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notes from underground
Jul. 22nd, 2009 01:46 amNo, not really. Notes from my iMac. Much less interesting, I know, but we'll have to make do.
In all seriousness, whenever I see someone complain that they've only received a page of FB, or god forbid, FB of insufficient quality, I start charging the death ray. There's no cure for entitlement (save perhaps forced hard labour), but while the death ray is no kind of cure, it's absolutely many kinds of solution. Sometimes I'm struck dumb by the naked insecurity and grasping need, on display in these posts. It's like standing in Times Square and yelling into a bullhorn, "My self-esteem is entirely based on the grovelling of strangers, so get to it bitches."
We all want more and better FB. Whether we typically rake in one "I liked it!" or six hundred, we want more. I mean for god's sake, I tie myself up in knots when I post a story and it doesn't get reviewed, and I don't think that's unusual. I always hesitate to admit that publicly, but there's nothing shameful in wanting people read and enjoy your stories, and to share their enjoyment with you. But I think there's an obvious qualitative difference between moping about wanting more FB, and complaining that your readers have failed to do their part in an imaginary transaction. Newsflash! Your silent and invisible internet readers owe you nothing. You have freely offered up your writing for their consumption. You don't get to set a price after the fact.
And while I'm complaining about stuff -- if you're one of those people who is continually finding enemies everywhere you turn? It's not the rest of humanity. It's you, jackass. You're the problem. There is no conspiracy or cabal. They are not planning your downfall in dank, sweaty chatrooms. In all likelihood, they could not possibly give less of a fuck about your existence. Nobody cares. Now go get yourself sorted. Seriously. Shoo.
In all seriousness, whenever I see someone complain that they've only received a page of FB, or god forbid, FB of insufficient quality, I start charging the death ray. There's no cure for entitlement (save perhaps forced hard labour), but while the death ray is no kind of cure, it's absolutely many kinds of solution. Sometimes I'm struck dumb by the naked insecurity and grasping need, on display in these posts. It's like standing in Times Square and yelling into a bullhorn, "My self-esteem is entirely based on the grovelling of strangers, so get to it bitches."
We all want more and better FB. Whether we typically rake in one "I liked it!" or six hundred, we want more. I mean for god's sake, I tie myself up in knots when I post a story and it doesn't get reviewed, and I don't think that's unusual. I always hesitate to admit that publicly, but there's nothing shameful in wanting people read and enjoy your stories, and to share their enjoyment with you. But I think there's an obvious qualitative difference between moping about wanting more FB, and complaining that your readers have failed to do their part in an imaginary transaction. Newsflash! Your silent and invisible internet readers owe you nothing. You have freely offered up your writing for their consumption. You don't get to set a price after the fact.
And while I'm complaining about stuff -- if you're one of those people who is continually finding enemies everywhere you turn? It's not the rest of humanity. It's you, jackass. You're the problem. There is no conspiracy or cabal. They are not planning your downfall in dank, sweaty chatrooms. In all likelihood, they could not possibly give less of a fuck about your existence. Nobody cares. Now go get yourself sorted. Seriously. Shoo.