NaNo

The dissing NaNo thing is not new. I did NaNo for the first time in...oh, sweet Mithras, was that really 2003? Yes. It was. I did NaNo for the first time in 2003 and an essay got linked on the boards there, all about how wrong NaNo was.

The arguments made in that essay are still current, it seems.

Like the assertion that people take their unrevised fifty thousand word piles of crap and submit them to agents! Poor agents!

Poor nobody. You know how you deal with crap in the slushpile? You keep a big stack of form rejections at your elbow. Or you set your email account up with a canned response that takes all of three seconds to fill out and send. A dozen more this week isn't that big a deal, it's not like you're reading the whole thing, is it? (Answer--it is not.)

And let me assure you, the folks who do this? Who submit unrevised first drafts? Will do this with or without NaNo, I assure you.

The other objection I see occasionally, though, that's the one that kind of ticks me off.

It goes like this: NaNo encourages participants to consider themselves Writers and Novelists, but they're not really novelists! Not really writers! Professionals who really actually work at writing, the folks who actually write books that might sell, they're Real Writers and Real Novelists, and somehow other people calling themselves Writers illegitimately will...uh...damage the prestige of writing and cheapen it! And then when I tell people at the coffeeshop I'm a writer they will not be suitably impressed!

Yeah. So, are you in it for writing, or are you in it to impress people who ask you what you do? Because I can think of a very long list of occupations that will do that better than "I'm a writer." Honestly, that train left the station a couple decades ago, and it wasn't NaNo that waved it goodbye.

I really don't have any sympathy for the whole "but they're calling themselves writers" thing. So what? If they're writing, they're writers. If someone feels a surge of happy pride at being able to say they're writing a novel this month, I say, "Awesome! You go, Girl!" I'm not going to worry that somehow they're going to get the horribly mistaken impression that they're actually (gasp!) as good as me. Because honestly, that just doesn't enter into it.

Part of the reason there's so much crap in slushpiles, and so many people who say things like "I could do better than that with my eyes closed" and then never do--part of the reason for that is, everyone uses language all day long. Everyone learned (supposedly) the basic elements of writing in school. There are no special tools or training required--you don't need to practice a particular instrument or study theory or buy four million kinds of drill bits or whatever, all you need is paper and ink. Easy, right? Add in Dunning and Krueger, and you get the contents of the world's slushpiles. Everyone thinks they can write. Everyone thinks they have a book in them. Everyone thinks thinks they could be rich if only they bothered to sit down and vomit forth the brilliant concept they've got.

Well, you know, everyone pretty much can write. Not well, not everyone can write well, but. Who cares? That's what form rejections are for.

In the meantime, people are spending their time writing. Making art. Enjoying the hell out of it. So I'd reject nearly all of it in a heartbeat, so what? I'd rather have mountains of crappy slush than a dead silence, an arid, submissionless wasteland because only the Real Writers were sufficiently talented and skilled to dare produce fiction. What a joyless world that would be! I firmly believe that people are hardwired to want to make things, to be creative, and people's lives are diminished when their desire to make things is frustrated or denigrated. Take the most sublime sculptures and paintings in the world, and take, say, the tackiest crocheted toilet paper cover you can find--both are products of real, basic creative impulses. You might not like that crocheted toilet paper cover--but your Great Aunt who designed and made it took joy in creating it. Doesn't that make you happy? And after all, it's not in your bathroom.

I would prefer that the art people create be better than it often is. But offered a choice between a joyful flood of art, bad or otherwise, mixed in with the good, or a hushed, reverent silence from the audience as the Real Artists create Real Art, I'm going with the toilet paper covers.

In other words, I lack sympathy with the idea that there's "real art" and "other stuff." There's art you like and art you don't like. There's art that's more or less skilled. But it's all art, and whether it's made by a thirteen year old girl typing away furiously on her Lord of the Rings self-insertion fanfic, or a skilled and talented professional who writes for a living and has the reviews and awards to show for it doesn't really matter much. Why would you bother fretting about artists taking joy in making art? Why should it trouble anyone that creative people--and there really is no other sort--might actually say "I make art!"?

Why should you even care? Why should you be invested in people knowing and acknowledging that your art is better than theirs?

Every year, NaNoWriMo allows an exuberant community of folks to take joy in creating something, to do it together, to support each other and cheer each other on and express their pride to each other. This has never injured a single professional writer, on the contrary, the whole process has produced a few. It's one big happy creative party, it hurts no one and increases the net joy in the world. If you feel your special uniqueness in the world is diminished because they dare call themselves writers, well, that's your problem, not theirs.

(And how did those Real Writers get to be sufficiently talented and skilled anyway? Some of them found it very easy, but many started out with reams and reams of crap. If one were forbidden to set pen to paper until one's work was actually good, I suspect we'd have nothing to read.)

Now, none of this is to say that I don't think any art can be criticized. On the contrary. Some writing is crap. I would not voluntarily read a thirteen year old girl's Lord of the Rings self-insertion fanfic epic. I find the whole idea of toilet paper covers to be weirdly Victorian, and besides my great aunt chose a shade of brownish pink that looks...unappetizing would be the kindest word--and then edged it in electric blue, with some sort of weirdly formed crocheted flower on the top in, of all things, mustard yellow. But I'm not going to tell her to stop crocheting because she's not a real fiber artist, or claim she's somehow damaging Real Art, or whatever. Critique the art, sure. But don't go saying only certain people are allowed to call what they make art, or take any pride in it, or enjoy it. Nuh uh.

NaNo

The dissing NaNo thing is not new. I did NaNo for the first time in...oh, sweet Mithras, was that really 2003? Yes. It was. I did NaNo for the first time in 2003 and an essay got linked on the boards there, all about how wrong NaNo was.

The arguments made in that essay are still current, it seems.

Like the assertion that people take their unrevised fifty thousand word piles of crap and submit them to agents! Poor agents!

Poor nobody. You know how you deal with crap in the slushpile? You keep a big stack of form rejections at your elbow. Or you set your email account up with a canned response that takes all of three seconds to fill out and send. A dozen more this week isn't that big a deal, it's not like you're reading the whole thing, is it? (Answer--it is not.)

And let me assure you, the folks who do this? Who submit unrevised first drafts? Will do this with or without NaNo, I assure you.

The other objection I see occasionally, though, that's the one that kind of ticks me off.

It goes like this: NaNo encourages participants to consider themselves Writers and Novelists, but they're not really novelists! Not really writers! Professionals who really actually work at writing, the folks who actually write books that might sell, they're Real Writers and Real Novelists, and somehow other people calling themselves Writers illegitimately will...uh...damage the prestige of writing and cheapen it! And then when I tell people at the coffeeshop I'm a writer they will not be suitably impressed!

Yeah. So, are you in it for writing, or are you in it to impress people who ask you what you do? Because I can think of a very long list of occupations that will do that better than "I'm a writer." Honestly, that train left the station a couple decades ago, and it wasn't NaNo that waved it goodbye.

I really don't have any sympathy for the whole "but they're calling themselves writers" thing. So what? If they're writing, they're writers. If someone feels a surge of happy pride at being able to say they're writing a novel this month, I say, "Awesome! You go, Girl!" I'm not going to worry that somehow they're going to get the horribly mistaken impression that they're actually (gasp!) as good as me. Because honestly, that just doesn't enter into it.

Part of the reason there's so much crap in slushpiles, and so many people who say things like "I could do better than that with my eyes closed" and then never do--part of the reason for that is, everyone uses language all day long. Everyone learned (supposedly) the basic elements of writing in school. There are no special tools or training required--you don't need to practice a particular instrument or study theory or buy four million kinds of drill bits or whatever, all you need is paper and ink. Easy, right? Add in Dunning and Krueger, and you get the contents of the world's slushpiles. Everyone thinks they can write. Everyone thinks they have a book in them. Everyone thinks thinks they could be rich if only they bothered to sit down and vomit forth the brilliant concept they've got.

Well, you know, everyone pretty much can write. Not well, not everyone can write well, but. Who cares? That's what form rejections are for.

In the meantime, people are spending their time writing. Making art. Enjoying the hell out of it. So I'd reject nearly all of it in a heartbeat, so what? I'd rather have mountains of crappy slush than a dead silence, an arid, submissionless wasteland because only the Real Writers were sufficiently talented and skilled to dare produce fiction. What a joyless world that would be! I firmly believe that people are hardwired to want to make things, to be creative, and people's lives are diminished when their desire to make things is frustrated or denigrated. Take the most sublime sculptures and paintings in the world, and take, say, the tackiest crocheted toilet paper cover you can find--both are products of real, basic creative impulses. You might not like that crocheted toilet paper cover--but your Great Aunt who designed and made it took joy in creating it. Doesn't that make you happy? And after all, it's not in your bathroom.

I would prefer that the art people create be better than it often is. But offered a choice between a joyful flood of art, bad or otherwise, mixed in with the good, or a hushed, reverent silence from the audience as the Real Artists create Real Art, I'm going with the toilet paper covers.

In other words, I lack sympathy with the idea that there's "real art" and "other stuff." There's art you like and art you don't like. There's art that's more or less skilled. But it's all art, and whether it's made by a thirteen year old girl typing away furiously on her Lord of the Rings self-insertion fanfic, or a skilled and talented professional who writes for a living and has the reviews and awards to show for it doesn't really matter much. Why would you bother fretting about artists taking joy in making art? Why should it trouble anyone that creative people--and there really is no other sort--might actually say "I make art!"?

Why should you even care? Why should you be invested in people knowing and acknowledging that your art is better than theirs?

Every year, NaNoWriMo allows an exuberant community of folks to take joy in creating something, to do it together, to support each other and cheer each other on and express their pride to each other. This has never injured a single professional writer, on the contrary, the whole process has produced a few. It's one big happy creative party, it hurts no one and increases the net joy in the world. If you feel your special uniqueness in the world is diminished because they dare call themselves writers, well, that's your problem, not theirs.

(And how did those Real Writers get to be sufficiently talented and skilled anyway? Some of them found it very easy, but many started out with reams and reams of crap. If one were forbidden to set pen to paper until one's work was actually good, I suspect we'd have nothing to read.)

Now, none of this is to say that I don't think any art can be criticized. On the contrary. Some writing is crap. I would not voluntarily read a thirteen year old girl's Lord of the Rings self-insertion fanfic epic. I find the whole idea of toilet paper covers to be weirdly Victorian, and besides my great aunt chose a shade of brownish pink that looks...unappetizing would be the kindest word--and then edged it in electric blue, with some sort of weirdly formed crocheted flower on the top in, of all things, mustard yellow. But I'm not going to tell her to stop crocheting because she's not a real fiber artist, or claim she's somehow damaging Real Art, or whatever. Critique the art, sure. But don't go saying only certain people are allowed to call what they make art, or take any pride in it, or enjoy it. Nuh uh.