A polite rebuttal to MrNumbers · 12:54am Feb 24th, 2017
...and his failure to appreciate a classic literary form.
Cut for long quotes from classic texts.
Edit for clarity: As I noted in the comments, this is to point out that the ironic enjoyment of the unintentionally hilarious melodrama (traditionally written by teenagers) has a long and noble history, and, more subtly, in both of the examples similarly inexperienced readers (or audiences) tend to love them unironically.
From Anne of Green Gables
“I wrote it last Monday evening. It’s called ‘The Jealous Rival; or In Death Not Divided.’ I read it to Marilla and she said it was stuff and nonsense. Then I read it to Matthew and he said it was fine. That is the kind of critic I like. It’s a sad, sweet story. I just cried like a child while I was writing it. It’s about two beautiful maidens called Cordelia Montmorency and Geraldine Seymour who lived in the same village and were devotedly attached to each other. Cordelia was a regal brunette with a coronet of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes. Geraldine was a queenly blonde with hair like spun gold and velvety purple eyes.”
“I never saw anybody with purple eyes,” said Diana dubiously.
“Neither did I. I just imagined them. I wanted something out of the common. Geraldine had an alabaster brow too. I’ve found out what an alabaster brow is. That is one of the advantages of being thirteen. You know so much more than you did when you were only twelve.”
“Well, what became of Cordelia and Geraldine?” asked Diana, who was beginning to feel rather interested in their fate.
“They grew in beauty side by side until they were sixteen. Then Bertram DeVere came to their native village and fell in love with the fair Geraldine. He saved her life when her horse ran away with her in a carriage, and she fainted in his arms and he carried her home three miles; because, you understand, the carriage was all smashed up. I found it rather hard to imagine the proposal because I had no experience to go by. I asked Ruby Gillis if she knew anything about how men proposed because I thought she’d likely be an authority on the subject, having so many sisters married. Ruby told me she was hid in the hall pantry when Malcolm Andres proposed to her sister Susan. She said Malcolm told Susan that his dad had given him the farm in his own name and then said, ‘What do you say, darling pet, if we get hitched this fall?’ And Susan said, ‘Yes—no—I don’t know—let me see’—and there they were, engaged as quick as that. But I didn’t think that sort of a proposal was a very romantic one, so in the end I had to imagine it out as well as I could. I made it very flowery and poetical and Bertram went on his knees, although Ruby Gillis says it isn’t done nowadays. Geraldine accepted him in a speech a page long. I can tell you I took a lot of trouble with that speech. I rewrote it five times and I look upon it as my masterpiece. Bertram gave her a diamond ring and a ruby necklace and told her they would go to Europe for a wedding tour, for he was immensely wealthy. But then, alas, shadows began to darken over their path. Cordelia was secretly in love with Bertram herself and when Geraldine told her about the engagement she was simply furious, especially when she saw the necklace and the diamond ring. All her affection for Geraldine turned to bitter hate and she vowed that she should never marry Bertram. But she pretended to be Geraldine’s friend the same as ever. One evening they were standing on the bridge over a rushing turbulent stream and Cordelia, thinking they were alone, pushed Geraldine over the brink with a wild, mocking, ‘Ha, ha, ha.’ But Bertram saw it all and he at once plunged into the current, exclaiming, ‘I will save thee, my peerless Geraldine.’ But alas, he had forgotten he couldn’t swim, and they were both drowned, clasped in each other’s arms. Their bodies were washed ashore soon afterwards. They were buried in the one grave and their funeral was most imposing, Diana. It’s so much more romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding. As for Cordelia, she went insane with remorse and was shut up in a lunatic asylum. I thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime.”
“How perfectly lovely!” sighed Diana, who belonged to Matthew’s school of critics. “I don’t see how you can make up such thrilling things out of your own head, Anne. I wish my imagination was as good as yours.”
And from Anne of the Island
“What in the world are you doing?”
“Just looking over some old Story Club yarns. I wanted something to cheer AND inebriate. I’d studied until the world seemed azure. So I came up here and dug these out of my trunk. They are so drenched in tears and tragedy that they are excruciatingly funny.”
[...]
“These stories. As Phil would say they are killing—in more senses than one, for everybody died in them. What dazzlingly lovely heroines we had—and how we dressed them!
“Silks—satins—velvets—jewels—laces—they never wore anything else. Here is one of Jane Andrews’ stories depicting her heroine as sleeping in a beautiful white satin nightdress trimmed with seed pearls.”
“Go on,” said Stella. “I begin to feel that life is worth living as long as there’s a laugh in it.”
“Here’s one I wrote. My heroine is disporting herself at a ball ‘glittering from head to foot with large diamonds of the first water.’ But what booted beauty or rich attire? ‘The paths of glory lead but to the grave.’ They must either be murdered or die of a broken heart. There was no escape for them.”
“Let me read some of your stories.”
“Well, here’s my masterpiece. Note its cheerful title—‘My Graves.’ I shed quarts of tears while writing it, and the other girls shed gallons while I read it. Jane Andrews’ mother scolded her frightfully because she had so many handkerchiefs in the wash that week. It’s a harrowing tale of the wanderings of a Methodist minister’s wife. I made her a Methodist because it was necessary that she should wander. She buried a child every place she lived in. There were nine of them and their graves were severed far apart, ranging from Newfoundland to Vancouver. I described the children, pictured their several death beds, and detailed their tombstones and epitaphs. I had intended to bury the whole nine but when I had disposed of eight my invention of horrors gave out and I permitted the ninth to live as a hopeless cripple.”
From Little Women
On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which was the dress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp smoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the excitement of the moment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the operatic tragedy began.
"A gloomy wood," according to the one playbill, was represented by a few shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a cave in the distance. This cave was made with a clothes horse for a roof, bureaus for walls, and in it was a small furnace in full blast, with a black pot on it and an old witch bending over it. The stage was dark and the glow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the witch took off the cover. A moment was allowed for the first thrill to subside, then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with a clanking sword at his side, a slouching hat, black beard, mysterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro in much agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his hatred for Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other. The gruff tones of Hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and the audience applauded the moment he paused for breath. Bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to the cavern and ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding, "What ho, minion! I need thee!"
Out came Meg, with gray horsehair hanging about her face, a red and black robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak. Hugo demanded a potion to make Zara adore him, and one to destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the spirit who would bring the love philter.
Hither, hither, from thy home,
Airy sprite, I bid thee come!
Born of roses, fed on dew,
Charms and potions canst thou brew?
Bring me here, with elfin speed,
The fragrant philter which I need.
Make it sweet and swift and strong,
Spirit, answer now my song!
A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave appeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, golden hair, and a garland of roses on its head. Waving a wand, it sang...Hither I come,
From my airy home,
Afar in the silver moon.
Take the magic spell,
And use it well,
Or its power will vanish soon!
And dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spirit vanished. Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition, not a lovely one, for with a bang an ugly black imp appeared and, having croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo and disappeared with a mocking laugh. Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in his boots, Hugo departed, and Hagar informed the audience that as he had killed a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed him, and intends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him. Then the curtain fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits of the play.A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again, but when it became evident what a masterpiece of stage carpentery had been got up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb. A tower rose to the ceiling, halfway up appeared a window with a lamp burning in it, and behind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for Roderigo. He came in gorgeous array, with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut lovelocks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones. Zara replied and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came the grand effect of the play. Roderigo produced a rope ladder, with five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend. Timidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand on Roderigo's shoulder, and was about to leap gracefully down when "Alas! Alas for Zara!" she forgot her train. It caught in the window, the tower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins.
A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the wreck and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, "I told you so! I told you so!" With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire, rushed in, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty aside...
"Don't laugh! Act as if it was all right!" and, ordering Roderigo up, banished him from the kingdom with wrath and scorn. Though decidedly shaken by the fall from the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the old gentleman and refused to stir. This dauntless example fired Zara. She also defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle. A stout little retainer came in with chains and led them away, looking very much frightened and evidently forgetting the speech he ought to have made.
Act third was the castle hall, and here Hagar appeared, having come to free the lovers and finish Hugo. She hears him coming and hides, sees him put the potions into two cups of wine and bid the timid little servant, "Bear them to the captives in their cells, and tell them I shall come anon." The servant takes Hugo aside to tell him something, and Hagar changes the cups for two others which are harmless. Ferdinando, the 'minion', carries them away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds the poison meant for Roderigo. Hugo, getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after a good deal of clutching and stamping, falls flat and dies, while Hagar informs him what she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody.
This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have thought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long red hair rather marred the effect of the villain's death. He was called before the curtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whose singing was considered more wonderful than all the rest of the performance put together.
Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbing himself because he has been told that Zara has deserted him. Just as the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, informing him that Zara is true but in danger, and he can save her if he will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his chains and rushes away to find and rescue his lady love.
Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro. He wishes her to go into a convent, but she won't hear of it, and after a touching appeal, is about to faint when Roderigo dashes in and demands her hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. They shout and gesticulate tremendously but cannot agree, and Rodrigo is about to bear away the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a letter and a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared. The latter informs the party that she bequeaths untold wealth to the young pair and an awful doom to Don Pedro, if he doesn't make them happy. The bag is opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the stage till it is quite glorified with the glitter. This entirely softens the stern sire. He consents without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace.
Tumultuous applause followed but received an unexpected check, for the cot bed, on which the dress circle was built, suddenly shut up and extinguished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and Don Pedro flew to the rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless with laughter. The excitement had hardly subsided when Hannah appeared, with "Mrs. March's compliments, and would the ladies walk down to supper."
Sometimes I really wonder about the sanity of writers...
Wait a minute.
You're a bad person... Thank goodness
I feel really guilty about this, but I'm going to need a cribnotes on this so I can understand just how rebuffed I should feel.
I stared this down really hard, but I am notoriously out of practice at reading turn-of-the-century literature. Aragon and I have already been fighting over my bouncing off of Kafka this week, I'm ready to admit defeat on the entire decade.
Is this blog post what Modernism is
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I should have added more, but the kid isn't asleep yet.
I was mainly noting that the ironic enjoyment of the unintentionally hilarious melodrama (traditionally written by teenagers) has a long and noble history, and, more subtly, in both of the examples similarly inexperienced readers (or audiences) tend to love them unironically.
AhhhHHHHhhhh HA
We should organize a dramatic reading at BronyCon:
images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41ShJriqnxL._SX292_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg
And when the breath had left him
He was nothing but common junk
They doubled him up as best they could
And put him in a trunk
One of my favorite books!
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There is actually a legit book of my husband's teenaged goth poetry in my attic. He desperately wants it disposed of, but I won't allow it. It's important literary history.
Purple eyes. My God, the Mary-Sue must just be hard-coded in the teenage brain.
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One of the best curses in literature occurs in Patricia A. McKillip's The Riddle-Master of Hed: a certain king insulted a wizard who then avenged himself by placing a spell upon a stone on the hill above the palace, so that each night it recited all the king's bad attempts at poetry in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the countryside.
It all depends on what you want.
I don't watch terrible movies (I've tried but I either barely slog through to the end or get too bored and turn it off; it takes a special kind of terrible to keep me there, usually something talking-animal related) but I want terrible movies to exist in great numbers. Why? Because The Cinema Snob, The Media Hunter, Hunter the pony, IHE, Bobsheaux, Phelous, The Great Matthew Squeaks, God Awful Movies, Spill/Double Toasted, Jambareequi, The Bible Reloaded, Joey T and others that escape me exist. They coalesce the vapors of human experience into a viable and meaningful comprehension. In other words, they make refined bull out of raw bull. The review of a good movie is informative. The review of a bad movie is entertainment, and good entertainment. I've watched five different people review the same horrid movie and each review was like a brand new experience, even if it ripped the same garbage. In that sense, I am on your side. Greatly on your side.
But I get where MrNumbers was coming from. If you care about writing, you treat the tools with respect. Sure, laughing at people being maimed and crippled by misusing tools is funny (?) but most would prefer to watch a craftsman make something. There's an old quite whose source is lost that says "A brilliant inventor can file away at a new invention for years, while the same rasp, in the hands of a fool, can mangle his model in a dozen strokes." Also there's a poem I like about the difference between builders and wreckers, which dovetails into a lot of other observations about how easy destruction is compared to construction. Emotional immaturity makes for good theater by litters the world with... litter. It even makes "grown-ups" create emotionally stunted, mentally vacuous junk by misappropriating BDSM and then putting on their own childish insecurities, weakness and lack of self-respect. Every cannibal shemale and hypnotizing muscle-stallion says a lot more than most would like, especially now that incel emergence has created a Rosetta stone to translate frustrated childishness into true psychological horror.
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Now that the kid is in bed, let me give a more serious take on this, which both of you might be interested in.
In psychology, it's been noted that all of children's play is educational. It's how they practice skills for being an adult, whether physical, reasoning, social, or practical.
I have a brother ten years younger than me, so I was in my mid-twenties when he started dating and went through his first break-up. I felt bad for him of course, but it was hard to keep a straight face as he bemoaned how his sixteen-year-old life was literally over, and it was like everything good in his life just died.
Now, he was a smart kid. If you asked him if he thought he was going to marry that girl, or asked him to list good things in his life, he could have been reasonable about the fact that this was a high school romance. But in the throes of heartache, he was mortally wounded.
I realized something important: This was play. He was playing at... well, being serious. At loving someone and losing someone.
Teenagers, and even young adults, are still playing at a lot of things: adult emotions, being transgressive, style, philosophy, and other serious things they'll be expected to be mature about.
A teenager writing a story where everyone ends up dead or addicted to drugs or insane is aping "real" writers in a way, and it's definitely going to be garbage, but it's part of him or her processing an adult view of a world where these things happen. They're making sense of it, inoculating themselves to tragedy, imagining emotions they've never felt with this level of reason or passion.
And teenaged readers recognize this, it's why they've always been drawn to the thrilling, scandalous, and melodramatic.
Now, as far as advice goes, there's nothing wrong with trying to put things in perspective. It might not be possible with someone who literally has no perspective, and there will always and forever be a new crop of teenagers every year who just discovered that they have FEELINGS and want to try out all of them. But you can play the part of the wise adult and try to guide them through this.
There's also nothing wrong with snickering at it as soon as they leave the room, or with your friends in a private chat, the same way you laugh at a little girl in her mother's high heels with make-up smeared across her face, or a kid who insists that you are in a burning building and he's going to rescue you with a fireman's hat and a vacuum cleaner hose. The distorted view of the world that kids have is funny, both because it's absurd, and because deep down inside you know you've been there.
4434393 I feel like Mr. Numbers offered great advice for the writer to be aware of, because I think many people, especially younger but also older, just don't realize both how fraught and how unnecessary to a good story all those mentioned topics are. It's something that could stand to be pointed out.
I feel that you've offered great advice for readers (and reviewers/critique offerers especially) to be aware of, about where the authors who do these things are coming from and why they do them.
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I've got no problem with him pointing it out, but I'm also wary about taking it too seriously, even in terms of offering advice. When we're talking about teenagers advice of that sort is likely to be a waste of breath, not because they're stupid or stubborn but because this is what their brains/hormones are telling them to do, and for them and other teenagers it's somewhere between perfectly normal and good for them.
The way I see it, a big part of the problem is that on the internet these stories aren't limited to other teenagers, like they were in the story club in Anne of Green Gables or the girls invited to the March sister's plays in Little Women, and adults who don't understand the nature of the story being written might be annoyed, contemptuous, offended, or hurt by them. I don't think the former two are that bad for the writers, usually, (when Anne tried to read her story to Marilla it was called "stuff and nonsense." She seemed to catch on that Marilla was not her target audience.) But the latter two can create a problem because I don't think anyone wants to feel like they've really hurt someone.
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I want to read this. You should share his book with me at Bronycon. I mean, I am the type of person who would appreciate such languish upon the soul, yes? Or maybe laugh at him so much he dies of embarrassment (it would totally depend on my mood. I'm bi winning, dammit! :V).
Oh! You should totally get him to do a goth poetry reading underneath a stairwell! It'll be just like highschool all over again, except it's pretend and we'll all be cynical adults trying to be angsty teenagers. And then someone pulls out some ravey tunes to go with the poetry and then the graver chic whips out the chains and the fire, starts a graveyard fire dance and then everybody should probably run cuz she's totally gonna set everyone on fire. Y'know, except herself. Because burns hurt a lot. She knows first hand. Why would she want to get burned? Burns look cool, though. She wants to share.
So yes. You should get your husband to read some goth poetry at the bottom of a stairwell to summon graver chics because fun times and fire (should probably take away her lighter fluid and replace it with a crapton of glowsticks when she isn't looking).
:B
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I've read those books three times, yet that's not ringing a bell. Apparently it's about time to read them a fourth.
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Unfortunately most of this advice has had to be given to people significantly older, or I'd cede the point
This is advice for new storytellers, not just young ones.
I still like Mr.Numbers analogy because, like with highly energetic chemicals that take offence at the slightest perceived provocation, the aftermath for such storie tends to be fun in the immediate only for the distant observer. To become a learning, and possibly hilarious, experience for the involved require survival of the fumbler and his immediate surroundings.
Now, literary mistakes usually involve less burning buildings and just a comparable amount of screams of pain, but the warning is still important because it may make the author think five more minutes about what they are about to do (my optimism truly knows no bounds) or at least you can point to it to explain why things went the way they went.
At the end, to get some mirth out of the results of teenagers being inevitably teenagers is a reasonable thing to do, when life gives you lemons you grab salt and tequila. But this is after the desaster. Before it happens, it's nice to try to avoid it even if you know the futility of it.
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I was actually going to add something to that effect, but my general rule of thumb on the internet is to assume anyone being dumb is 16 and will grow out of it unless they specifically tell me otherwise. It helps maintain my sanity.
But yeah, when dealing with older new writers assuming they should be able to understand implications and perspective is totally valid. It's also much harder not to laugh in their faces.
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Fun fact: I’ve seen a boy with the most fascinating purple eyes once. They exist.
Mary Sue might be on some level hardcoded, but my impression it is not hardcoded directly. Imagining a Mary Sue is a normal reaction to a world that doesn’t actually give a damn about you, it’s a perfectly legitimate coping mechanism. I can at least see how that comes about…
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This interpretation of what’s going on here is probably correct.
At the same time I have to conclude I have probably never been a teenager, because it is incredibly alien to me.
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Supposedly purple eyes are just blue eyes that are a shade that just looks purple. Honestly I am not sure how that doesn't make them purple.
In anycase, no one will ever convince me Liz Taylor's eyes are not purple.
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I don't.
I know they're crazy.
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The thing is, new writers are new writers regardless of their age, and thus will often struggle to present stuff well. We can't say "older people should know better" when we know that a lot of people never really hone their writing skills in the first place. The fact that some people are older doesn't really mean that they're not going to make newbie mistakes, because a lot of people never learned how to write well in the first place.
tl;dr: torches and pitchforks to hound MrNumbers for being the philistine he is, right? :V
4434603 That's the point. My argument is that this is more than a rookie writing mistake in the case of teenagers, it's a rookie adult emotions mistake. Or maybe not even a mistake, but the adult emotions version of a six year old playing astronaut and leaving out the years of research and training.
So one should expect it to be harder to talk them out of, and have a bit of fondness for teen melodrama as a folly of youth. With new writers who already have experience in adult life, it's okay to be a harsher judge.
...now, if adult new writers don't have experience in adult life or emotions, that's a larger problem for them than the reception of their fanfic.
4434393
I was going to make a comment about adult writers but you got to it later.
Given the amount of time I have known of certain people, they have to be adults and older than me, even. They write works in a fashion that makes MrNumbers' criticisms look like kids stuff. They lack the emotional and mental maturity of teenagers. Read that again. And again. For a million years. They should know better but choose not to know better. Two comparisons here: Stupidity is what you don't know, ignorance is what you won't know; psychopaths means not knowing what you're doing is wrong, sociopaths is knowing but not caring. The people you talk about would fall under stupid or at the extreme psychopathic which means it's possible to learn, because they're young. The ones I sadly know would fall into ignorance and sociopathy. In theory they could learn but they have exercised an adult prerogative to choose not to learn. They know things, they just don't care. A symptom of postmodernism "It's my hot body I'll do what I want."
I think it was A. A. Milne who observed how children invent games solely to be brave at.
Whenever I walk in a London street,
I'm ever so careful to watch my feet;
And I keep in the squares,
And the masses of bears,
Who wait at the corners all ready to eat
The sillies who tread on the lines of the street
Go back to their lairs,
And I say to them, "Bears,
Just look how I'm walking in all the squares!"
And the little bears growl to each other, "He's mine,
As soon as he's silly and steps on a line."
And some of the bigger bears try to pretend
That they came round the corner to look for a friend;
And they try to pretend that nobody cares
Whether you walk on the lines or squares.
But only the sillies believe their talk;
It's ever so portant how you walk.
And it's ever so jolly to call out, "Bears,
Just watch me walking in all the squares!"
There's a something of that in all the passages you've quoted: Theoretical bears, but practical courage.
And also something of this:
The grizzly bear is fierce and wild
It has devoured the infant child
The infant child is not aware
It has been eaten by the bear
They (mostly) don't know how serious the situation really is, and that's something of a mercy.
*Looks at the wall of text*
...Nope. Too sleepy.
Zzz...
Making fun of kids for being kids is bad times, imo. We can't always demand for children to act like adults, and holding them to that standard all the time and then ridiculing them when they fail is just going to make them resent us and maintain their child-playing well into adulthood as an act of rebellion.
To throw in a slightly irreverent rebuttal:
Children playing with fire has a long and proud history of both being amusing, and on occasion spreading and consuming houses, bystanders, and quite possibly the children themselves. Thus, we quite understandably limit the capacity of children to play with fire. Foolish adults do so by banning it entirely, thus making fire exotic and interesting, and sowing the seeds of their own destruction.
Smart adults let the children play with all the fire they want in a safer way by doing things like sending them in camping trips run by the Girl/Boy Scouts, and other things that let them explore the fun of burning things while mitigating the risk of them burning themselves or bystanders while learning why fire = dangerous.
I think Mr. Numbers's advice is more of the second category here; 'You can play with fire, but if you don't know what you are doing prepare to have your face possibly melted off' is a fair way to suggest things.
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Not sure I'm buying it.
On the one hand, I'm on record as saying that if MrNumbers wants to try, it's up to him, though I don't see a lot of hope for success.
On the other, I'm not sure that failure is a bad when it comes to teenagers. We keep kids from playing with things that are dangerous to them, but most parents and specialists advise letting them play with anything and everything they can safely, because once again it's how they learn. Advising them, as MrNumbers did, "Don't" is good advice if we're looking for a good story now, but might be exactly the wrong advice if we're looking for emotionally mature adults down the road.
Now, we also do try to keep kids from doing things that mess up other people's property. As I also said below, one issue that's new in this is that teens are no longer sharing these stories among their similarly underdeveloped peers, and instead publishing them for all to see, mostly indistinguishable from stories by adults. A better word of advice might be to form a teen writer's group to share these stories with other teenagers, or show it to a trusted and honest adult before hitting publish on an open public forum. There's nothing wrong with writing a tasteless story, and it might be good for them, but hitting publish is another matter.
On the other hand, as adults, we have the emotional maturity to see this for what it is, so it's on us to keep some perspective in who we're dealing with.
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See, I'm totally on board with that; it's a perspective I hadn't considered, but yea. Creating a more 'New writers' space along those lines would be a fine solution for me and if they want to be 2edgy in such an area as exploration? So be it.
But I mean, myself (And Numbers by proxy) I think are arguing against the more common-as-we-see-on-the-internet 'Wide release' model going on here. I mean, yea, perhaps there is an interim area to be found - but then, at the same time, it's also not just kids dipping themselves into 'I want to write edgy'; usually you can tell the beginning writers because they have heaps of other flaws.
It's more like...well, as an easy one - I've seen plenty of stories that write about the Trans* experience. The author is competent linguistically...except they clearly have absolutely no idea what it's like to actually be Trans* in any way, and so they end up throwing down a bunch of stuff that is at best insulting, and at worst can be genuinely harmful.
A good example? The COGIATI, which harkens back to the younger days of the internet, which purports to be a 'Trans* test' for discovering identity but uh...is extremely unscientific and tends to rely on outdated gender stereotypes at best.
And quick Googling will find you plenty of people talking about how that test fucked them up because they trusted it.
We can go into Professional Publishing too - and look at the Xanth novels. I still have fond memories of them as a kid, but you re-read the first one and it goes into really problematic territory really fast when Rape comes up.
The problem is words have power, people absorb stuff through the written word and well...the last year has admittedly done considerable damage to my faith in people to be remotely competent at distinguishing fact from fiction, so I think a bit of judicious 'I could, but should I?' would be a beneficial thing for more people to adopt. Never mandatory, but certainly encouraged.
4434475
"...and all the grownups will say 'but why are the kids crying?' and the kids will say 'haven't you heard? Rick is dead! The People' Poet is dead!" and then one particularly sensitive and articulate teenager will say--to all the other kids--'do you understand nothing, how can Rick be dead when we still have his poems?' And then..."
4438512
Loltastic :D
According to this logic, I guess that means the poetry book is a phylactery and bookplayer's husband is an immortal undead lich. Coooooooool...
I'm regretting having lost my goth poetry. Like, pencil lead smears hardcore on paper if stored improperly. I did write some somewhere with marker. It was on inappropriate places, though. Maybe I shouldn't have used Crayola washable markers, cuz it's long gone. Damn. Guess I can't be a dirty gothy diarrhea lich too :B
4434337
I imagine that passive-aggressively sniping at porn you don't approve of and making vague allusions to unflattering things it "says" about the author is indeed much easier than creating it.
4437728
I'm suspicious of this claim. Are you saying that it's harmful when misguided authors take it on themselves to portray "the" canonical "Trans* experience", when of course there's no such thing? Or that there is a canonical "Trans* experience", and that any fictional story that goes against it, even for a cartoon pony in a world with canonical transformation magic, is insulting or harmful?
Pretty sure the COGIATI's author, being a Trans* person herself, probably has some idea what it's like. Or are we playing no true Scotsman?
Does the nature of genders naturally shift over time, while remaining uniform globally?
Ah, the classic "get away with sniping at people I disagree with by being vague enough that everyone can imagine I'm agreeing with them and sniping at the people they disagree with" maneuver.
4442723
There's a dual-objection there. First, there's the kind who write about it with no idea of the obstacles and fears and so forth one has to deal with; it's akin to how Hollywood fucks up how hacking works all over the place, except it's a tad worse to portray life experiences as something not remotely true to life. And second, yes, there is no single trans* experience, but there are a lot of road marks that tend to occur in them and it's territory you can get quite wrong if you do fuck it up. It's possible to get it quite right though - I find Star Trek TNG's The Outcast to be great commentary on the dangers of demonizing nonstereotypical gender roles in society. Still surprised they got away with it.
She's Trans* but not a medical professional, so when she's trying to pass off a test as some sort of vaguely diagnostic resource when it's not, whatsoever, she's passing herself offas credible when she isn't, yes.
I'm talking stuff like the literal 'You might be trans* if you think parking is hard' being a paraphrasing of a question on the COGIATI. Gender is a largely cultural construct that is subject to change, yes, and no it is not uniform globally; not quite sure what you are asking in that regard. My point was the definition of 'female' the COGIATI pushes for is a single rigid one when reality is much more broad.
It's being less blunt than 'People being suckered in by fake Russian propaganda and buying into outright lies like the Brexit lie on the NHS make me question the critical thinking skills of a lot of people, yes'
4442789
I mean... that's not technically false.
If the stereotypes the test relies on are "outdated" rather than simply false, that seems to imply that there was a time when they were true. Did they take differences between local cultures at that time into account?
Nothing I'm familiar with, I guess. But are you really surprised that deliberate campaigns of deception succeed in fooling at least some of the people they target? I'm not sure how that implies that people won't be able to recognize clearly labeled fiction on a site with "fiction" right in the domain name.
4442723
Firstly, what does that have to do with hilariously bad movies? I was talking about hilariously bad movies and the creation of hilarious responses to themake.
Secondly... who are you and why do you give a damn about things I said elsewhere? Do I know you? Are you a stalker?
4442973 Can you tell me off the cuff the exact, if any, difference in driving capacity as determined by gender and what that says about gender identity? Because I sure as hell can't, and I don't know anyone who does or what correlative or causatory factors exist here. As for stereotypes, where I was going with it is 'It's boiling everything down to a singular interpretation of 'women' that fits the author's biases and isn't based in any valid research findings I have ever seen referenced.
If people can't recognize obvious falsehoods, then the more insidious ones in their light reading they are less likely to realize. The easiest example here is how the BDSM community loathes 50 Shades because it fucks up what actual BDSM is, hard, and if people follow the 50 Shades route it rapidly departs Safe-Sane-Consensual territory and enters 'Actually dangerous' territory, wherein ultimately the author's lack of knowledge on the subject leads to similarly ill-informed readers who are influenced by the work getting hurt.
4443091
Pretty sure MrNumbers was talking about fan fiction. Are there non-pornographic movies about cannibal shemales and hypnotizing muscle-stallions? Can you really psychoanalyze the producers of for-profit media beyond assuming that they made something they expected would turn a profit?
This is a publicly visible blog thread on a public website. It caught my eye when I was browsing stories. Not sure what you mean by "elsewhere".
4443195
Sure can't. Why?
I don't know most people.
Men and women are different.
I don't know anything about the interpretation in question, but I'm curious how many correct interpretations of "women" you'd say that there are.
So you have seen findings referenced, just not ones you'd consider to be "valid"?
Who said "obvious"? I'm suspicious of the implication that seeing through direct, deliberate lies is trivially easy, and that anyone who can't must be so dumb that they're equally likely to mistake cartoon pony fan fiction for reality.
Speaking of true Scotsmen....
4443240 If a disclaimer were all it took for people to not get sucked in by snake oil we wouldn't have so many drug ads on TV.
Cool, now can you tell me an exact definition of what makes 'man' and what makes 'women', what overlap there is, and what is an indelible gender marker for one or the other? Because if you can, you stand to make a shitton of money if you can conclusively demonstrate that.
4443240
I understand now. Exact words, no overlap. Sorry.
I'm skeptical of your claims about who said what where and how much you saw. But I recognize your argument type and concede everything to save falling into an an-cap or libertarian hole.
4443258
It's kept in the fiction sections of libraries and bookstores. The author's name is prominently displayed on the front and spine; "E. L. James", not "Anastasia Steele" (or "Grey"). Is there any amount of labeling that would satisfy you?
From who, exactly?
4443435
I'm skeptical of your grip on reality. You said the things you said in this thread in this thread, and I saw most of them (I'll admit to skimming a little) and in reply said the things I said in reply.
4443545 People still buy into things from fiction. Hence why we have people who cited Dexter as their inspiration to murder. Obviously, they were unhinged on top of that, but the loaded question of 'Is there anything?' is sidestepping my point that 'People are gullible, and do not do a good job of separating fact from fiction, clear label or not'.
As for the latter? Hey, you've got the man-woman test. Congratulates, patent it, market it, and boom, you'll have loads of people wanting a conclusive answer to their gender marker.
4443793
Definitely going to blindly take those people's word. Not like they had any incentive to try to convince people they weren't responsible for their actions.
And therefore not representative of "people" in general.
So "no". Good luck with your censorship crusade, I guess.
Ahahahahahahahahaha.
No.
4443861 People take inspiration from fiction. Sometimes, it's good! Like, say, tablets. Which existed on Star Trek decades ago and there are plenty of engineers who will cite Star Trek as inspiration for what they try to do.
Sometimes, not so good. An easy one: Religious beliefs. Barring a Pratchett-style afterlife where all beliefs are simultaneously true (And admittedly what I most hope for, because it is inherently optimistic), then there are multiple religions at odds with each other, when only one can be correct, if any. Ergo, the majority of religions are false. And yet, people kill in the name of religion all the time. Ergo, people are committing heinous acts because they believe fiction - religious fiction, yes. But still fiction. And regardless of which you buy into, you will find plenty of others doing awful things not in your particular beliefs.
I mean we have Abortion Clinic Bombers (Terrorists professing faith in Christianity), ISIS (Terrorists professing faith in Islam), the Jewish killers of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin (Terrorists professing faith in Judaism), Terrorists professing faith in Hinduism, and on and on and on.
This operates off two axioms. Please tell me if you disagree with either:
1. Not all religions are true, ergo some are fictional.
2. People can be influenced by fictions.
Would you argue that none of those people were influenced by their religious beliefs?
4443888
4443910 That doesn't answer the question. Definition #2 fits the use with which I have been using 'Fiction'.
At any rate this seems at a complete impasse, so I wish you well.