Well hey there, folks! Welcome back to yet another juicy installment of Am I the Literary Asshole?, the advice column that’s all bark, no bite (unless we’re talking about the 7-Eleven Big Bite hotdog, and if that’s the case, then all bets are off). I’m your host, Kristen Arnett, and I’m pleased as punch to be back here again with all my friends doing the things I love most: sipping a beer and reading some petty gossip on the Lord’s internet while I avoid drafting my next novel. Hot damn! We love literature!
I’m having a beer, you can have one, too—God knows I’ve got plenty. Pull up a chair. We’re in the dog days of summer and we’ve got a lot of questions to get through. Strap in buddy, it’s gonna be a wild ride:
1) I am fairly new to writing and the idea of workshopping with others. While I want to jump in and join a group, I find myself hesitating and being picky about who I share my work with. Am I being elitist for being picky? Should I just share my work with anyone who is willing and wants to read it??? HELP! I need to workshop, but I dunno how to!
Hello friend! Thanks for your question!
We’ve been getting quite a few of these “writing group” quandaries lately, and I’m taking that as a great sign. In my mind, it means that people are excited to meet each other; to spend time together talking enthusiastically (and critically) about art. That can only be a wonderful thing.
I can understand your concern, however, when it comes to finding people who might be the right fit. You say here that you’re fairly new to all of this—both to writing as a practice and also to the idea of working with others—so you’re a newbie all around. I think, again, this is a glass half full situation! You’ve got so much exciting stuff ahead of you!
Maybe the first thing you’d want to do is sit for a moment and figure out what your writing holds. Are you a budding novelist? A short fiction writer? Are you engaging with essay work or memoir? Do you lean more genre fiction or are you firmly established in the realm of literary fiction? These things are all good to know (and to continue to think about throughout your career) because it can help remind you were your work sits. Knowing that kind of information can help you better understand what kind of feedback you’re actually looking for from a group.
The second thing I’d ask you to consider is how you like to receive feedback. I know you’re new to workshopping, but you know yourself better than you think, I’d wager! Do you do better with positive reinforcement, for example, or are you the kind of person who really engages well with active criticism? Do you think you’d like to show your work in early draft stages, or are you a person who keeps things a little closer to the vest? Knowing this can also help you decide what groups might work for you.
“Picky” can come across as a bad word, but choosing a group that’s the right fit does everyone a favor because you won’t be wasting each other’s time. Do you know anyone else who writes? If so, do you enjoy their work? That might be an indicator that you could workshop together. Perhaps after you’ve thought out who you are as a writer and what kind of feedback you’d like to receive, you might start out with just one other person workshopping with you. Dip a toe in the water, see how it feels. Then, if you’re still not ready, take a break and try again later. There’s no time limit on this. Think of it as an exciting new adventure!
That was a nice one. I’m going to grab another beer—you want one, too? Okay, let’s crack them open and check out our next question:
2) I’m a published writer who often get asked to write blurbs. I love to support other writers whenever I can and I hate the idea of hurting someone’s feelings, so I try hard to guess in advance if I’m going to enjoy the book, and if I have any doubts, I apologize and say I’m too busy to read it or that I’m not doing blurbs at the moment. But a few times I have agreed to read something and find I don’t like it after all. In some cases it has been just a matter of taste, but in others it has been something that actually offends me. What is my obligation? Do I write a blurb I don’t really believe in? Do I tell the author that I can’t endorse it because I don’t like their work? Or do I ghost everyone involved?
Yet another of our frequent flyers!
People love to ask questions about blurbs, and hey, I get it! As a literary society, we’re inundated with questions about how to get them, if we need them, who to ask, how to ask, and what positive benefits they might have for our work. Even during book tour this spring, I was hauling around copies of other people’s books, trying to read bits and pieces in airports and on planes. The blurb economy is real (and if you’re reading this and I owe you one, I’m sorry, I promise I’m working on it)!
My take on this is simple, and I will give you the same advice that I give myself:
When I say I will take a look at a book that feels like a good fit, that is not a promise that I will provide a blurb. I say that I would be happy to take a look—and I am happy to do that! I love reading!—but I also let them know that I am very busy, that it is possible it might not happen, and that as long as they are okay with NOT receiving a blurb, we can proceed. No one is owed anything, and blurbs are a gift we give to other writers with the understanding that we will likely be holding out our hands and asking for blurbs for our own work in the very near future. That, my friend, is why it is never a good idea to ghost. Alongside the bad karma involved, it’s just not a great look. Anyway, you don’t really have to give an incredibly detailed reason why you couldn’t get it done. Things happen! You don’t need to tell a person you didn’t love their book; simply state that you aren’t going to be able to provide a blurb at this time and that you’re sorry about it. Both those things are true, I think!
Good luck with this! It’s gonna be okay!
One more beer, condensation rolling down the can in the lazy swell of this fine summer afternoon. Good God, it’s HOT out! Let’s cheers to our last question of the day:
3) I am worried that I am being deeply selfish by wanting time to write and think about my writing (and maybe care a little about my writing). For the past couple of years, I have had a lot of people in my life be in crisis. A parent with severe health problems who has needed physical and emotional care. Two of my very close friends also have been diagnosed with chronic issues. People in my life have lost relatives, friends, and pets (myself included). It seems like I never have a moment to breathe without needing to be support for someone. And that is totally fair! I care about these people, I want to be there for them. But I also feel like my sense of self and my own work are just disappearing. On the one hand, it feels like I really should not be complaining. Shit is important right now, but not that. On the other… I just want a few hours to work on my own things, and maybe one or two conversations where I get to care about something other than supporting everyone else. Is that as terrible as it feels?
Oh buddy. I feel you on this (and I think many, many other people do as well).
You’re not alone in your wondering here. It’s a difficult time to be a human being. We need things for basic survival—food, water, shelter—and it’s hard enough to keep those things going without contending with the addition of medical care and chronic issues that flare up without our consent. Other people require our attention. But we also need care for our hearts and our spirits, I think, and choosing to carve out time to brighten your brain and your soul is a good, positive thing that will only bring added light and joy to those around you.
Taking small moments can be incredibly beneficial. I urge you, strongly, to carve out these times for yourself. I want to stress this: they don’t have to be long, or much, or continuous. Ten minutes in the morning, perhaps. Or fifteen in the evening right before bed. Some small thing that allows you to experience pleasure—especially on the page—is a necessary, lovely act that will do you no harm and will provide a lot of good.
Do not feel guilty about this. It is not asshole behavior to devote time to our art, even if that time is very small. Life is very short and we don’t get much time here, my friend. Choose to bring something beautiful into your day whenever you can. I want this for you, and I believe you can have it.
That’s a lovely note to end on, I think! Join me next time when we spend time together in community, answering questions, drinking beers, enjoying art. Simply living. I love you, pals. And send me your questions!
Yours in friendship,
Dad
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Are you worried you’re the literary asshole? Ask Kristen via email at AskKristen@lithub.com, or anonymously here.
