You’re a writer? Grow up!
What, you think you’re going to make money doing that?
Oh, wait, you’re indie? Can I actually, you know, buy your stuff anywhere?
Books are boring, I’d rather see a movie.
Spend enough time writing and publishing, and you’ll hear at least one of the above.
I’m lucky enough that I have to respect a person before their opinion is much more than noise to me, so water and ducks’ backs is pretty much the result if someone lays one of these on me. I have fun writing, and based on reviews, at least a few people have fun reading what I publish. Good enough for me.
I was talking to someone the other day, and they asked me what my passion was. I told them it was writing (in point of fact I was speaking with someone on an HR team, which was mildly worrying given the sequel…). They responded that they used to write, but “then they grew up”.
Not invariably, but often, that kind of reaction points to somebody in the past having managed to seriously hurt the feelings of the person having the reaction, which made me wonder what kind of person listens to someone else tell them that creating art is immature, and internalises it to such a degree that they feel they have to repeat it to anyone else who may still be childish enough to be wasting their time in a similar field.
I concluded, after a bit of staring at a ceiling, that I feel sorry for them. It must be tough to take everyone’s opinions so seriously that you give up something harmless, that you enjoy, over them. After all, everyone has opinions. Having one doesn’t make them worthy of being taken into account.
Thank all and any gods, I have highly selective deafness… thanks, Dad, you were in some respects an awesome role model.
In short, I’m working my way around to a theme that’s fairly common to indie authors, which is IDGAF. I have fun, some other people have fun, if you don’t like it don’t read it… I’m pretty sure there are many, many permutations on this one.
Of course, I’m lucky enough to be an introvert, so I care less about what the rest of humanity thinks of me than I do about avoiding having to interact with large numbers of them, and I’m also lucky enough to make enough in my day job that I’m not dependent on some other schmuck; I don’t have to set a single, solitary fuck into flight (yes, my fucks are probably just as lazy as the rest of me).
It came to me, as I contemplated this person’s dismissal of an entire art form, that extroversion, FOMO, etc. must make for a very nervous lifestyle. Extroverts seem to actually need other people’s approval of them and their lifestyles. It may go some way to explain why there are so many people out there looking for someone to copy.
However, me…I’m immature and happy to be so. I’ll be in my room, playing with my words.