On the Olson Article

The writing segments of the internets have been abuzz this week with discussion about screenwriter Josh Olson’s incendiary “No, I Will Not Read Rour F***ing Script” article in the Village Voice. The article, the disgusting, anti-Semitic commentary that followed, the the outrage, the immaturity. A few of my favorites:

David Gerrold, who has decades of writing award-winning and beloved science-fiction for both print and screen (“The Trouble with Tribbles”, Martian Child), shares why it’s dangerous for published writers to accept unsolicited work.

John Scalzi snarks at his best when explaining why he’s sick and tired of “but I don’t live in XYZ media hub” being used as an excuse for why you aren’t a successful writer. I’m with him there. I live in DC. MY agent lives in a small town in Georgia. Two of my publishers are in New York, but a third is in Texas. Geography is nothing. Some of the most successful writers I know live in: Oklahoma, Arizona, Amherst MA, Sarasota FL. Come on, guys. USPS and email are your FRIENDS. The coolest thing about writing is I can do it whereever I want. I don’t need to pay NYC rents to write for a NYC publisher.

And, then, my favorite, from TV and novel writer Lee Goldberg, about the kind of hating you get when you do respond thusly (as Olson has). And it’s REALLY REALLY worth reading the entirety of that second post, which is about when some stranger “Facebook messaged” Lee out of the blue and asked him to read a TV treatment. When Lee declined, the clearly classy, mannered, and well-brought-up aspiring writer proceeded to call Lee names all over the internet, deriding him AND his work. (One wonders why, if Lee was such a hack, this writer wished for his help?) Lee’s response is characteristically brilliant:

I am stunned by the arrogance of these people, telling me that my professional success isn’t the result of talent or hard work, but rather it is some kind of entitlement. And that by not reading their work, or listening to their ideas, or coaching them on pitching, I am an asshole. My time is their time to do with as they please. They also assume that I am not interested in helping anyone else achieve what I have.

These jerks know nothing about me, or the time and effort I devote to sharing my experience with others. They don’t know about the many days I spend each year teaching TV writing, giving seminars, or speaking about writing at high schools, universities, conferences, and libraries locally, nationwide and around the world, mostly for free.

In the last six weeks, for example, I spent seven days at the International Mystery Writers Festivalin Owensboro, Kentucky teaching, speaking, and moderating seminars on tv and mystery writing to the public. At no charge. I taught a three-hour course on TV writing to students at Cal State Northridge. At no charge. And I spent a day giving a seminar on TV writing to a delegation from China Central Television.

But what I didn’t do is drop everything in my life to read some stranger’s treatment, listen to his idea for a TV series, and coach him on how to pitch.

So obviously I am an arrogant, talentless, asshole.

I have committed the unforgiveable sin of deciding how to use my time and how best to give back to others. And not letting some stranger decide for me.

This is a very good point. There ARE channels for these things. You want to get your work read by a pro? Join a class, take a seminar, (they even have them online if you live in Timbuktu), enter a contest, attend a conference (if you don’t live in Timbuktu or don’t mind flying out on Timbuktu Airlines).There are LOTS of opportunities. Some are free, some cost money, some require a certain level of skill to get past the first hurdles (like initial rounds of contests).

When I was an unpublished author, I had my work read by many published authors who had volunteered their time to do so as judges in writing contests or charity critiques or workshops they were running, etc. There’s a distinction here: they’d already said they would! I sought out the opportunities where I could get this happen, and it wasn’t going up to someone at a cocktail party or Facebook messaging total strangers.

My work was also read by published writers who OFFERED to read it, usually after I’d established a nice long relationship with the writer in which I asked for nothing from them. Some authors choose to do this from time to time, but guess what? that’s their choice, not their duty.

Because it’s not an author’s job to read the work of aspiring writers. And, here’s another point: it’s not necessarily much of a help. I’ve read books that went on to be huge bestsellers that I’ve thought were total crap and had I read that author’s work in manuscript form I’d have said go back to the drawing board. No author I’ve ever recommended to my agent has ended up signed with my agent. (It’s almost a joke at this point, since the only writer friend I know who managed to snag my agent did so without telling me she was submitting, that if you want to get my agent, best not try to go through me.) Clearly, my opinion on the matter counts for very little, which is probably why I’m not an agent.

And though it’s not an author’s job to help aspiring writers, it’s amazing how many do it anyway out of the goodness of heir hearts. Look at Lee. My teaching schedule hasn’t been anywhere near as packed as his is lately, but I gave panels at Dragon*Con last week, answered lots of questions for aspiring writers at my booth in between panels, and regularly talk craft and industry here on the blog, on twitter, and at writer’s conferences and RWA meetings. And speaking of that “YA Market” panel at D*C — I think I soaked up more info there than anyplace. After all, sharing panel space with me was Kathleen Duey, who has written over 90 novels (!!!!!!!!) and Richelle Mead, who is selling tens of thousands of copies of her books a week. In fact, the cost of Dragon*Con in its entirety was made worthwhile to me by one comment Kathleen made about critiquing.

Yes, that’s right. You never stop learning. There are no keys to the kingdom, no secret handshake. Man, I wish there was. That would make all of this so much easier, don’t you think?

Posted in writing advice, writing life

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