Three stuffs
#1 Fannish Entitlement, and the getting on nerves.
Look. I'm a comment slut. I write because it's fun, but I post because I like to have my ego stroked. There, I said it. No protesting it's all about The Art in this journal. I love every lurker out there and if I can make someone smile, that pretty much makes my day, but what I love best is someone commenting to say that, yes, that particular made them smile/cry/snort tea across the keyboard. Comments are considered the #1 fannish currency. I write, I get on the nerves of my poor beta reader until they've turned what I've written into something readable, I edit, I post. You comment.
Naturally, I'm not entitled to even a single one of those comments. If what I write is crap, I don't deserve a comment. If what I write is the most brilliantest thing ever omg (I wish!), I still don't deserve a comment, but more of you kind people may have been made to smile/cry/snort tea across the keyboard and are thus inclined to leave a comment, which makes me happy. Nevertheless, comments aren't to be taken for granted.
That said, if you do take the time to leave a comment and all it says is "you should continue this," or, worse, simply "moar!!!11!!" all I'll think is, wow, what a rude person.
I'm not entitled to a single word of praise from you. Likewise, you're not entitled to a single word of story from me (unless you've bid on me in a charity auction). Demanding I do your bidding is about the fastest way to make me do something else. Not to mention it's just unspeakably rude.
Sad thing is, I see that kind of comment around more and more frequently, and it makes me feel terrible on behalf of the writers who put hours, days or weeks into a story and all they get for it is what basically amounts to, "What, that's all?"
Who does that?
~~~
#2 No, I don't have television.
Every now and then, I'll have a conversation that goes something like this:
Random Person: Oh, did you watch [insert show, series and assorted braincell-eating nonsense] last night?
Me: No, I don't have television.
RP: ... I'm sorry, what? You have no television?
Me: I have a TV set, but neither dish no cable.
RP: No television?
Me: No television.
RP: But what do you do at home?
To which I reply that there's the internet, DVDs, books, comics, my cat, writing, audio books, embroidery, a national park starting ten metres from my door, music, and loads of touristy stuff to do every weekend.
And always, always, the person I'm talking to will stare at me with a sort of pitying fascination and say, in a hushed voice, "But you're missing Farmer Wants a Wife."
And always, I'm in the lucky position to smile and say, "Yes. Yes, I am."
~~~
#3 I can has a working car.
'Nuff said.
Look. I'm a comment slut. I write because it's fun, but I post because I like to have my ego stroked. There, I said it. No protesting it's all about The Art in this journal. I love every lurker out there and if I can make someone smile, that pretty much makes my day, but what I love best is someone commenting to say that, yes, that particular made them smile/cry/snort tea across the keyboard. Comments are considered the #1 fannish currency. I write, I get on the nerves of my poor beta reader until they've turned what I've written into something readable, I edit, I post. You comment.
Naturally, I'm not entitled to even a single one of those comments. If what I write is crap, I don't deserve a comment. If what I write is the most brilliantest thing ever omg (I wish!), I still don't deserve a comment, but more of you kind people may have been made to smile/cry/snort tea across the keyboard and are thus inclined to leave a comment, which makes me happy. Nevertheless, comments aren't to be taken for granted.
That said, if you do take the time to leave a comment and all it says is "you should continue this," or, worse, simply "moar!!!11!!" all I'll think is, wow, what a rude person.
I'm not entitled to a single word of praise from you. Likewise, you're not entitled to a single word of story from me (unless you've bid on me in a charity auction). Demanding I do your bidding is about the fastest way to make me do something else. Not to mention it's just unspeakably rude.
Sad thing is, I see that kind of comment around more and more frequently, and it makes me feel terrible on behalf of the writers who put hours, days or weeks into a story and all they get for it is what basically amounts to, "What, that's all?"
Who does that?
~~~
#2 No, I don't have television.
Every now and then, I'll have a conversation that goes something like this:
Random Person: Oh, did you watch [insert show, series and assorted braincell-eating nonsense] last night?
Me: No, I don't have television.
RP: ... I'm sorry, what? You have no television?
Me: I have a TV set, but neither dish no cable.
RP: No television?
Me: No television.
RP: But what do you do at home?
To which I reply that there's the internet, DVDs, books, comics, my cat, writing, audio books, embroidery, a national park starting ten metres from my door, music, and loads of touristy stuff to do every weekend.
And always, always, the person I'm talking to will stare at me with a sort of pitying fascination and say, in a hushed voice, "But you're missing Farmer Wants a Wife."
And always, I'm in the lucky position to smile and say, "Yes. Yes, I am."
~~~
#3 I can has a working car.
'Nuff said.