Keeping calm and writing on

Being published is something that's hard to talk about without sounding like a pretentious snot. But I digress: the reason it sounds snotty is because most people don't understand just how much the industry has changed. With the invention of e-books, especially, publishing is now easier than ever. Writing something worth reading is another issue altogether. Snooki from Jersey Shore can ghost write a book that sells three million copies after being on a shelf for fifteen minutes, but twenty years from now, no one will be discussing it in their book clubs.

Inevitably, those who know me will find out I'm a writer. When they do, they'll sometimes ask one of my big pet peeve questions:

"Have you written anything I might have read?"

If only the literary world were that small.

At the same time, being published in any form is still noteworthy. It means you've put yourself out there to be admired and/or criticized, and there's no way to know for sure how your work will be received. Still, knowing what I know now about publishing, how companies like Amazon produce thousands of e-books every day by virtual unknowns like me who all dream of winning Pulitzer (so I assume), it's hard for me to accept the compliments. Or maybe I'm too hard on myself.

I'm proud of what I've accomplished, but I've learned something else about the phenomenon of seeing your name in print: it doesn't last. To use an extreme analogy, it's like winning a Grammy, but then listening to a song that one of your contenders wrote, and thinking to yourself Damn, I wish I'd written that. There's competition and petty jealousy in the writing world like there is in any other.

I'm in the middle of a friend's novel right now, also self-published, and this was my first thought after reading the first few chapters: This is so legit, totally something Barnes & Noble would sell, and my books read like a highschooler's creative writing project. That's not to say that Halo Publishing did a bad job; I'd highly recommend them for anyone looking into self-publishing. What I'm criticizing instead is my choice to self-edit (bad idea!), and my writing style itself. Panic strikes at odd moments: will a serious reader take my work seriously?

I know it's futile to think like that. Even the best of the best (according to the New York Times) get dismissed as poo on paper by handfuls of critics on Amazon. That's the biggest reason why being published is admirable: critics, especially anonymous ones online, can be mean. I haven't gotten much of it yet, but if I take this job seriously, then it will happen. No amount of editing, and no impressive publishing label will prevent that. You can't please everybody.

I'm reading this book right now (yes, I perpetually read more than one book at a time, and I'm in grad school!) called Why We Write. It's a collection of essays from various authors on why they do what they do even when the inspiration is lacking, the rejection letters keep mounting, and they question their own talent. For the moments I get trapped in thinking I'll finally feel like a talented writer when I publish a best-seller, this book is bringing me back to earth. Writing just for money is pretty much a guarantee that you won't make any. Being "good" is irrelevant (and completely subjective). I write because I believe in my work, and really, that's all that matters.

Grammys, rape culture jokes, and another SYAK excerpt

It always surprises me how rape culture jokes come up in the most unexpected contexts. I wouldn't have expected to hear one relating to the Grammys: "Will Rihanna be on the cover of Chris Brown's 'greatest hits' album?" Took me a second, but that "aha" moment wasn't too long in coming, and I groaned. The person who posted the joke to Facebook, and some of the people who 'liked' it, were good friends at one point. But I've realized that the people I choose to surround myself with play a significant role in healing whether they realize it or not. I could stand up and educate them, but too often this results in arguments and I'm the one told to "lighten up." I do need to "lighten up" about some things, but this is something I have absolutely no tolerance for anymore.

For the record, I do think Rihanna is a terrible role model, but not because of the way she handled the abuse of her ex boyfriend (or current boyfriend? I can't keep up) Chris Brown. Celebrities in general do set themselves up to be emulated, to an extent, but no one plans to be a poster child for domestic violence. To hold Rihanna up as a standard for how all women should react is ridiculous not just because she's only human, like all of us, but arguably because being in the spotlight increases the pressure to hold herself together. And we don't know the circumstances of why she's chosen to forgive and/or reconcile with Chris Brown.

With that, here's another excerpt from Someone You Already Know, depicting another example of ignorance (based on a real-life incident where I used to work):

The ignorance just never ends. I learned very quickly after the party incident with Trevor that I can’t afford to lose my cool every time someone makes a stupid comment about rape. This is something I’ve discussed at length with Dr. Cleary: the tactful way to respond to ignorance. I have no desire to be considerate to a person who makes an offensive, galling statement, though. I made it clear to my therapist that I’m tired of being labeled as the “damaged” girl. 

     If I had to pick out the dumbest person in my class, I’d have to say it’s Melanie. She’s the kind of girl who seems very nice and sociable, but completely lacks common sense; she’s a girl who kept saying “orgasm” in biology class instead of “organism,” and couldn’t understand why everyone including the teacher kept snickering. 

     She also may well be the only person in school who hasn’t heard of what happened to me. I know this because she’s the only one who hasn’t treated me any differently.

     Somehow, I misplaced my car keys, and Melanie was the one found them and brought them to me at the end of class. She noticed the "rape whistle" in addition to pepper spray on the keychain, which is more for my mother's comfort than my own. In reality, those would be the last thing I'd think to use if I was being attacked again (God forbid). I'd probably be too busy running or fighting for my life to bother fumbling through my purse for them. 

     Anyway, I half-heartedly said "Yes, that is my rape whistle," to which the idiot girl replied "I wouldn't fight back if that happened to me. I mean hello, it's free sex! And no one will think you're a slut for giving in because, you know, you could say you were raped."

     Thankfully, I wasn't the only person to hear this. Another girl standing nearby immediately turned around, and was just as shocked and dumbfounded as I was. "How could you think something like that, much less say it?!" she demanded. 

     Melanie simply shrugged and quipped "Well, if you're not getting any..."

     I was torn between wanting to shake some sense into her, walking away and ignoring her completely, or taking the time to attempt educating her. Crazy, right?

     As a survivor trying to find a new normal, I can’t shake the stupid out of every ignorant person I come across. This is not the first bout of ignorance I will face, and it will not be the last. Who knows, in earlier times I might have rolled my eyes at a rape joke and let it slide off my back. I hate, hate, hate to admit this, but my patience and tolerance levels will have to improve tremendously if I expect to have some semblance of a normal life. Perhaps this episode is my first training session.

     In a strange, back-handed sort of way, I envy Melanie for being able to afford that kind of ignorance. More likely than not, she hasn't experienced the trauma of a sexual assault. She's lucky she has not the foggiest clue what she's talking about. As offensive as her comment was, I sincerely hope that she never has to learn first-hand just how wrong her thought process is about this issue.

     I consider it a small miracle that I was able to take a breath, compose myself, and say calmly, albeit through clenched teeth "You know Melanie, you wouldn't think that way if it happened to you."

     She didn't do much more than shrug me off with a "Whatever," but my point was clear. The other girl who overheard the exchange thanked me for attempting, however feebly, to set Melanie straight. And just like that, it was all over. I survived another ignorance attack. Hallelujah. Only an unforeseen number left to go.

     Episodes like this make me all the more cautious of the words I choose, and how I use them. It also makes me aware of the possible damage that can occur by speaking blithely of things I know nothing about. You never know who might be listening.