“When are you going to write a real book?”

I started to say this was a backhanded insult, but it isn’t.  It’s a very straightforward insult.  Anyone who can’t tell why should take a good long look at the way they interact with other people, because something is very wrong.

I found it on Patricia C. Wrede’s blog, as an example of what some people ask published genre authors.  Wrede is a fantasy author and well in my top 6 all-time favorite writers.  (She used to be higher, but I found Jane Austen my senior year of high school.)

Her post made me wish to iterate something because I consider it an important subject:

Writers write what they love.  It’s a job, yes, but you don’t put that much effort into something you don’t enjoy.  The passion you bring to a writing project influences how good you are at it, and readers can tell if you’re apathetic about your work.

I’m passionate about the teen girl market.  It’s what got me reading in the first place, and I still go straight to that section when we visit the store or library.

But for the kind of people who might suggest I write “a real book” instead of my current projects — I’d rather kill myself with a dull Sharpie than write literary fiction.

I have nothing in particular against literary fiction or the people who honestly enjoy it.

But I don’t want to have to read it, and I definitely don’t want to write it.

No more than the guy in my writing group in college, the nice one who wanted to write the next Great American Novel, wants to write teen girl fiction.  I believe if someone insisted he had to, he’d ask to borrow my suicide-Sharpie.

So why, why why why why why, is it okay for anyone to assume that only one type of writing is credible or makes you a “real” author?  Patricia C. Wrede is a legend to me, and the thought anyone would pose her that question leaves me flabbergasted.  She enchanted me as a girl — in the most emotional and non-punny sense of the word.

I lay that on top of a situation I heard about recently, where two men are at each others’ throats because one keeps saying offensive and belittling things but refuses to acknowledge he’s being insulting, and thus the other one is upset “for no apparent reason.”

And I put those “real book” words in the type of person’s mouth who won’t admit fault, and it just makes my blood boil.  Because I honestly couldn’t see myself being as polite about it as Wrede has been.  I might not yell or challenge anyone to a duel, but I could easily see myself either gaping dumbly or informing the speaker politely that they just insulted me.  And then, in my head, the speaker denies it.

And I cry.

You may ask, and I will confirm that yes, I do actually have these little awful scenarios that I play out in my head pretty often.  My dad always called them “Thinkmares” because I used to scare myself with daydreams after I went to bed and before I fell asleep.  Alex calls it “Thinking” and knows to break out the Ben & Jerry’s when I’ve been doing it.  It’s very useful for writing, having a powerful imagination, but it can be super-inconvenient, too.  ^_^;  Like how now I’m imagining the awkward social implications of my informing, say, my grandmother how insulting that sort of phrase is, or a cousin who means well but is flustered or who doesn’t have any idea how to make conversation with a female relation (a few of my boy cousins fit that bill).  It’s easier to imagine telling off some cranky stranger than someone with actual feelings and/or connections to you.

I’m too empathetic here.  I know how it can feel when thoughtless remarks just sort of pop out because you have no clue what else to say — I have, at times, been Queen of the principality of Foot In Mouth.

So what nugget of wisdom can I leave you with?

Do your best not to put your foot in your mouth, and never suggest a writer’s work isn’t important, either directly or indirectly.  It’s important to them, and good manners would dictate that you respect their feelings.

Also, when in doubt of subject matter, I’ve heard the weather is a safe bet.

;)