This is the third blog post I’ve written today. The other two were Moved To Trash because I decided I didn’t want to go there in public. My mother will be relieved that I’ve stopped sharing (what she thinks is) every thought I have. So I’m going to share this other thought that really doesn’t apply to everyone but might offend some people.
Few people get on my nerves as much as writers who don’t/won’t read.
There may be more writers now, or it may be yellow volkswagon syndrome, I can’t say for sure. But I’ve definitely run across a lot more people who talk about being writers either for hobby or for work. For years I avoided being involved in writer blogs or writer workshop events because for me writing is a private affair. As Jill Domschot said the other day “I don’t write about writing because I don’t want to be a painter painting a painting of myself painting.” And that pretty much sums it up for me. But then I did decide that perhaps hanging around more writers might give me the impetus to get more serious about my own work.
Some days it helps; most days it doesn’t.
It wasn’t until I began hanging around all these writers that I found out about the New Rules that we couldn’t use anymore. And until this week I had patience with most of those rules. Then all of a sudden I realised that I don’t care. I write what I want to read. I don’t care if it tells and doesn’t show and “head hops” and has too many adverbs or whatever we’re avoiding now.
I read. I write for readers. I write what I like to read. And writers who spend more time talking about rules that are at their very core ARBITRARY GUIDELINES than they do knee-deep in good books are fast becoming the bane of my existence. Put down that workshop pamphlet, pick up a novel or three and learn to tell what you like about the reading experience.