Honesty is such a lonely word…

So, Amanda Palmer wrote a blog post, why i am not afraid to take your money, by amanda fucking palmer, and in this she explains why she feels no shame in asking for money for her webcasts.

I wasn’t aware that she needed to feel shame, but apparently, some “fans” have complained about paying money for her performances. In my opinion, those people are not fans. If you disagree and think that a fan should demand free work from an artist, stop here and bail out now. Otherwise, I’m likely to offend you. And I won’t apologize for doing it either.

I prefer to be bluntly honest in this blog, speaking my mind on a lot of issues. Sometimes after I write a post, I’ll have hubby look it over, and he’ll ask, “Are you really sure you want people to read this?” His main concern is that by being so honest, I might send away readers who would otherwise read my stories. I think that if anything about my posts offends you, odds are good that my characters will too. Either that, or the situations I put them in will.

I don’t agree with the concept of self-censorship for the sake of better sales. But, that doesn’t mean I still don’t practice it all the time. I might not agree with it, but it’s ingrained into me to seek the approval of as many people as I can. I’ve been told about this approval-seeking behavior way back in my teens, and I consciously fight against it. But now I’m also supposed to bite my tongue about some topics in order to foster goodwill among my potential readers.

In my head these conflicting values can create a looping error. I will want to make a statement in public, and along comes the silent editor, who tries to quell or water down the statement for fear of costing me sales.

Today, I’m going to write some things that could offend my readers, and damn the editor. That’s because I’m going to talk about money, and about asking for money and support. and then I’m going to talk about what I expect from my fans.

The truth is usually ugly…

This is the longest non-fiction post I’ve ever written, and as the title warns, this is going to be hard to read. It’s an online confession, and I’m putting under its own category, TMI. I’m sure most of you know McKenzie Phillips’ story by now. If you don’t, you can look her up first, or read it after you read this.

Her coming out about such a sensitive topic got me thinking about how often I hid my past. People don’t like to think about some kids growing up too fast, and they don’t like to talk about how queer kids are treated by society. So when someone brings the subjects up, the standard response is ridicule. Because if they do it enough, they can shame people back into silence. (Thus allowing the cycles of abuse to continue unchecked.)

I’ve had more than enough of being ridiculed, so just the fear of rejection has kept me gagged for a while. Oh sure, I hint at being bad, but a full confession is difficult to write without the silent editor reminding me that people will judge me based on my confession. They’ll dismiss me, because I’m no longer a real human being. Then I’m just “one of those people.”

But having your approval without full disclosure is a hollow, bitter feeling. It’s a lie by way of omission, and I never feel comfortable with that. That’s why I’ve decided to write about parts of my past to try and explain why I see myself as a broken person. If you prefer to remain ignorant about my lousy childhood, I’d advise skipping this post.

I won! Uh…this is like work, or something…

I’m really behind on mentioning this, but Jodi Lee, editor, writer and artist extraordinaire, has nominated me for a Kreative Blogger award last week.

I was all happy until I realized that I have to turn around and nominate seven other bloggers plus seven mystery writers. Picking the other bloggers will be no sweat. (Though it does sound a bit like picking boogers, doesn’t it?) Even though I just finished bitching about uncreative bloggers, my rant does not apply to everyone, just a select few people who try too hard to be helpful.

No, my real issue is picking seven mystery writers. I haven’t read real mysteries since my teens, so this felt like a major pain in…well anyway, it occurred to me to just do what Jodi did, and bend the definition of Mystery in order to complete the list. Before I get to those Mr. Ee folks, let me nominate seven bloggers who I visit regularly (after the cut):

The Awesome Amsterdam Adventures of General Zoe and Admiral Hubby, Part the Fourth

Oh hell, it’s the travel journal that wouldn’t die!

Thanks for the advice. Now move on!

I’ve just about stopped going to the blogs of certain writers and editors, not because their advice is bad, but more because they don’t talk about anything else, ever. They just find new ways to say the same things ad nauseum. A fitting choice of words, (even if one of them isn’t real) since I’m pretty much sick and tired of reading the same advice week in and week out.

With editors, I can understand why they end up harping on these same things so often. They see the same mistakes over and over, so they feel the need to reinforce the same message to any writers who may be reading their blog.

But you know what? Editors, after reading your backlog, there’s no reason to come back. You don’t talk about projects you’re editing that get you hot and bothered. You don’t point to examples of great dialogue that work for you. You don’t talk about yourselves, or your opinions on anything, EXCEPT for the intake process of your job. 90% of the time, you only write in negative terms.In short, you’re chronic whiners. And not the entertaining kind, either.

How NOT to respond to a negative review…

It happens to everyone. You get that review from someone who didn’t like your book, and their complaints show how little they actually grasped of the work. They make light of your writing with a few flippant and inaccurate observations about tense confusion and head-hops, and then they suggest that you need more editing to make the book more like how they want it. First, let me show you what not to do with a sad event that occurred on a reviewer’s doorstep. (Remember, this is a totally true story)

*Ding-dong* (after a long delay, a man dressed in a grey sweater and beige slacks comes to the door. Looking vaguely like Graham Chapman, he removes a wooden pipe from between his teeth and inclines his head forward in a cue to the guest to speak.)

You: Hi, are you Mr.  Belvedere Biggles?

BB: Indeed I am. May I help you?

You: *removing hidden chainsaw from behind your back* You can rot in hell, bastard!

BB: Strewth!

Yes, you totally killed Mr. Belvedere Biggles, of Hackensack, with a chainsaw. Maybe you don’t remember it now, but that’s because you blocked it out. Poor fool. Now, let me explain where you went wrong, aside from hiding a running chainsaw in your anus.

Is I is, or is I ain’t a snob?

Brews and Books tossed out a great conversational question in this post, Are You a Book Advocate or a Book Snob? Summing them up, are you someone who holds an elitist attitude about books, or are you happy when books are able to make gains in the market?

This topic goes hand in hand with my earlier post about blindly supporting the indies. If I were a book snob, then I would stick to the argument that the talent is better with the smaller companies, and I might sneer at the success of writers with larger markets.

Served Cold – Part 3

Jordan Mitchell landed a backhand punch against Anthony’s brow. The skin split, pouring blood into his eye. Falling back to the ground, Anthony covered the wound and winked up at the bully, who drew back his leg for a kick. Anthony raised both his legs, lashing one out to kick Jordan’s shin. The bully toppled, and Anthony moved his other leg so Jordan’s chin would connect with his knee, clapping Jordan’s teeth over his tongue.

Screaming almost girlishly, Jordan covered his mouth as he rolled onto his side.

Anthony didn’t have time to gloat before Jerry Burke and Emmit Lane drove kicks into the small of his back. He rolled into a ball, trying to keep the boys from kicking his head.

Witch lick feet…

First, an explanation from quillsandzebras:

Search terms are odd beasts. Being a little obsessed with scrutinizing my website performance, I have noticed that the search terms used to arrive at my website, Qazyfiction, border on the bizarre.

So, to celebrate Qazyfiction’s two month anniversary, I am running a writing challenge. All you have to do is write a short story or poem which includes at least six out of the seven search terms listed below. It can be as short as you want, but please keep it from going over 1,000 words within the 500-1,500 range.

The search terms are:

• witch lick feet
• took her towel
• a door upstairs
• kidnapping fantasies
• tightened around her belly
• push her head down
• slavers

My entry after the cut:

Served Cold – Part 2

Anthony watched Phillip walk into his house, limping up the street for a closer look. The first phase of his plan had been improvised. He hadn’t expected to get the chance to throw a punch, much less a head butt which split both of Phillip’s lips and busted his nose. But the attack worked, and Phillip was mad enough to stalk him. The next phase was building a list of witnesses.

Anthony took note of the house number and made his way home. He was later than usual, and his mother was already standing in the hallway while he pulled off his bag. “Again?”

“No mother, not again. I’m just an optical delusion.”

“Well you look…why are you smiling?”