From author and regular visitor JW Manus:
There’s a minor hoorah going around the blogosphere this week. People complaining about self-publishers with chips on their shoulders and big mouths. There is a call for civility.
When it first came up, I blew it off. I have an advantage in that I survived five teenagers, four of them girls, and I’m adept at activating the ol’ Cone of Silence. If somebody is saying something I’m not interested in, I shut them out. If someone is being obnoxious, I shut them out. The only time my hackles raise is when some noodlehead trespasses in my yard or gets up in my face.
. . . .
This morning I read Jane Friedman’s take on the hoorah and read this: “In a post we’ve needed for quite a while…”
It hit me. Who has needed this for a while? Think about it. Who?
People so inept with computer technology they don’t know how to unfriend, unfollow, block, click on through? People too dumb to not click on links to blogs or forums they find obnoxious?
. . . .
Here is the fact of the matter. If you please readers, it doesn’t matter if you’re loud, obnoxious, hostile, prickly and your eHarmony profile reads, “Hobbies include long walks on the beach and kicking puppies.” It doesn’t matter if you’re a criminal or a reality TV star or a plagiarist. It doesn’t matter who publishes you. If you’ve got the goods, you can be the world’s biggest douche-canoe (thank you, Bloggess) and readers will still line up to line your pockets. On the flip side, you can be the nicest, most congenial, easiest to get along with person in the world who never even thinks nasty thoughts much less expresses them, but if you don’t have the goods to wet reader panties, you will not sell very many books.
. . . .
Nice writers do not rock the boat. They do not make waves. They do not stir the pot, kick the hornet’s next or open the cellar door. That’s the way it’s always been for as long as I’ve been publishing. Sure, writers bitched about poor treatment, but they did so in whispers, anonymously, behind closed doors. If somebody did raise a fuss, others panicked and suddenly it was Smear the Victim time. Publishers and agents freely disrespected writers, abused writers, discounted and dismissed writers, and writers MADE EXCUSES FOR THEM.
We shut up and we took it because we knew what was good for us.
Like anybody in a sick, dependent relationship, we convinced ourselves the abuse was normal. Or that we deserved it. Or that we’d curl up and die without it.
Those kinds of relationships can only exist in SILENCE.
Link to the rest at JW Manus