by Ruth Harris
We all know them.
Each of us has encountered them.
They are the pilot fish and blood suckers with literary stars in their eyes who wannabe — drumroll — A Writer!
Wannabe writers come to you with gauzy fantasies about “inspiration” and visions of overnight fame and instant riches.
And they have a thousand questions.
Which you answer.
But.
They pay no attention.
Because:
Writer wannabes do not want to actually sit down and write.
They do not want to master craft.
Are uninterested in learning the techniques involved in telling a compelling story.
Create believable characters?
Write compelling narrative?
Master the art of dialogue?
Find out how to start a chapter, how to end a chapter?
Learn how to begin a book, end a book?
How to use foreshadowing?
Where — and how — to plant clues in a mystery?
The difference between a clue and a red herring?
As you patiently answer their questions, their eyes glaze over.
Or their fingers drum the desktop.
Even though you tell them that once they know all that and have a solid foundation in the nuts and bolts of craft, they are then free to add all the genius they want?
Nah.
Too much work.
Takes too long.
Boring.
Not that they ever come out and actually say that.
Their inactions speak louder than words.
As you consider various methods of torture.
The Underminers
You write horror?
They “only” read literary fiction.
You write romance?
Writer wannabes will curl their lip and sneer.
You write spy thrillers?
They tell you all about their recent dinner with their good buddy, John Le Carré. (Who happens to be among the Dear Departed.)
You write mystery?
They comment about how much they “love” science fiction.
You write science fiction?
They go into a spiel about rockets and space ships rotting their nephew’s brain and causing him to flunk fourth grade.
As you make a list of the names of prominent defense lawyers and calculate the odds of getting away with murder
The Nit Pickers
The mother of a #1 NYT best selling author of women’s fiction actually read her books (not all mothers do…lol) — and circled any word that appeared twice on the same page.
Did Mommy Dearest comment about the plot? The characters? The ending? The fact that her daughter’s books regularly hit the NYT bestseller list and that some were even made into movies?
Nope.
The irrelevant and inconsequential were all that mattered.
And the bludgeon her mother wielded because she “didn’t want her to get too big for her britches.”
True story.
The Morality Police
Here are the readers and writer wannabes who object to cuss words.
Especially the f-word which seems to send them into a frenzy of outrage.
And let’s not even discuss steamy sex scenes.
It’s romance! What the eff do you expect?
It’s women’s fiction! Of course grown-ups have sex, but that apparently comes as news to them.
It’s a hard-boiled detective chasing bad guys! And hooking up with bad girls. Which, of course, would definitely never happen. Not even in pulp fiction!
And let’s not forget book-banning politicians.
You know. The ones who board private jets headed for private islands owned by pervy billionaires.
Or the comb-over, paunchy dudes who enjoy bj’s in the parking lot.
Or whose had-it-up-to-here staff members avoid being alone in the same room (or elevator) with them.
The Comparison Shoppers.
Behold the tightwads and cheapskates who inform you that they can get Famous Writer’s book for free on some dodgy pirate site you’ve never heard of.
Or what about BookBub.
“They always have good sales. You should get your book on BookBub.”
Gee, thanks for the tip. I never thought of that. 🙂
You contemplate guns, hatchets, and knives.
But you hate the sight of blood.
Whereupon you have another inspiration.
What about poisons? Quick and fast acting. Or alternatives that promise a long, painful demise.
You cackle and wring your hands in delicious anticipation.
The Amateur Shrink.
No need to call Doctor Freud. No reason to spend thousands on therapy. Don’t bother to call the nearest mental health facility. The amateur shrink has you all figured out.
You write suspense? It’s your unresolved childhood trauma.
Write conspiracy thrillers? You must be paranoid.
Write zombies and sentient robots? This is serious. You’ve lost touch with reality.
You write a talking dog who helps solve mysteries? Why are you wasting your time? No one would believe that. (Accompanied with a sour, dismissive wave of the hand as four movie companies are competing for film rights.)
The Best Revenge.
You can send them to a notorious Algerian prison to undergo grisly, unspeakable tortures.
Strand them in a remote jungle inhabited by cannibals and killer reptiles.
Inflict them with virulent, disfiguring acne that instantly repels every man, woman or animal they encounter.
Or serve up an excruciatingly painful, incurable, fatal disease that has defied every cure devised by medical science.
You can torch their life savings.
Or, you can do what a friend did to the ex who was stalking her, demanding to read the latest draft of her new book. In which she — to her own later regret — told him he appeared.
She asked him to leave her alone.
And changed her locks.
Plus threatened to tell his wife and did. Said wife didn’t give a $#&^*
She threatened to call the police but they weren’t interested cuz no crime had been committed.
No matter how dire the threat, nothing worked.
There he was: at her door, at her office, waiting for her outside her hair salon, demanding to find out what she wrote about him.
He was driving her crazy.
Nothing she tried dissuaded him.
She was at wit’s end, desperate to get this creepy, demanding ex out of her life.
But what could she do?
When nothing worked.
Well, Dear Reader, She Went Nuclear.
Distraught and at wit’s end, she squared her shoulders, drew herself to her full height, and delivered an ultimatum. “Stop bugging me,” she threatened. “Or else!”
“Or else you’re gonna do what?” he sneered.
She rose to the challenge. “Or else I’m going to give you a small penis.”
Guess what?
After a year of pestilence, he disappeared. Vamoosed! Vanished! Boom! Just like that. Never to be seen or heard from again.
Because the writer always has the last word.
(Also a true story.)
***
What about you, scriveners? Have you run into any of these types of writer wannabes? How do you deal with people who identify as writers but don’t actually write anything? Or people who feel free to criticize you because the books in their heads are so much better than anything you’ve published? Have you ever been bullied by the writer wannabes and other “cooties” Ruth describes?
BOOK OF THE WEEK
Women’s fiction meets cozy mystery in the Big Apple.
WHEN BILLIONAIRES BREAK BAD.
When the oh-so-dead body of a celebrity Mad Man washes up on East Hampton’s Billionaires’ Beach, PR whiz Blake Weston and her handsome, sexy, ex-cop husband must spend the summer in the fancy-pants resort to find out what — or who — killed Jay Caruso.
Was it his wife?
Which one?
“Ruth Harris’s light, breezy style perfectly captures the characters who frequent this up-scale summer resort. She’s also brilliant at poking fun at their high-end toys like a huge hi-tech stove that neither Blake nor Ralph can figure how to work without the help of the housekeeper; and a “silent” dishwasher that blows up.”...Joanna Elm
This woman deserves a medal — and so do you, Ruth, for telling the story in such an engaging manner. What more can I say as I chuckle and pound out these few words?
One more word: brilliant.
How about an entire department that managed to effectively kill word of mouth of a book by claiming it’s about something very abhorrent and very gross, and for good measure, ban you from holding your book fair after about twenty-five minutes because of said lie?
T.L.;D.R. True story personally experienced.
(sorry, couldn’t help myself, but it was a very extreme example of what you wrote about here)
As always, another excellent read. It always feels like therapy when I read your posts. Relieved that it happens to many writers (so it’s not just me! Whew!), nodding my head as I learn ways to navigate these types– and yet so galled that it happens this much! 😜
Oh this is gooooood. Thanks for writing it. So hilarious and sadly true.
Kathy, Thanks! 🙂 Annoy (or piss off) a writer at your own risk. Consider yourselves duly warned.
G.B. — Sorry you had to endure this. The corrosive effects of envy know no bounds. Unfortunately. And shocking —even to me who considers herself shock-proof. 🙁
Bobbi — Thanks so much for the kind words. Writers are rare and should be cherished. Cooties, OTOH, abound. Get out the Flit!
Patricia—Other than being talented to one degree or another and, even more important, very hard working, writers don’t deserve the amount of grief doled out their way. Way of the world, tho….:-(
Thanks for such an amusing, if true, post. I love the way the last writer got her ex to leave her alone. (What is it with men and penises, anyway?)
I’ve not had the ‘pleasure’ of meeting any wannabe writers in person, but a friend told me her granddaughter wanted to be a children’s author. While I can’t be any help with writing children’s books, I did say that I would be willing to talk to her, and help if I could, with things like publishing, and point her in the direction of helpful people and blogs.
Nothing more was said, either then or since!
Ruth, you had me giggling out loud! Oh yes, about the wannabees. If I had a nickel for every time someone said to me, ‘I have a really good idea for a story…let me tell you’ For years, I have said – “if you have a really good idea, don’t tell me, don’t tell anyone. Write the story, and then it will be copyrighted.” That seems to be the only thing that stops them.
Thanks Ruth & Anne for another fine post.
And yes, I’ve met most the folks Ruth describes here. It’s a good thing we writers are strong.
Thank you for that priceless punchline, Ruth! The ultimate revenge of a writer!
May I add the another variation on cheapskate cooties? How about the book club that buys one copy of a book for $.99 then passes the Kindle around to the members.
I forgot to mention that all of the hate was based on a mildly risque cover and the jacket blurb.
Art imitates life? or is that life imitates art? I’ll go with the first because these true stories that you share with names withheld to protect the guilty are almost unbelievable. What a hoot in the rearview mirror. At the time, not so much, uh? Thanks for sharing.
Trouble is, the wannabes no longer have to be wannabes. Any and everyone can now publish a book, and they do. If you’re a talent-free wannabe, but you’ve mastered social media, you may well be able to succeed with drek.
V.M. — Oh, yeah. Talk is easy. Writing is hard. I think it was Mike Tyson who said something along the lines of “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.” Applies to more than just boxing. 😉
Melodie: That’s a classic! Actually, now that you mention it, writers should make a list, check it twice, and then Hunt. Them. Down.
Barry—You’re soooo right! Now with AI capable of burping out a book in a few moment, the hordes of the talent-free will be even more empowered. Not that drek ever stopped anyone anyway and not just in the literary world either! The evidence is all around us.
Debbie—How’d they get the Kindle? Seems out of their price range, right? Bleh
CS—Strength plus a good sense of humor gets us through, right? Plus, of course, writers always have the last word—and are NOT afraid to use it.
Whoa! That’s a lot to deal with. I love that last writer’s strategy to get her ex off her back.
You sure encounter some rather strange characters, Ruth and Anne. People who always know more than the people who know how. As my dear old Nana used to say, “Water always finds its own level, and some duck will always find a way to piddle in it.”
Barry is right! And loved your post, Ruth. We have to keep smiling.
Wonderful, humorous post, and so on point.
One of the questions I often see is “I want to write a novel. Do you have any hints, tricks, or tips?” My proverbial answer is “chair, butt-glue, write.” There are no shortcuts, do the work, and wanting is not the same as doing.
Excellent comeback! Thanks for sharing.
I think the second cousins to wannabe cooties are those who tell you that YOU have to write THEIR book for them, because they have such a great idea. I have received this kind of demand (not an ask, a demand) from several individuals. One of them is a political junkie – there’s no way I could write a book about politics because I’m the extreme opposite of a political junkie. I tell people like this that I can only write what I’M inspired to write – otherwise, there’s no heart in it: if I’m not invested in it, neither will the readers be. In general, I never hear from them again.
On the other hand, four of us in my town are working with seniors in a series of writing workshops, encouraging them to take authority over their own stories, that no one else can write their stories. They are a pretty apt group, ask incredible questions, are willing to do the work to improve their pieces, and produce astonishing stories with power. We group facilitators are the blessed ones, as they share these stories with us!
A drop in at our weekly workshop told me of his great story about a relative who joined a 1920s criminal organization and got killed by a rival gang in an awful way. “It’s a true story!” Mr. Wannabee crowed several times. He then went on to explain that, though he’s never written anything, “[extremely prominent producer] goes to my sister’s church, and he’ll buy the script! It’s a true story!” Offers of help were declined as not needed, and Mr. W has only infrequently appeared at the workshop.
Liz—You’re so right! Unfortunately they come with the turf. 🙁
Garry—Unfortunately not strange. Just plentiful. 🙁 Love your Nana’s words. A woman of insight and source of reliable insight!
Elizabeth—Barry sure nailed it, didn’t he? Thanks for the complimentary words!
Brenda—Oh, yes! Those supersecret hints, tricks, or tips we refuse to share are the only reason those wannabes can’t do what we do. So sad….
Dana—Thank *you*! 🙂
Sally—Sorry to hear you’ve had to put up with *demands* from idiots. What *are* they thinking? Or do they think? We’re just here to take orders, right?
Your seniors have the right approach and, obviously, stories no one else can tell. Long may they thrive!
Hahahaha. I was leaning toward tomahawk! Excellent story, Ruth. Thanks for the giggles!
Happy Memorial Day to you both!
Sue—LOL Forget the tomahawk. She wasn’t playing games. She went right for the jugular (if you know what I mean).
Wonderful blog and humorous. I’m not sure if this qualifies but the other day I’m in a bookstore coffee shop. Am engaged in a friendly conversation with a retired police officer who enjoys fictional and true crime books and actually worked with Joseph Wambaugh. As I’m leaving, a middle aged man with reams of paper at his table calls me over and asks if I’m an author. Informs me he, too, is an author and is writing several books at once. However, he has yet to publish anything. He begins peppering me with questions, asks me for suggestions and my phone number so we can meet again and he can ask more questions. He says he can use me for my background on law enforcement. I’m beginning to feel as if he is sucking all the blood out of my body. I’ve had enough and tell him, “I’m busy” and scribble on his paper, “Anne R. Allen and Ruth Harris.” I conclude saying, “Everything you want to know about writing is on their blog site!”
You nailed them. I could add a couple more. One of the things I address in the NightWriter critiques is how to respond to critique. Very few are aware of the process.
Kenneth—Thank you for the rec (I guess). lol What’s amazing is he even comes right out says he “can use [you] for your background in LE.” No wonder you felt as if this zombie creep was sucking the blood out of your body. Glad you got away!
Mark—Thanks! Only a *couple* more? lol 😉