Don't Feed the Trolls

“Never try to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and it annoys the pig.” (Robert Heinlen)

So, my most recent story in the Piker Press is one of my favorites so far. I tried a couple of new things, and for the most part I belive I succeeded. The story is called "On The Wagon", and is told from the point of view of Karl, a recovering alchoholic. Karl is speaking to his Alcoholics Anonymous group, and telling of the experience that drove him to get "On The Wagon". (Hat tip to Sand for the title - I suck at titles...)
I won't give up the ending, you have to read the story to get that. But the two new things I tried were:
1. To write the story completely in the voice of the main character. No other characters speak, and there is no narrative voice. 2. To have a character who uses a specific dialect to more clearly portray his background and personality.
The first part went well. Even without a narrative voice or any formal exposition at all, the story is clearly portrayed. That part wasn't too hard, and it was good exercise for my "Show Don't Tell" muscles. (They tend to be weak and flabby. This is good during NaNoWriMo when taking three pages to explain a coming of age ceremony is a good thing. Bad when people actually begin to try and read your work!) But the dialect... Dialects are hard for me. I tend to be obsessive about spelling, grammar, and punctuation, so having a character who uses a different dialect gives me a headache. Especially with Karl. I wanted Karl to be a redneck. It may have had something to do with watching old episodes of "My Name is Earl" while writing, but I think it had more to do with basing Karl on a character from the play "Greater Tuna". I had to keep on reminding myself to misspell things, and to insert double-negatives and all kinds of redundant filler. It took a couple of re-writes before I sent it to the editor of the Piker Press for consideration. Even then, Sand (the aforementioned editor) kicked it back with the advice that a few of my phrases were "out of character with Karl's vernacular" and that I ought to take a look at them. She also agreed with me that the ending left much to be desired. (The first ending was an attempt to weasel out of coming up with an ending at all - which is no way to end a story...)
So, a couple more re-writes later I felt much better about Karl's vernacular and Sand agreed. The story was published as part of the special "Alien Issue" of the Press, and I felt pretty good about how it came out.

Then, the Anonymous poster showed up. First of all, let me say that I normally avoid feeding trolls. I usually assume that the kind of people who get their jollies by anonymously posting inflammatory remarks around the 'Net are not worth my time. And I hate to encourage them. You can't win. However...

This comment appeared in the comments section after my story:

Anonymous 08/26/2009 05:09:26 PM

Very cute tale. A few thoughts. First, this character would not use the words “bizarre,” “espresso,” “rhythm,” “emanatin’,” “skeptical,” or “ridicule.” Instead, it could be “crazy,” “thet fancy Starbrothers coffee,” “music beat,” “shootin’ out of it,” “think I’m touched in the head,” “makin’ fun o’ me.” Also, you have to capitalize Kleenex because it’s a brand name. tissue would be lowercase. Well-done dialect too.

At first glance, I was simply baffled. What? Did I write Karl so badly that I went right past "My Name is Earl" and landed smack dab in the middle of "Deliverance"? Had this person ever spoken to a redneck? Was he REALLY saying I should have used the phrase: "thet fancy Starbrothers coffee" instead of the word: "espresso"?

And if indeed, Karl was backwoods enough not to use the word "rhythm" then why in the heck would he care if his kleenex was capitalized or not? Karl just wanted something to blow his nose on. In fact, I suppose, given Anonymous' opinion of Karl, I should have had him just blow a snot rocket on the podium. The heck with facial tissue!

I responded rather snarkily I suppose, although I forced myself to not compose the entire epistle I had in mind. (I have saved that for you, Dear Faithful Reader!) Mostly due to my sneaking suspicion that this was a troll who was simply looking to start a fight, I simply asked if he was serious about the "Starbrother's" thing, and if he had not heard of the concept of a "Genericized Trademark". (I suppose I saw those two as the most egregiously patronizing of his suggestions.)

I was most bothered by the fact that he seemed to think that he knew Karl so much better than I. After spending all of one evening with him at the AA meeting, he was ready to judge Karl and relegate him the the unwashed hillbillies of backwoods Arkansas. And the fact that he would actually feel that an uncapitalized word was important enough to even bring up.

Don't get me wrong. I love feedback on my writing. Notice earlier in this very account, when I so gladly took the advice of my editor and made revisions to my story. So why did this Anonymous poster give me such pause?

I waited all weekend long before responding again. During this time, several of my fellow Pikers came to my defense and tried to point out to Anonymous how obnoxious and grating his critique was. This should have been further evidence of the fact that he was either a troll or a real-life literary snob. He shrugged off any suggestion that his suggestions were off, and instead accused his detractors of personal attacks. Never giving an inch, he finally made a statement that made me understand his entire motivation:

"re-read the story and replace certain words with my suggestions. if you can't see an improvement, then you're not reading carefully."

Anonymous had no intention of helping me improve my story. He wanted to remake it in his own image. He was utterly convinced that all my story needed to be better was to let him re-write it. Then, it would be so much better.

Really...

So, my commitment to let the troll starve went out the window. I foolishly took the bait and responded yet again. This time I clearly identified myself as the author; I was not sure if he recognized me as such, since I had earlier posted under a pseudonym. (I thought he would recognize me as the author despite the pseudonym due to some earlier comments I had responded to under that monniker. But I guess his talent lies more along the lines of spotting words that rednecks don't use and un-capitalized trademarks.)

I composed what I felt to be a well-thought out statement of why his comments had been taken so badly by myself and other readers. I conceded that perhaps I had not been entirely successful in portraying Karl's background through his dialect, but that his suggestions for change were nothing more than his opinion that he could do the character better than me. Also, I pointed out that he had misspelled my name. (Just to show that I can point out ticky-tacky mistakes too.)

Well, I won't bore you with the details of his response. You probably have already guessed how it went. Instead of accepting that he might have been mistaken just a tiny bit, I got a long lecture on how I should take criticism better. And how I should be glad that he was willing to re-write my story for me, since then it would be so much better.

So, lesson learned. Not that I will be looking for Anonymous' advice before I submit my next story. Not that I am going to go back and re-write Karl as some sort of brain-damaged inbred hill-billy. Or even that I will begin capitalizing the word 'kleenex'.

I learned the lesson that I knew from the beginning:

Don't Feed the Trolls. Sorry Anonymous - no more free chicken for you.

© 2009 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

My Writing Style (Or lack thereof...)

I decided to get a jump on my Writer's Round Table assignment for this week and quickly pounded out 600 words before I realized that I had misread the instructions... I had written 600 words ON my writing style, not IN my writing style... Crap. Well, not wanting it to go to waste, I decided to share it here with you. Enjoy!

My earliest recollection of wanting to be a writer was when I was probably about ten or eleven. My family somehow acquired an old-fashioned typewriter - you know the really old kind that actually depended on your fingers to propel the hammers against the ribbon and paper to make a mark. I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. I sat down at it and began hammering out a story. If I remember correctly, it involved a boy falling unconscious and having a terrifying dream sequence. 

Ever since then, I have wanted to be a writer. Being an avid reader only further whetted my appetite, and I tried again and again to start work on my Great American Novel. Unfortunately, my desire was never matched with enough persistence to get much past chapter one. (I may have gotten as far as chapter thirteen once, I think...) After high school, I fell in love with a college girl, and for no other reason decided that I should also be enrolled in college. As an English major, naturally. I took and nearly flunked a History of American Literature class. I guess I could care less what was really going on in America when Nathanial Hawthorne was writing about Hester Prynne and in her custom logo apron. 

But a class that I took that I really enjoyed, and which I passed easily was Poetry Writing. No memorization of stupid dates, or old dead author's greatest works. We were given an assignment to write a certain type of poem, or just an assignment to write a poem. We would then take time in class to read and analyze each other's poems. (Sound familiar fellow RT'ers?) Most of the poetry that has been published in the Press under my name came from this very class. I felt as if I might actually have a future as a poet, or a novelist. But alas, just like a summer romance that I tried to follow to college, my muse took a vacation and got lost in real life. My girlfriend dumped me, I dropped out of college, and real life took over for about ten years. Aside from some super sappy love poetry written to my next girlfriend (now my wife) I didn't write anything during this time. 

From time to time, I thought about being a writer. I pondered plots for novels. I even joked with a college professor (yes, I finally went back to college) about writing the Next Great American Novel. However, except for class assignments, memos for work, and a single letter to the editor, I did not write.

October 31st, 2005. I am at home in Texas, dressed as a hula girl for Halloween. (Seriously. Coconut bra, grass skirt and everything...) Waiting for trick-or-treaters. My wife was out with our kids gathering the annual feast of free stimulants and I was idly surfing the web when my eye was caught by a news story headline on Yahoo! "Have you ever wanted to write a novel? November is National Novel Writing Month." My memories of wanting to write a great novel danced briefly through my mind, and I clicked on the link. Since then, I have indeed written a novel. Four in fact. All four in a different genre, with a different style. 

Which brings me back to the original question: "What is my writing style?" The answer is, I have not yet discovered just which style I am most comfortable with. I really enjoy science fiction; the ability to invent new technologies to get my characters through plot holes is an awesome power. I have tried fantasy, but it is much more complicated to work out a magical or supernatural solution to problems than one might think. I have tried a "human interest humor" style, much like this very piece in homage to one of my favorite writers. (Dave Barry, if you have heard of him.) And yet, I am still unsure if I even have a "style". 

Perhaps that IS my style. 

Unstyled. 

Unrestrained. 

Stream-of-consciousness. 

Whatever pops into my head. 

Whatever the situation demands. 

Whatever is enjoyable right now. 

Whoops. 

I am over my word limit. Does that make my style "Wordy?"


© 2009 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved