I walked into the pub the other day (I know it sounds like
this is going to be a joke of some kind, but bear with me) and caught the tail
end of a conversation between two women sat near the bar that made me realise,
once and for all, why we should detach ourselves from reviews of our work.
NB: The conversation is paraphrased and not verbatim—a little
creative license, please ;)
Woman 1: “That just wouldn’t happen in real life. I mean,
come on, why would anyone write that?”
Woman 2: “I know. I was so angry. I don’t know if I can read
the next one.”
Woman 1: “I’ll persevere (with this one), but everyone knows
male werewolves don’t go into heat, it’s ridiculous. Next it’ll be sparkling
vampires, you wait and see.”
Chorus of giggles.
O.o
I’m wondering whether I need to say more. Perhaps I’m the
only one who sees the faulty logic here, but whether I am, or you share my ‘huh?’
moment, the interlude served the purpose of reinforcing the concept that we
cannot please everyone. So I am content to carry on breaking the rules and
writing the stories the characters want to tell, and the muse relays. Even if
only one of those stories finds an appreciative mind in the shape of a reader
who rides the same train (of super fantastic) as me then my job is done :D
As authors, let’s celebrate our individual quirks and
qualities—that granted, may drive some readers crazy (I'm still deciding whether I'm sorry about that)—and recognize our place in
literary history with every word that escapes into the universe from our
delectably twisted unique minds.
Oh, and I almost forgot. I will be attending the UK GLBT Fiction Meet in Bristol. If you're going, please come over and say hello so I'm not sat in the corner on my own, twiddling my thumbs.
Oh, and I almost forgot. I will be attending the UK GLBT Fiction Meet in Bristol. If you're going, please come over and say hello so I'm not sat in the corner on my own, twiddling my thumbs.
