In Which a Couple of Actual Literary Assholes Make an Appearance

Hey there, howdy! It’s time for another round of Am I the Literary Asshole?, the advice column that also doubles as a drunken game of Mad Libs. I’m your host, Kristen Arnett, and I just flew back from AWP in Los Angeles—boy, are my arms tired! It was a pleasure to see so many writers out in the wild, hooting and hollering, yet still somehow managing to fret over the work that they’re not getting done. It just goes to show you that you can lead a writer to a writing conference but you can’t make them write. You can, however, make them drink. Some of y’all were hammered!!!! (Me, I’m talking about me).

Today we’ve got a wild assortment of questions and I can’t wait to dig right in. So why don’t we split a twelve pack of Miller Lite right down the middle and get this party started?

1) Hi Kristen! I’ve recently begun writing the acknowledgements section for my book. This is always one of my favorite parts of books and it’s something that’s been percolating in the back of my mind for a while. I’ve been working on this book for five or six years, and during that time there are people who have had a hand in helping with the book who have fallen out of my life. Some of these were dramatic, some were mutual, and some were just relationships that fizzled. Not all of these people are a part of the literary community, but I am feeling some obligation to include them in the section, despite the way some of these friendships ended (poorly). This is my first book and I am not very clear on the norms around acknowledgements—am I the literary asshole for not including everyone who helped get this book published?

Hello there, friend! Let me start off by congratulating you on completing your very first book. Working on a project for six years is no small feat! That’s something to really be proud of, and I am excited for you! Well done!

Now, let’s dive into the question at hand. Acknowledgements! The place where you get to gush about all the people, places, and things that helped you turn a tiny grain of sand into a whole damn pearl. It’s a good feeling to be able to name those things; to list the small (and sometimes very large) moments of help that we got from others. It’s an honor and privilege to understand that our communities can help us realize our dreams.

That being said, it’s also an honor and a privilege to be listed in an acknowledgement section of a book. Nobody is owed that special spot. It’s something that is given as a kind of gift. We can be grateful to be included, but we’re not going to be out here screaming if we don’t see our own name listed (or at least we shouldn’t be out there caterwauling over it).

If there are people who are no longer in your life (and they exited in a way that left a very bad taste in your mouth), you are under absolutely no obligation to include them at the end of your book. In fact, I would urge you NOT to include those people because at the end of the day, the acknowledgements section of a book is basically a party that you get to host for everything and everyone that you love. Acknowledgments in terms of style span the gamut. You can have a tiny little section that’s barely a paragraph, or you can ramble on for several pages (in fact, I did this with my last book—I felt like I was so full of love that I just couldn’t stop listing people who’d made me happy). The point is, it’s all up to you!

It’s not an asshole move to leave some people out. The party’s not for everyone, but it is for YOU. So celebrate it with the ones you really love. That’s all that matters.

A beer for me, and a beer for thee—onto the next caller!

2) There is someone who has climbed the literary ladder through manipulation, extortion, falsely associating himself with established names… you know the type, I won’t go on. He’s made a career for himself and gets accepted into publications that people who are much more skilled, talented, and hardworking than him only ever dream of. He is a bad writer and a bad person, and though it’s well known in the whisper network, no one ever says it out loud. How do we get that first domino to be brave enough to drop so all the rest will follow suit and he can finally vanish forever?

Oh, pal. I wish I could say I don’t know what you’re talking about—that we’re all great folks here in the writing community and none of us would ever knowingly harm another person—but we all know that simply isn’t true. Some people out there are just bad.

I think it says a lot that this question was submitted anonymously. Don’t get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that! That’s what this column is for! Rather, what I’m trying to get at is that it takes a lot of guts to be the one who’s brave enough to drop that very first domino. Occasionally, the person who does so is not only disbelieved, they are punished for speaking up. It can be incredibly lonesome to be the one who puts themselves out on a limb and points the accusing finger. It’s a hard thing to do.

I wish we could all feel braver when it came to this kind of thing. But we can’t make other people do that work for us. Sometimes, it has to be us that opens our mouth and says the damn thing. If this is a person who you feel has truly harmed others and you want to say something about it, then maybe what your gut is telling you is that it’s your time to do exactly that. Push that domino yourself.

It’s important to consider, however, what you mean when you say “vanish forever.” I think we all know that cancel culture isn’t all that real. People “vanish” all the time after a call out, but like a cat with nine lives, they always come right back. Publicly announcing that a person has acted like a shit won’t make someone permanently go away. If that was the case, there are plenty of public figures (notably one who owns a social media platform and a terrible car company) who’d have thrown themselves in the trash by now.

Posting about them negatively on social media won’t do much, either, aside from eating into your free time when you inevitably have to fight people in the comments. So, maybe the thing to do in this situation is to understand that even though there are shitty people out there, we don’t have to behave like them.

Discuss this some more with your trusted friends. Decide a plan of action for yourself (even if that plan of action is to keep whispering about it). I know I’m only a drunken literary advice columnist, but some questions need a bigger boat to handle and I think this might be one of them. Good luck and keep me posted.

Speaking of bad writers, looks like someone had a terrible time at AWP! Let’s chug a beer and brave a look:

3) I just got back from AWP and I had such a bad experience talking to another writer that it basically ruined my whole trip. Am I the asshole for wanting to tell everyone about their shitty behavior? For the record, they never said anything offensive to me, just ignored me once they found out I wasn’t as well published/didn’t have the same big connections.

I’m so sorry this happened to you. It’s a goddamn horrible feeling when other people make us feel small, especially when we’re all just trying to have a nice time together at a conference.

I want to tell you that it’s perfectly natural to feel bad when someone acts this way. I’ll also say this: if you want to tell people how this person acted toward you, that’s totally your call. You have every right to do so. It might mean you burn a bridge or two, but buddy, sometimes that’s what we’ve gotta do.

I’d urge you to wait a minute and think about it for another week, however. It was a long week for everyone and I’m sure when you wrote in to me you were feeling exhausted and sad. It’s possible this person was just having a bad night (maybe someone had been shitty to them, too, and they decided to take it out on you). It’s not a good excuse, but hey, we all have bad days (and nights and afternoons, the world is perpetually on fire). Do what feels right, but take a beat first. Go with your gut.

And this can be a gentle reminder to all of us that it takes nothing to have empathy for others. Please be kind. It’s hard out there. Don’t be a dick to other people (especially at a writers conference—someone will name you in a personal essay).

And that’s all the beers and questions we’ve got today! Join me next time when I answer more of your quandaries and I also remember to grab a bag of chips to have with my drink (I’m starving).

Cool Ranch,
Dad

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