to enjoy trashy fiction without always beating myself up over the fact I could have used that time to finally tackle Middlemarch or Les Miserables.

I don’t think it has anything to do with the amount of time spent, friend. I think it’s the neon-flashing word in quotes. “TRASHY.” Our brains do a number on us when we process language. For instance, I notice here that you’ve called the fiction trashy, but when it comes to the films you watch—which you say you’re fine with—you’ve used the word “silly.” Those two ideas are quite different, especially when it comes to how all that gray matter stuffed inside our skulls interprets what makes “good” art. Silly is fun and goofy and whimsical. Trashy (occasionally) notes that something is tasteless.

As humans, we need to ingest all kinds of sustenance in order to live life to the fullest. No, books aren’t food, but I think it might be good for your current mindset if instead of “trashy,” you just considered these books different from your usual fare. If you ate the same meal every single day—even if it was fabulously healthy—you’d get incredibly bored, right? The same goes for art!

If calling a film silly helps you watch it, why not try adopting that same language for the books you’ve been ragging on? Or come up with a different word entirely! We sometimes put writing on a pedestal because it’s an art we cherish, and as a reader myself, I’m occasionally guilty of doing this. When I find myself calling something trashy, I try and reconsider why I’d use that word. It shouldn’t be a guilty pleasure if we’re simply enjoying ourselves. Trashy is cool. Trashy is fun. I love trashy!

I’m going to use what is quickly becoming my catchphrase here over at AITLA and tell you that life is too short to miss out on things because you’re secretly afraid someone else might judge you for it. And hey, if it helps, Les Miserables came out to a slew of negative reviews and Middlemarch got a bunch of mixed ones, and now both are considered bastions of classic literature. Give yourself a break. Pick up whatever you feel most like reading! The classics will still be there waiting when you finally stumble home.

Is that a fly in my drink? Oh well, chug-a-lug. Onward!

2) Am I the literary asshole for putting more than say, four blurbs on my book. Like 12 is okay, right? I want to honor all the people I asked. Shouldn’t it be a good sign that TWELVE people wanted to blurb me?

It must be a day that ends in Y—we’ve got another blurb question here at the ol’ advice round up!

This one, on its surface, requires a simple answer.

It’s your book! You’re not the literary asshole for choosing what inevitably goes on its cover. You’re the one who wrote it, after all. Make the whole thing blurbs, if you want! Blurbs on blurbs on blurbs! Tuck one inside your name, print a blurb on the spine. Secret blurb in the title! Sky is the limit here. One of the best parts of having your work published is that you (hopefully) get a lot of say in how it looks. And yes, it’s a very good sign that twelve people blurbed you! Damn, I want to read this book.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’d like to address the question-under-the-question here, the one burbling just below the surface of the kiddie pool. Twelve blurbs! Yowza! That’s quite a lot! Behind those twelve blurbs sit twelve individual authors; people that you’ve (politely, I assume) asked for quotes. They’ve taken the time to read this book and email back and forth with you. As you’re well aware, all unpaid labor. Very nice of them!

But twelve is a lot of people to ask. I wonder if part of you assumed many of them would say no? Or that most might be too busy to read your work? Generally speaking, the usual ask is around six or so (correct me if I’m wrong, gentle reader—it might be more and I’m just out of the loop). I worry you were doubting yourself. The fact that you doubled up on this ask gives me a moment of pause.

But only a moment. It doesn’t matter, does it? Twelve authors gave you blurbs! If that doesn’t boost your writerly self-esteem, nothing will. If you want to use all of them, I say go for it—they did you a real solid—but I’d say next time, perhaps ask fewer people? That way you won’t feel like you have to clutter up your (beautiful, I’m sure) cover art.

Good problems, though. Congrats on your upcoming book!

Let’s crack open another cold one and refill the pool while we decode our final question of the day:

3) AITLA if I abandon an audiobook when the narrator mispronounces a word?

I wouldn’t say you’re the asshole here, I would say that you’re particular.

And there’s nothing wrong with that! I mean, we’ve all been there—appreciating a book or a show or a movie or a song or a comedy special—and all of a sudden something happens (mispronounced word, factual inaccuracy, a note that goes flat, or a godawful joke) and we’re suddenly snapped out of our enjoyment. We get grumpy. We turn to something else and hope it’ll be half as good, but we’re probably bringing our baggage with us to this new thing and inevitably souring it with our bad attitude.

It happens.

It’s fine to drop out of something if you’re not enjoying it. There are so many audiobooks out there that you couldn’t possibly get to all of them in this lifetime. So I think you should give yourself a break on this one. Life’s too short, says Dad. And so on, and so forth.

Well, I’m starting to burn; I gotta get out of this Florida heat. See you next time when we dig into more of your questions and I see how pruned my fingers can get after splashing around for several hours in a child’s play pool. And remember: send me more of your anonymous questions!!!!

In the sunshine of your love,

Dad

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