Daley Downing's Blog

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Well, I think I did it, everybody. I’m pretty sure I’m finished with BookTube. (With the exception of Elliot Brooks and Meredith Novaco.)

What was the final straw? Since, apparently, I hadn’t already exploded after suffering through zillions of TBR challenge videos, online drama debates, trope whining, and the same 10 books being reviewed per quarter?

In the end, it was the fact some people couldn’t figure out Dungeon Crawler Carl is satire.

For those of you who aren’t aware, Dungeon Crawler Carl is a series (it’s the title of the first book, that now has I believe 7 sequels) that started as a serial self-publication online a few years ago, and has now been picked up by trad pub and has gone viral. It’s a LitRPG (meaning, basically, it reads like if a roleplaying game was written in manuscript form), focusing on the protagonist, Carl, who gets thrown into an alien-created apocalypse, which is a blend of Dungeons & Dragons and The Hunger Games. He can attempt to survive the simulated dungeon/arena — and, yes, it’s televised to the universe — and will gain various perks as he goes — like increased skills, weapons and tools, and allies, very similar to RPG format. Accompanied by his ex-girlfriend’s show cat, Princess Donut (yup, you read that right), Carl does his best to make it through this impossible situation.

Because the premise is, in many ways, ridiculous, a reader would hope that the author wouldn’t take himself too seriously (well, this reader would, anyway). I’ve tried, twice, to read DCC, and the style just isn’t for me. It’s purely because I don’t play anything like D&D; I don’t really understand how stats are determined (and I can’t math, either, which doesn’t help). Between a sample of the audiobook and the printed version, I’ve made it to page 150, and had to check out.

But, unlike every other new release I’ve tried in the past couple of years, I don’t definitively hate or love DCC. There’s something to the narrative; I appreciate the scope of the story, what the author’s going for, and the fact this tale knows exactly what it’s meant to be. I can say with absolute certainty: This book isn’t my thing, but I would totally recommend it to people looking for a sci-fi/horror/adventure mash-up.

I could immediately see: This is not the sort of book that appeals to everyone. A lot of gamers are loving it; so are some non-gamers. Plenty of sci-fi and fantasy fans weren’t into the style; others are loving every installment. I get both of these perspectives.

What I don’t get is reviewers who already knew DCC wasn’t going to be for them…but read it anyway, just to make a scathing video about “how bad” it was.

Yes, they’re allowed to not like a popular book; of course they can have a dissenting opinion. BUT — and I will die on this hill — if you’re sh**tting all over a hype-train title — that you wouldn’t ever pick up if you weren’t on YouTube and Instagram — just to create hate-watch content…what the **** is that?

I’ve left plenty of negative reviews; I’ve done it because part of this blog is to share my deeper, more analytical thoughts on fiction and media and culture. 98% of the time, I choose to read titles I honestly hope to enjoy. And I have had lots of let-downs that I don’t blog about, for various reasons. I would never hate-read something just for the sake of doing so, especially not with a series its fans are so attached to.

(This is precisely why I’ve skipped over A Court of Thorns and Roses, The Wheel of Time, anything by Brandon Sanderson, and am not touching Joe Abercrombie. I don’t do romantsy, I don’t do super-long books, I don’t think Mr. Sanderson is at all my style, and I don’t like grimdark. The fans of these series/authors are having a perfectly good time, so why would I need to mess with that just to get a bunch of views?)

So, going back to what rankled me the most about, specifically, a BookTuber called Leandra the TBR Zero slamming Dungeon Crawler Carl, was the obvious issue: Not even 15 minutes into her video, it was clear she just didn’t comprehend the book is meant to be satire.

Again, no, you don’t have to like (or pretend to like) a humor style you find too crude or immature and that doesn’t jive for you. No, you don’t have to think explicit language and gory violence is necessary for a novel to land right. There’s no shame (nor should anyone be shamed!) in admitting to not vibing with certain content, and deciding to step away based on your personal tastes.

But I actually laughed out loud when she claimed the author was “fatphobic” based on a depiction of…a monster boss created by the AI running the dungeon sim.

Excuse me? What kind of horses**t is that?! Yes, treating overweight people unkindly isn’t cool. BUT. Time to ascend to my hilltop. There are ALREADY lots of reviews on Goodreads and such, stating that they felt there were some sexist and prejudiced overtones throughout the narration, and they weren’t sure if it was an intentional part of the parody style, or if it wasn’t recognized as this by the author, and the individual readers didn’t care for it. SO. Not only could Leandra NOT claim she hadn’t been warned, she also made herself look dumb by previously admitting in other videos this sort of content bothered her, and then she went and read a title with a reputation for it.

And on top of that, she couldn’t figure out that judging an author’s values based on their portrayal of a fictional character’s viewpoint and how they physically describe the monster isn’t a logical move.

Hasn’t she ever heard “depiction does not equal endorsement”? If we assumed every author believed in every single thing included in their work, then, wow, Stephen King would be in prison for life. By this same reasoning, Agatha Christie was a twisted weirdo who loved offing people. I can’t even imagine what a torch-and-pitchfork mob would do to some of the romance writers if we did away with disclaimers.

This wasn’t the first instance of me spotting a glaring lack of understanding the subject matter among BookTubers, either. One of the biggest lit-fic releases right now is Yesteryear, which is a novel presenting a complex picture of “trad wife” influencers, with an unlikeable, and possibly unreliable, narrator. Based on all the discussion I’ve heard about this book, it seems to simply be capitalizing on the fact this is a TikTok trend, and not a serious, in-depth look at what happens when internet celebrities let the fake stuff take over their whole lives — which is what lots of reviewers have decided it is. The conversations about feminism and the work-life balance and defending — or condemning — a certain type of lifestyle that some folks have assigned to the subtext of the story probably weren’t what the author intended.

And, to stick to my primary point, is Yesteryear satire? Pretty much. It isn’t meant to be a humorous take, but it definitely is grabbing onto a cultural moment and directing a spotlight at it (realistically to make a ton of money). Can we have serious conversations about deeper issues based on satires? Of course! But is that always the purpose of the creator? Err, no.

(Very interestingly, right before I finished crafting this post, Elliot Brooks released a new video about Yesteryear, and her main message is she believes many people don’t grasp that it’s a psychological thriller novel, not a serious critique.)

Beyond this factor being my last straw for BookTube, and reinforcing my own appreciation for well-done satire, I don’t know if there’s anything else to take away from this rant.

In some ways, it’s all subjective. Certain styles of writing/reading, media, and entertainment just aren’t going to appeal to a broader audience, and I’m not sure there’s anything to say about that other than to make the observation.

Or, maybe, in true expert-satirist fashion, I’m onto something deeper, more meaningful.

A couple of weeks ago, I read Girl Dinner by Olivie Blake. I have a complicated past with this author; the title she’s most known for, The Atlas Six, was one of my first-ever DNFs (yes, that’s right, I used to religiously finish every book I started). I only realized the spec-fic-meets-contemporary-lit novel Masters of Death was written by her about 3 chapters in; I picked up that title purely based on the vibes, so believe me that discovery was a gut punch. I ended up DNF-ing Masters of Death as well, and wondering if I should swear off Ms. Blake in general. I did attempt a bit of her back catalog eventually, but really couldn’t get into the overly magenta prose (if you’ve read anything by this author, you’ll know just what I mean), and decided to try other styles and genres instead.

However, recently I ended up getting sucked into a “I need to read something that proves I’m smart” trap (see my last post), and one of the titles I chose to fit this requirement was Girl Dinner. Because I’ve been avoiding Blake, I wasn’t even aware this was published, and knew nothing of the premise and could hope that her writing has improved since Masters of Death.

Welllll…

Okay, before I opine:

Girl Dinner is the two-part story of Sloane, a professor returning to academia after maternity leave, and Nina, a college student pledging a highly-prestigious sorority. The POV alternates each chapter, going from Sloane’s tale to Nina’s and back and forth through the whole book. Usually I enjoy this kind of setup, as I feel it reveals more to the reader and helps get us closer to the characters beyond the protagonist. But here, it didn’t work…at all. More on that in a minute.

Sloane’s thing is the guilt over going back to work and putting her child in daycare, the shame she feels for wanting to have a career and be a parent, and the constant frustration of having a husband who doesn’t seem to understand how hard all of this is for her.

Nina’s deal is wanting to get into the sorority, but being unsure whether it’s really worth the time and effort, if doing so really will break a barrier for POC students (she comes from an immigrant family), and if this does in fact benefit her long-term.

As the novel progresses, we do get…some progress on both these stories. And there is a twist that’s…twisty. It’s pretty short, around 300 pages, which sets it apart from plenty of other recent publications. And…

…yup, that’s all I’ve got that isn’t negative.

The first thing that doesn’t click here is the dual POV. Sloane’s mother-guilt tale is completely separate from Nina’s sorority pledge journey. The two women aren’t connected one whit in the narration until about 80% in. The characters don’t even meet until we’re almost done with the book. The only thing they have in common is that Nina is pledging the sorority that Sloane’s been asked to be a faculty advisor for. There isn’t a single scene during which Sloane actually advises the students. Sloane’s major tie to the organization is a few of its alumni, one of whom asked her to advise the girls. Then…that becomes as impactful to the story as the background color of the cover. You could pick one POV or the other and read to the conclusion of an individual arc without missing much. Sloane does not have any affect on Nina until the very end. Nina isn’t a player in Sloane’s world…until she is…and it’s by accident. I’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense, but there’s no way I can try to explain it further without literally giving away the big twist, and I stand on ceremony with avoiding spoilers for such a recent release.

Anyway, it’s confusing, flipping back and forth between Sloane and Nina, without their stories interconnecting. It feels like two separate books smushed together; like Blake wanted to write kind of a creepy tale about a sorority with hidden secrets, but also wanted to write a commentary about postmodern feminism, and for some reason her editors thought throwing these two notions into a blender was perfect.

Despite the very real struggle many women do face, Blake’s rambling whine that is Sloane’s inner monologue is not relatable. Other authors have, very successfully, pulled off depicting the grind of parenting routines and the natural feeling of isolation and tedium and exhaustion (Sophie Kinsella immediately comes to mind). But Sloane comes across as pretentious as best, and downright bizarre and disturbing at worst. I can’t sympathize with Sloane letting mommy influencers shame her, because I told these TikTok sell-outs to f*** off a long time ago. In an early chapter, there’s actually a paragraph in which Blake suggests Sloane’s attachment to her daughter is bordering on a nearly erotic, almost incestuous quality, and that it might not even be a bad thing — just WHAT?!?! The reader isn’t sure if we’re meant to recognize Sloane losing her marbles and pity her, or if the narration is in fact designed as a cruel satire of women in Sloane’s position.

Just as meaningless is Nina’s ongoing diatribe about not ironically betraying the sisterhood by buying into “what white chicks think success is.” This could definitely have been a thought-provoking discussion, since a lot of Greek letter organizations aren’t easily accessed by the children of immigrants or minority groups. But Nina’s communication between other pledges, non-pledges, current sisters, her male cousin (who happens to be Sloane’s TA, and that’s the only way we know Sloane is aware Nina even exists before the Inciting Incident leading to the Big Twist) all feels like Gen Z buzz word speak. I skimmed big chunks of Nina’s chapters, because there simply wasn’t enough in them to hold my attention.

The odd juxtaposition of Sloane wondering if she’s failing her daughter, herself, her husband, colleagues, friends, and Nina being so caught up in what to wear to class and if a certain person is really flirting with her is…jarring. Sloane’s POV has the potential to tackle difficult topics, and it repeatedly doesn’t, going instead for uneven pacing that throws you from Sloane having a legit gripe with her husband’s cluelessness, to debating the merits of academic publishing with her best friend. Nina’s POV goes surprisingly serious sooner than Sloane’s, but when it hits the Shocking Reveal, what that is comes out of nowhere, and doesn’t make sense with the rest of the book up to then. It gives intense tonal whiplash.

And, as if all that wasn’t enough literal WTF?, the book ends very abruptly. We reach the 95% mark, and a brand new plot thread has just been introduced, and on the last page, there are SO many things we don’t get a resolution to. What happened to Sloane’s marriage? Did she try to go for tenure? Did Nina officially stay in the sorority? What about all the secondary characters that either were part of the massive last minute twist, or just vanished altogether? Sloane had a Huge Moral Crisis about the Plot’s Secret…but she seemed to have gotten over that in approximately 10 paragraphs, and I don’t call that a character arc. Nina doesn’t appear that bothered, either, by something that should have been an enormous shakeup in the trajection of the story. Instead, it’s like Sloane and Nina both realize they were overreacting, and their personal goals are…more important.

…

… … …

So, what is this book meant to be? Is it really satire? Then, why isn’t it witty, or at least funny? If the objective was to highlight real issues facing women in academia, it fails at that, too.

And an ending that raises far more questions than it answers is not a proper ending. I can deal with some vague things if the major storylines are wrapped up. Deliberately ambiguous endings bug me more. But I honestly don’t think Girl Dinner pulled off being “so clever” that it could get away with not telling us what happened next.

This book is a massively long beginning, forgets to include a nice padded middle, and then the ink runs out just as we’re finally given a real plot.

Huh???

What do I do with that?

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A few days ago, I was watching videos about the latest book community discourse — I know, I know, I swore I was getting away from BookTube. Hey, it’s a really slow season for Netflix! Ahem. Anyway, I saw a lot of complaints about Christopher Nolan using an “historically inaccurate” version of The Odyssey for his new movie (err, people do realize that story is fictional, right?); a fair amount about how the new Kindle policies are screwing over readers (agreed); and a playground-style fight over whether authors should regularly include multi-syllable and advanced vocabulary in their works.

Despite the last one coming across, on the surface, as a bit overly-silly and not something I’d actually be interested in, after stumbling into a reaction take on the original post that started the debate, I found myself — almost immediately — nodding my head along with all the points made by the initial comment.

The summary of the topic: A post suggested big words in books can present a big disadvantage to readers, especially those who may not be as well-educated as many authors/publishers/other readers, or who are struggling with a physical or neurological impairment. And as someone who has a learning disorder, this hit so hard.

I’m pretty well-read. I know a lot about history, various religions and cultures, and studied a couple foreign languages in school. I could easily pick up a wide swath of genre fiction, or non-fiction, or short stories, or essays, and have a very good chance of grasping and understanding the material, across a range of subjects/genres. But, I don’t, on purpose.

I avoid most historical fiction, most contemporary litfic, most classics, Westerns, dark or fantasy academia, hardcore-science sci-fi, high-brow epic fantasy, and Gothic horror. (That last is mostly because I don’t do a lot of gore or suspense, but there are aspects of the Gothic that interest me, and I am sad I can’t explore it more for the major reason I’m about to name.) I stay away from possibly hundreds of titles that could have plots, characters, dialogue, and themes that I might end up loving. Yes, that seems to defeat the point of being a bookworm always on the hunt for the next thing that sparks passion and delight.

Why do I do this? Because, in a nutshell, of Big Words.

As I already said, I am formally educated, I have a knowledge base of different topics, and I’m familiar with language more complex than modern phrases and internet slang. Why would Big Words intimidate me, then? Because of the learning disorder. The one, extremely important, piece that so many teachers, librarians, authors, and editors haven’t taken into account when asking me why I don’t read, or write, certain genres and styles.

It’s a constant, something I can’t get rid of regardless of putting in time, effort, or techniques hoping to negate its effects. It’s programmed into my brain, and my nervous system, and when it comes to reading for pleasure, or writing for fun, I don’t see any reason to torture myself, just so I appear more sophisticated or erudite. (Big Word alert. Which I actually learned from reading Divergent. A title word that itself I only learned the meaning of when reading the novel years ago.)

Interestingly, I often use bigger or somewhat more complex words in my everyday speak; partly due to the way my autistic brain naturally processes converting thoughts to language (it’s scientific; there is terminology — Very Big Words — that explains it). But these are all vocabulary choices that I’m well-versed in using; I definitely know what they mean and understand how to properly include them in conversation (or, for example, a blog post).

What kicks my ass every time are the Big Words that I don’t know. Science terms repeatedly dumbfound me. Lots of academic phrasing (and I was a psychology major, once upon a time) make no inherent sense to me. Words we don’t use anymore — not in, like, the last century — will certainly run circles around my mind. Since some of my brain cells are dyslexic, attempting to read epic fantasy where the character names were decided by a cat walking over the keyboard is simply unpleasant.

So, when I saw this post from a reader saying authors using Big Words slams the door in the faces of so many hoping to explore more literature, it sang to my soul.

So did the comments from people who agreed with the original post. It also made me so sad.

Because the fact is, lots and lots of folks don’t see the problem. They scoffed at this post. They made fun of the “dummies.” There were posts and videos of writers and academics saying, out loud, “I’m going to keep using language you idiots can’t understand just to spite you.”

And maybe this made me feel like I “had” to do something to prove my intelligence; but I marched into the library the next day, and started hunting for “thought-provoking, ground-breaking, trope-defying, award-winning” selections.

Guess what happened.

Yup, I hated every. Single. One. Of them.

Out of seven books, five were DNF, one I did complete (but felt like I’d run a marathon on a sprained ankle afterwards), and one I re-read the blurb and threw in the towel.

And…it hurts. I do feel…not so smart.

It makes me worried that maybe…I’m not as clever as I thought when it comes to my writing. What if the reason I’m barely a blip on indie author radar is the simple fact my work is…simple? I’ve poured literal blood, sweat and tears into shoring up every possible plot hole, keeping characters consistent, tracking motivations and reasonings, and being sure it all ties together.

The notion that, none of that matters, if I don’t throw in at least a few six-syllable words each installment, is, frankly, terrifying.

I had to go back to the original post on social media, which says plainly that having trouble comprehending Big Words does not mean we aren’t bright.

I had to remind myself that writing an entire novel, and then publishing it — and even more so, doing this several times over! — is a feat the majority of humans will never achieve.

It was worth focusing, for a moment, on the fact some people’s favorite books ever are considered very bad by many critics and reviewers, and that the “experts” aren’t always right.

I was able to come back from the brink, and realize there’s nothing wrong with wanting to read books that have smaller words. Nothing wrong with applying my energy to writing more in-depth plots in straightforward prose.

And that, if I continue to do these things, realistically the world will not end.

So, here’s to those of us who appreciate the Smaller Words.

And to those of us on the other side of the page, providing you with them.

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Yup, I am.

Normally, I stay away from internet drama. Most of it is silliness, anyway, and I have better ways to spend my time. And, because I’m not on TikTok, Instagram, Reddit, or Threads, I miss a lot of it, so I wouldn’t be informed enough to post about it. But a couple weekends ago, I was watching a live gaming stream, and witnessed a proper meltdown in real time, and I went, “Oh, my god, I’m actually on the front end of YouTube’s next controversy!”

I was completely right. Sure enough, within 48 hours, social media was exploding with “Can you believe they said this?!?!”

Now, some context: The streamer in question is Funky Frog Plays (also name of their gaming channel). I’ve enjoyed some of their streams in the past (though I’ve also seen some trouble spots — more on that in a minute). It was a slow afternoon for me, and I thought it might be fun to watch Funky Frog work through a so-bad-it’s good indie horror game (often their choice to play, and — for some reason, though I hate horror movies and novels — often a choice for my video watching).

Anyway. On the edge of what was about to happen in the stream, was a fair amount of drama going on regarding the show The Amazing Digital Circus. Muffin had watched a few episodes, so I knew a little about ADC, and I’m online just enough to have heard there was a lot of heated debate recently about a potentially toxic fandom, unpopular showrunner decisions, and rumors that some of the creators and cast might be just a little racist. All in all, not a good look.

For whatever reason, during the live stream, several comments tried to pull Funky Frog into a discussion about ADC. FF was apparently irked at this, but, instead of just ignoring the comments (or having the chat moderators block them), eventually FF responded to one, and, instead of saying something like, “I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to talk about that topic,” or, “I don’t know a lot about those allegations, so can I look into it and get back to it later?”, FF went off.

As I mentioned, this was the moment I sat there and stared, realizing it was about to become The Next Big Drama.

And with good reason. Funky Frog immediately got defensive, saying, “You’re all making that up. That person isn’t racist. You’re just repeating what fake accusations you’ve heard around the forums and being mean to someone so you can make yourself feel important.” I’m paraphrasing, but this was legit the takeaway.

And here’s the biggest problem: In the rant, FF admitted they hadn’t seen any of the posts from certain creators that were raising red flags. Stated point blank they didn’t care about the show, so hadn’t even bothered to find out more about the controversy. On the one hand, yes, that is an individual’s prerogative. However. When you are essentially a public figure (and being a predominant YouTuber counts in this instance), and you are livestreaming, and thousands of people are effectively wondering if you support a suspected racist, and your reply is, “Shut up, you guys made that up”… Whoa, Nellie.

I am not a YouTuber. I hardly have zillions of subscribers. But if I was in a similar position, my reaction would have been along the lines of: “Hey, I have to be honest, I don’t know much about the details of the matter, and I don’t feel comfortable discussing it right now. I’d like to get more information before I share thoughts on it. Racism sucks. I’d like to get back to my stream. Okay? Thanks for understanding.”

This is where I return to my mention of trouble spots with this content creator. An event of this type was, I believe, inevitable. Funky Frog has a bad habit of getting way upset with the chat during livestreams. Whenever they feel the chat is bullying them into playing a game a certain way, or being too belligerent, they get confrontational. Instead of, as I said before, having the moderators shut it down, or just ignoring it. They dive into causing a conflict, that could have remained behind the scenes, faded away, and not turned into unnecessary arguing. When that kind of crap kicks off, that’s when I exit the stream. (And I’m sure I’m not the only one.)

So, the fallout: It got…a little messy.

There were plenty of influencers and subscribers saying Funky Frog spoke out of turn, should not have gone on a big rant without being informed about the topic, and that hopefully FF will learn this is not professional, not cool, and learn from it. Agreed, one hundred percent.

Then there were…the folks claiming Funky Frog was…racist.

Err. Bit of a leap. But. And I hate to seem over-reactionary myself, but…I understand where that came from.

After all, the issue at hand was the allegations of racism against a specific group of entertainers. To act like such a concern isn’t a problem — which was the impression Funky gave in that moment — is a HUGE deal. If POC in the chat during this incident felt very uncomfortable, I get that. (And people did. We know because they told the internet.)

All this discourse was, of course, bad enough. But then Funky Frog actually made it worse, by releasing an “apology” video on TikTok (not even the platform where the incident occurred; it was YouTube), which really doubled down on, “Kinda sucks if you feel insulted, but I don’t think anything I said was that bad, and now I’m being attacked, so, wow, get off your high horse, folks.” Again, I’m paraphrasing. In fact, it was far more condescending and tone-deaf. Yup, it was, not kidding. It was obvious FF missed the ENTIRE point of what people were upset about.

It took another few days for a real apology TikTok (again, though, nothing on YouTube) to surface, in which FF said, “Hey, guys, I’m sorry. You were right. You thought I was defending a racist. I wasn’t, not at all. I just don’t know if those accusations against [The Amazing Digital Circus crew] are accurate, so I shouldn’t have said anything. I hate racism, I don’t condone it. If you’re a POC in my community, I support you. So sorry any of this happened.”

After I watched a few reaction videos to this whole drama, got the width and breadth of the public’s opinions, and developed my own on where it stands now, I was hopeful that Funky Frog can, indeed, learn from this, grow, and move forward in their career.

And then. And. Then.

Yesterday, my YouTube algo suggested the latest edited video from Funky Frog Bait, which is FF’s commentary channel. Now. I watched a few of those videos several months ago, and found most of that is not enjoyable for me. Because it’s basically a possibly-not-even-30-something (I don’t know FF’s exact age, but it is more in that range than, say, mine) rant and rave about parts of life that they do not have the world experience to authoritatively rant and rave about. And this new video is all about how bad public schools in America are.

Right after you endured massive backlash from viewers because you weren’t astute enough not to raise to ragebait in a livestream chat? Not even two weeks after you got dragged for a “performative apology,” you release a video about “how dumb all the kids are now”?

This was an edited video. It was pre-filmed. It was scheduled. Funky Frog could have shelved it for a bit, until the drama died down. Should have.

But, no, apparently this is “perfect” timing to bash teachers fighting an uphill battle against a failing system, overworked parents who are stressed to the breaking point, and literal children struggling to stay afloat in a world where they fear there will be no jobs and no resources.

Yes, there are bad schools, bad teachers, bad parents. There are also plenty of GOOD ones.

I’m a parent. My kids are neurodivergent. I have a degree in Early Childhood Education. I have worked with kids, with families, with other teachers, of all stripes. I have had to fight corrupt administrations and unethical teachers. I have also experienced excellent, bright, compassionate faculty and administrators, who have done nothing but help my kids — and many others — thrive.

So I do not want to hear whining from a Gen-Z YouTuber who has said they were homeschooled, who does not have children, who does not work in education, about a system whose trenches they have never slogged through.

Quite frankly, f*** right off with that hypocrisy.

By the way, I didn’t even watch the whole video. After 2 minutes, I went to the comment section to get the gist. No, I don’t believe that’s an issue. The (hundreds of) comments definitely backed up my initial impressions.

So, while I can’t believe I’m actually posting about some kid behaving badly on YouTube…in this instance, I think it was important.

Young adults — yes, if you’re under 30, you are a young adult — need to learn when and how to address certain topics, audiences, what sorts of terminology to engage, or avoid, and when to shut the hell up. I want people of all ages to do their research and form their own opinions on all sorts of things. But the importance of knowing where you stand on a matter, and why, is not the same as the entitlement behavior of “The whole world needs to know what I think about this RIGHT NOW, and screw them if they don’t agree with me!”

This has been a problem in society for a while now, and if we don’t learn to listen to one another, we aren’t going to get very far.

It isn’t just the younger generations. No, plenty of senior citizens and people my age do this, too. But it’s creating more division because a majority of influencers are between the ages of 20 and 40 — and many of their viewers are adolescents to almost-30 or 30-ish. So, a lot of young adults who don’t yet know much about life and the world are spouting their (possibly naive and under informed) opinions, as doctrine, to other young adults…who are still learning about life and the world and not yet wise enough to realize they don’t know it all.

So, Gen-Z YouTubers need to pay more attention to their elders.

Maybe before they get cancelled.

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So, before I ran screaming from BookTube, it taught me some interesting things, one being that apparently a lot of academics and publishing elite believe we are “watching the death of literature in real time.”

Their reasoning for this is two-fold: Partly, it is the rise of fiction trends that appeal to the wider public; also, it is due to many schools and universities taking a bunch of classics off their curriculum. The theory among the elite goes like this: If we don’t force kids to read moldy old, high-brow capital-L Literature, they will turn into uncultured swine who consider romance and cozy mystery paperbacks worth their time and money.

Errrrr… Why not? Why can’t people enjoy reading fluff? Why is it wrong for publishers to recognize Emily Henry and Travis Baldree are just as worthy of reprints as the Brontes and Steinbeck?

I have news for these folks: Society shall, in fact, not collapse if Stephen King and Colleen Hoover keep dominating the bestsellers lists for a little bit longer.

As an avid reader, as a writer myself, I do, of course, have my own tastes and preferences, and there are absolutely certain genres or styles that I just don’t vibe with. HOWEVER — and I will die on this hill — there is no such thing as a superior kind of book. Naturally, I have my favorites, and books I love won’t be for everyone; and vice versa. I’ve read plenty of novels that come highly recommended, that I thought weren’t good. When I determine an author is awesome, that’s my opinion, formed by several factors of what I find in the work, and if I like it. Same goes for the opposite scenario.

This is exactly why we say art is subjective. Because it is.

So, this leads me to possibly an intensely controversial statement: If literature is dying, good.

Traditionally, “Literature” has been quite inaccessible. For centuries, it was written by the upper class, for the upper class, and it was not about expanding literacy or sharing experiences and broadening horizons. The wide variety of choice we’re used to in libraries and bookstores is a pretty new thing. I don’t want to see us forgetting that, and taking it for granted.

I don’t want publishing to go back to being gatekept by PhDs and rich old white men. (No offense to anyone; just stating a norm of the industry’s history.) I like that folks who dropped out of high school, who belong to racial and ethnic minorities, who are immigrants learning to read in other languages, who have various disabilities, can obtain Amanda Gorman’s poetry, Louis L’Amour’s Westerns, the latest grimdark, historical fiction, or Greek-myth-retelling romantsy. That really does open up one’s world.

People who believe classics are the only books “worth” reading are snobs. Period. And their perspective doesn’t help anybody.

If you like classics, cool. If you want to encourage others to read your favorites, go nuts. The point of this post is not to hate on fans of works published pre-2000.

After all, I’d have to include myself on that hate; seeing as A Tale of Two Cities and The Scarlet Pimpernel are two of my favorite stories; I still stan To Kill a Mockingbird; Little Women is simply an excellent novel; and there are good reasons Dracula remains among my personal favorites.

No, I hardly despise classics. What I throw shade at is the ridiculous idea that everything else is garbage.

The 21st century endeavor of democratizing the literary world, of opening up the possibilities of who, and what, can be published is important. Shaking up academic studies is beneficial. Bringing Colson Whitehead and Ursula K. Le Guin into the classroom holds as much value as analyzing Shakespeare and Frankenstein.

What’s concerning to me is the literary elite making this frantic grasp at what remains of their power in this industry. (Yes, academia is also a business; many professors are not above wanting to be filthy rich and untouchable in their reputation as “an expert.”)

For every discussion we see on, say, a college class being praised for adding fresh material to its lessons, there’s a counter-argument that “you’re just trying to keep the younger generations stupid.”

For every glowing review of the works of Sophie Kinsella, Terry Pratchett, or Angie Thomas, there are just as many critiques of readers who enjoy romcoms, fantasy, and YA novels.

The gate was pried open, but it’s still there, firmly on its hinges. The people who used to stand in front of it and knock, got fed up and began pounding on it with a pipe; eventually some of the folks guarding the gate realized their mission was silly, so they unlocked it and let in a few visitors. At first, the guards felt terribly pleased with themselves, for “helping to bring new voices to fiction.” But the guards missed the bigger point: Once the voices were finally being heard, their job now was to STEP AWAY AND STOP MEDDLING.

The same publishers and academics patting themselves on the back for releasing lots of fiction by minority creators, championing and mentoring individuals that normally wouldn’t be let into certain spaces, have become part of the problem.

This has even infiltrated the indie community. Social media is now swarmed with “If you do a, b, or c when you write, you’re doing it wrong.” Small presses are so sure they can identify generative AI usage purely by em dashes that they outright reject far too many human-only-made submissions. 25-year-olds on Instagram are slamming authors who work for years to create and polish their story, without having any awareness of the challenges we have to overcome to actually finish and release a whole book.

At the end of the day, we are still being held to the privileged, unrealistic standards of “Literature.”

So, I’ll say it again: I hope it is dying. It needs to. I will not be sad at its memorial service.

Because, the fact is, classics won’t just poof out of existence. Academics will still be completely free to write whatever high-brow ramblings they wish. For every formulaic cozy mystery or smutty paranormal paperback, there will be a thoughtful memoir on rising above the obstacles presented by systemic repression.

ALL of these books have value.

THAT’S what more people need to understand.

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It’s been a hell of a week.

I’m going to do something I very rarely do around here, recount my personal real life adventures of the past 9 days. The reason I’m doing this is quite simple: So I don’t explode.

Because it is personal, there will be certain details I’ll change, skip over, or be deliberately vague about. But I will still be able to air my grievances (and hopefully feel better).

All right, on with it:

Although I’m not currently looking to buy real estate, I keep an eye on the local market, just in case that changes. Last Monday (the 4th), I was stunned to see a sign go up on the corner of my street. There had been a house in my neighborhood for sale, but I thought it had been bought. Did a deal fall through, or maybe a different realtor was sought? If that sign was new, which house did it mean?

(Because the sign was literally on the corner, no arrows or address, so based on its location, it could have indicated several different properties. Rather eerily, including my own.)

So, the next morning, I drove right up to the sign, collected some contact information, went to ye old internet, and figured out which house had been listed. (By the way, no, it was not mistakenly mine.)

However, it turned out it was a place that I’d decided a long time ago, if it ever went on the market, I would be interested in seeing if I had a chance at acquiring it.

The reason for this is simple: I used to live there. Only for a couple of years, and the decision to sell was out of my hands, and I was not in a position to buy at the time. No hard feelings at all. Just how things go sometimes.

The current owner (owner since that time) and I are neighbors, but we don’t personally interact. I don’t believe it’s because this person hates my guts or anything that drastic. It seems to be a combination of he appears to be pretty introverted, and so am I, and he works full-time, and my schedule is very different than a typical 9-5.

Before we go any further, let’s call him…er, hang on…ah, come on, moth, just pick a word…General Grevious.

(Yes, I know that’s from Star Wars. This all started on May the 4th. It works.)

Anyway, General Grevious and his significant other…uh, er…Cersei (yup, you can probably guess my feelings about this person)…anyway…General Grevious and Cersei had put the house on the market, and then…apparently legged it.

It was the oddest situation. No, I’m not home every single second of the day; but I never saw a moving van, delivery of storage units, or any of the usual activity surrounding such a big thing as leaving your place of residence. The closest we got was the (vague) realtor sign, a generic listing on a real estate website, and the owner suddenly not coming home that Monday night.

But…his car was still in the driveway.

And, as of late Tuesday (the 5th), no one (from the sign) had called or emailed me, so I had no concrete idea what was going on.

Then, poof, on Wednesday morning, the listing is beefed up, definitely sounding like a sales pitch. That afternoon, I picked Muffin up from school, came home, and at The Other House were a bunch of cars (parked in the street, making it difficult to get into my own driveway), and a bunch of people I didn’t recognize, and pretty soon it became clear it was indeed a property tour.

So Muffin and I got out the popcorn and found the best window to permit maximum surveillance.

Okay, I jest.

… We didn’t get popcorn.

The tour only lasted about half an hour, and when people exited the house, they didn’t seem excited, or contemplative. They seemed…confused. Their faces were very stoic, their body language stiff and self-protective (the realtor was gesturing and trying to engage them, and they were arms-crossed, stone-faced statues — not kidding).

Now insanely curious, I ran back to ye old internet, and clicked the button on the generic real estate listing, “Request a Tour.”

A third party realtor contacted me, set up a showing, and gave me some vital information: If I was interested in the property, I’d better hop to it, because they were only taking offers on the 12th.

The 12th? I double checked my calendar immediately. The 12th? As in…6 days from now?

Yes, I was told, that’s correct.

What kind of *insert your choice of swear word here* expects to sell a HOUSE in less than a week?!

Editor moth here: I will do my best to keep the tangents, the ranting, and the language in this post to a minimum. It shall not be easy.

Thursday morning was another showing. (I stayed behind a pair of curtains, I promise.) After about 20 minutes, the realtor and the possible buyers appeared in the yard, and the latter were clearly displeased. There was much expansive arm waving and raised voices. Again, the realtor tried to smooth things over; again, this was not well-received.

Thursday afternoon was showing #3. (By now I was shamelessly gawking; no regrets.) Like clockwork: short tour, storm out of house, arm waving, heated discourse with realtor.

Friday evening brought the shortest showing yet: 10 minutes, done and dusted, no thank you.

Holy bonkers, Batman.

What is going on inside that place??

Finally, the time arrived for my own tour. I walked on over, and was immediately struck by how strange the whole setup was. Not only was Grevious’ car still there (but he hadn’t been seen since Monday), but the backseat was full of boxes and bags. Trash cans and spring planters (sprouts poking out) sat on the front walkway.

We entered the house, and it hardly looked empty. It was absolutely like someone still lived there, and had just popped out for an afternoon. Furniture in all the rooms, decor arranged, a TV still mounted on the wall and plugged in. Tons of clothes in every closet I peeked into. A full row of Cersei’s skin care products on a bathroom counter. There was a used loofah in the shower stall.

I began to understand why previous tours had gone so poorly.

The crowning touch was the kitchen: When I opened the fridge to see how deep it was, I was greeted by a solid wall of food. That had been in there, left to its own devices, since Monday. Now it was Saturday.

I don’t mean a stray loaf of bread. I’m talking, bunches of leftovers, half a gallon of milk, thawed meat, fruit turning brown. It was disgusting.

I started opening cabinets; every single one I checked was crammed with dishes, utensils, cookware, dozens of bottles of spices, rolls of paper towels.

So I turned to the third party realtor and I asked, “Are they coming back for all this stuff, or what?”

And the response: “I have no idea. No one’s said anything about it.”

What. The. Everloving. Hell.

It occurred to me: This would be an excellent point to ask to see the basement.

The basement smelled musty. It was very cobwebby. (I did find something I’d wanted to look for, the remnants of chalk drawings on the cement walls, created by the children of the very first owners of the property. Flowers and hearts, and they all signed their names. Back in the 1970s. Most of it is very faded, but it’s still there. I’m so glad I remembered to check for that.)

But it was very bad that there was evidence of a leak in the basement. (And when I saw the inspection report a couple days later, I found proof of it.)

Because of the time crunch, the realtor scheduled an open house for Saturday afternoon.

It…did not go well. (Especially not for the guy who parked at our place, because there was no more space on the street, and the estranged yelled at him.)

Oh, and here’s the kicker to it all: The listing was priced at 30,000 higher than the property’s assessed value.

They did a shit presentation. The sign doesn’t make it clear it’s their address. There’s a car blocking part of the driveway. Their personal hygiene products were on full display. They didn’t even empty the fridge. Its contents are starting to rot. There’s a leak in the basement. And they want 30,000 higher than the property’s assessed value.

IN. LESS. THAN. A. WEEK.

*Screaming incoherently*

Please pardon the interruption. We will return to your regularly scheduled blog shortly.

I did put in an offer. I was very, very firm on my limit.

Then I spent all of Tuesday — the 12th — tied up in knots and forcing myself to breathe.

Then, that night, I received word my offer was most likely going to be accepted.

It felt amazing.

And then. Yesterday morning. New word came through: Grevious and Cersei would accept my offer…if I increased it, up to 40,000 above the asking price.

SCREW. THEM.

That was it. I was done, I was out. Happily, quite frankly.

Sure enough, since the 12th has come and gone, and they were no longer looking at offers, as of yesterday, I’ve seen Grevious and Cersei return to the house. There are no more showings. Everything seems back to usual over there. Lights were on inside last night. Both residents’ cars in the driveway.

As if nothing ever happened.

Of course realtors won’t tell me how many other offers there were, if other people pulled out (like I did), if others tried to fight the ridiculous price given the circumstances, and so many additional things I’m just curious about. And, yes, I understand, and do respect, client confidentiality. And technically, a lot of stuff is not my business. I get that, too.

But, since I do share a street with these folks, it would be really nice to know if there are going to be other open houses, possibly blocking my own property. If they’re going to follow through with a sale, or if they’re changing their mind and taking it off the market. If they might lower the price, and extend the deadline, and give people a fair shot.

Or if they just plan to keep being asshats.

Who I really, really wish would leave the neighborhood.

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I…think I’m going to run away to Nepal to herd goats.

Yes, I know I said recently I was going to stay away from BookTube. And I was. But then…I got sick.

It was the worst cold I’d had in years. Even as I type away now, I’m still struggling with the remnants of congestion and body aches. Reading was out of the question for a week straight. So…I did go down a bit of a rabbit hole.

Here’s what I learned:

The average age of an armchair expert on books is 28.

Apparently there’s a huge literary crisis, that no one wants to do anything about except complain.

Romantsy is king, and if you disagree, screw you.

If you do hate romantsy, then you must join in the fight against the patriarchy.

See? Nepal. Goats. This is the way.

A lot of these channels are sneaky, too. Remember I discovered a channel called Plant Based Bride, and a few videos in, I was feeling really confident about it? Eeew, no, run, run far, far away. I was just watching a monthly reading wrap-up, and out of nowhere she started saying how she doesn’t find value in a narrative where religion plays an important part, as she’s an atheist and considers spiritual concerns “silly as a writing device.” What? Number one, how incredibly tone deaf and insensitive as hell. Religion is a huge part of many cultures across the world, and since humans have always used it as a framing for morals and social behavior and, of course, questions about life and death, it’s more likely than not that you’ll find something along these lines in plenty of novels, memoirs, and poetry. She can’t just dismiss a massive part of many people’s stories purely because she doesn’t jive with it. Not only is that tremendously pretentious, it’s also pretty damn hypocritical; since later on, she was visibly fighting back tears when reviewing a book about the native tribes being forced to give up their ancestral lands and stop practicing their traditions. How can she have sympathy for a people’s entire belief system being at risk when she just stated all faith in any kind of divinity is “silly” and “adds no value to the narration”? Holy self-righteous bitch alert, Batman.

This is a pretty accurate, and pretty horrifying, example of the gatekeeping echo chamber that’s taken over lots of online communities, absolutely including book reviewers. I know I only hit the tip of the iceberg, too, which is just as frightening.

I have no idea how we fight this, either. I mean, yes, we can (and should) unsubscribe from content creators who only post ragebait to perpetuate the divisions. But…will it actually induce real, positive change? If we stop buying the hype-train romantsy books these channels feature, will these titles no longer be sold? If we refuse to use Amazon and Goodreads anymore, will the hold these megaliths have on the publishing industry truly be reduced?

The only BookTuber I’ve found who does seem capable of balanced rhetoric without virtue signaling and deliberately sewing discord is Elliot Brooks, whose new video is an excellent discussion on genre snobbery. I personally enjoyed it, I find a lot of value in it for a wide range of readers, and I want lots and lots of people to watch it —and for more of them to understand that this in-fighting is bad, and we need to stop it.

I know I’ve opined a ton about this topic lately, but I have a vested interest in being able to maintain my ability to self-publish. Gatekeeping is a BIG PROBLEM in the literary world. Self-publishing becoming a legitimate path to having your work exist on websites and even in stores, being shared among readers possibly across the globe, has been SUCH a game changer as far as giving the general public much more CHOICE in the kind of media they experience. As a writer, a reader, a parent, this is important to me, and I know I’m not alone.

And any discussion on BookTube cannot forever avoid the elephant in the room: The overwhelming majority of content creators on this platform do not review indie titles. If it’s small press or an individual author, a very, very large number of BookTubers will not go near it. We remain tiny fish in a presently enormous pond (due to the over-saturation of the market I’ve whinged about before), and the fact partnerships between content creators and companies like Audible and Net Galley are further throttling our reach is so, so discouraging.

Again, I’m not sure I have the answer to any of this. Maybe we do simply start unplugging and touching grass more and seeing if there is a ripple effect. I want to take advantage of the tools technology has provided me to reach an audience I worried might never develop. But I am also one person fighting an uphill battle, and sometimes I have to step aside and let the boulder roll down the slope.

This is one of those times.

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By now, I’m pretty sure we all know I hate rage-baiting, and try to avoid getting sucked into bookish online drama. But recently something happened that caught my attention, with good reason — and it’s a topic we all should mull over a bit.

In case you have a rock of peace and sanctuary you like to crawl under when nastiness erupts in social media, I’ll summarize the incident: There was a forthcoming book release, entitled “Shy Girl,” a trad pub reworking of an originally self-pubbed manuscript, by an author called Mia Ballard. The release has since been cancelled, the author’s contract gone, and possibly the careers — of more than a few people — are in question. The cause: Somebody at Hachette Group (the publishing house that had acquired Ballard’s work) determined significant portions of the manuscript was created through generative AI. Because Hachette is one of the few big trad pub companies left giving the impression they really don’t like AI, the release was axed, and so were business dealings with Ballard. On the surface, this could seem like a win for actual human authors.

But. The twist: Ballard claimed the changes made to her book were at the hands of an editor, and that individual was who ran the text through an AI program. The editorial staff of course deny this, and my guess is the court cases for this upheaval are only just beginning.

Here’s why we need to pay attention to the counter-claim: The fact is, many editing teams do use GenAI. In the days right after this matter became headline news, a lot of former and current publishing staff admitted they either were instructed to do so, or they chose to, because it makes their job easier and faster.

Now, before you leap all over the editors, keep in mind: Working for tradpub these days sucks. Pay is bad; hours are long; morale is low. A lot of contracted authors are, in fact, stuck-up jerks who believe their opinions are superior to others’ thoughts, and are a pain in the ass to the person just trying to correct their typos. Teams of ghostwriters are regularly employed for all manner of genres and series, to keep up with the demand for “new and trendy” reading BookTok has created, so there’s a huge amount of work being given to a very few in-house editors. Release schedules, and therefore deadlines, are intense. Editors are tired, and in the last few years, many have either gone to small presses, or left the industry completely (my guess is to herd goats in Nepal, and I can’t really blame them).

I could say a dozen things here that’s been repeated for the past several months, by reviewers and vloggers and just people who like to read; but what it comes down to is this: Money has become the god of publishing, and it’s at the loss of quality. We’re officially in an age where now no one is hiding what drives the actions, and our worst fears about what it means for the integrity of an entire field have been realized.

AI isn’t going to produce books soon; it has been, probably since the start of the pandemic. Supposedly, the internet was going to kill long-form reading; but then we were all told to stay home and avoid going out in public for three to six months; and online book clubs exploded. Books could be delivered to your house in a box; you could read them by yourself but then go on TikTok or Instagram or Goodreads to share your thoughts; it was a good model for the circumstances.

However, the flip side of that was: Many publishing employees were let go, due to several pandemic reasons. Many people passed away, and therefore wouldn’t be returning to the work force. Some found a calling in a new occupation. And a lot of new readers, once travel restrictions were lifted and they had much more choice in how they were spending their free time, actually stopped purchasing books.

Who was still around? The new influencers on social media, who liked that they could spend 20 minutes filming a vlog about the latest Sarah J. Maas novel and get a bunch of views and shares. (But, how many of those views and shares come from bots? That’s another can of very slimy worms.) Anyway, because influencing (across so many industries, let’s not pick on publishing here) has now become an established business in its own right, we are presently stuck with the GenAI machine churning out mega-tons of slop to keep the 1% of “readers” sated.

It’s been coming to this point. What changed with the “Shy Girl” case, though, is that now, many human readers are aware of the truth. Of just how entrenched AI is in publishing. Of how fake a lot of books are anymore. Of the fact a lot of “authors” are groups of ghostwriters assigned a singular pen name by a PR management firm.

And that this has all been happening right under our noses.

AI bots programmed to produce something that passes for a book have been allowed to upload “new releases” to Amazon for years now. Formula-driven genres — murder mysteries and rom-coms, for example — are stupidly easy to copy and paste and slap a slightly adjusted cover on (“Tangerine was the biggest background shade last year, so let’s do cerulean this season”). It’s no coincidence you feel like you’ve read the same story in 10 “different” books in the past 18 months — it’s because you have.

Even self-publishing isn’t free from this plague; there are numerous (and I mean numerous) “indie authors” who don’t in fact create their own worlds and characters; they edit old Wattpad and Tumblr fanfiction and change names and job titles of characters invented by somebody else, and then claim to have “been inspired” by these established series, and cash in for their 15 minutes of fame and, well, cash. So many of the titles people base their fanfiction on aren’t even in the public domain; so this is flat-out plagiarism.

But this shit is also insanely popular right now, so it can be found in digital stores and often getting picked up and re-released by a trad imprint, and retired authors who have already made their millions apparently don’t care, so there are never consequences, and the whole damn, twisted cycle keeps going.

Are there publishers and editors that refuse to use AI? Absolutely. Will they be the last standing bastion against the erosion of standards and preservation of art in the industry?

We don’t know yet. It’s true, and a little scary.

I have a big feeling the rest of this story is totally yet to come. I truly believe “Shy Girl” was just the tip of the iceberg.

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In case you haven’t noticed, everything’s a bit of a mess these days. Including stuff we used to turn to for comfort, like books. It seems no matter where you turn, there’s yelling about books being pirated, AI ruining publishing, authors turning on each other, readers turning on authors, readers and authors being at one another’s throats, all new books being bad, people stealing content, libraries in decline, readership in decline, and (of course!) the evil of prologues. Those of us just wanting to find a fun new title feel bombarded on all sides (by mobs with torches and pitchforks, no less). You can’t simply scroll social media anymore, because you’ll be overwhelmed within minutes by “hot takes,” “unpopular opinions,” and sponsored not-reviews-rather-paid-endorsements for the same 5 flavors of the month. It isn’t just frustrating — it’s soul-consuming levels of toxic negativity.

And I have decided I am DONE with it.

And I am not going to opine all the complaints I have about all the other complaints that apparently the rest of the entire world has regarding books. At this moment, that would be utterly defeating my purpose.

I need something POSITIVE.

I need to remember what I love about reading, about writing. What sparks that fizz of delight in my chest as I open a book I know I’m going to love. I want to get out my notes for my next project without constantly second-guessing and doubting myself and my skills and craft. I need those plot bunnies stirring to life in my heart, nudging their furry paws into the edges of my soul, whispering, “What if these two ended up together?” and “What if she doesn’t take that job?”

And I am going to FIND it.

Step One: Adjust my YouTube algorithm.

As anybody who uses YouTube is aware, you watch one video in a certain category, your recommendations list gets slammed with similar channels and creators. Most of my feed is gaming videos or movie reviews, which is my preference. But I made the mistake recently, of searching up a book not-review (unknown to me at the time) podcast, and quickly discovered that too many of the current reading vlogs are 90% the toxic crap I mentioned above.

I was about to start throwing things when, miraculously, a channel called Plant Based Bride crossed my feed. This is the most well-balanced book reviewer I have ever seen. She doesn’t talk like a squirrel on crack, or drone on in a total monotone. She blanks out stronger swear words, and covers adult content in a professional manner. She personally chooses all her reading selections, and has concrete, logical reasons for why she does or doesn’t like something. I have no idea how this woman feels about prologues! I only heard her mention a sponsor once, and it was a company that has nothing to do with publishing, so I believe her 5-star choices are genuine.

This is the only literary-related media I need to be consuming right now.

Step Two: Stop using the library for a while.

Before you come at me: There are astoundingly good reasons for this decision.

My local library is under new management. The catalog is not what it once was. The buying parameters are rather different from when I worked there. The titles/genres I am interested in are, presently, mostly only available at other system libraries. And, yes, I can search the online catalog and place requests; but I’ve been doing that for a while now, and honestly, I’m worn out. The book sounds great, I put a hold on it, it arrives, I go down to the building, cart the arrivals back to my house, start reading, get distracted, don’t finish titles before the due dates, rush to return them all to the drop box at dusk on a Sunday… Rinse, repeat… You get the idea.

This method is not working for me right now. I’m not enjoying what I read, or even absorbing enough of it to really feel engaged. It is much healthier to spend 20 minutes browsing in the new local bookstore, examining the cover up close, flipping through a few pages, innately feeling “nah” or “ooh, yay!”. It resembles treasure hunting, much more than crossing a task off the to-do list.

Hence, I have started making a small collection of system discards and Little Free Library offerings, and even a few new releases, and I will get to them when I get to them.

Step Three: Stay in my comfort zone.

There are absolute benefits to trying new things. I do highly recommend it. But there are also definitely moments to just relish where you’ve landed. I feel like this is one of those times for me. I know what I like. “Branching out” doesn’t have to happen right now. It’s all right if I don’t attempt at least one title from every single subgenre of every single category I enjoy. I can skip authors I’m unsure about. I’m old now, I don’t have to be jumping on all the hype wagons.

This is another reason I’m taking a hiatus from library use. It’s too easy to swipe that card and get a crap-ton of books and bask in the glow of it being free. I just check out all kinds of shiny covers — and inevitably get let down by many of them. Taking a bit to do my research on the tropes and themes and even possible spoilers will actually bring me closer to personal fulfillment. Imagining a boundary or physical obstacle between my comfort zone and that physical shelf display — and inwardly weighing the factors before walking out of a space with objects in hand — will make me feel more satisfied.

Quality over quantity.

Step Four: Accept the things I cannot change.

This is, realistically, going to be the hardest. Since I started blogging and attempting to launch my author career a mere 8 years ago, SOOO much has changed in the sphere of reviews and reading and writing. It hurts, no lie, how disrespectful many people are now in social media and among the communities that should be lifting up, for example, indie authors. I owe 95% of my sales, my marketing, my very existence as a self-publisher to the friends I made through these forums and platforms. Watching all the various groups tear each other down and gatekeep and shut out writers who have done nothing wrong except disagree with them (the dreaded prologue!) is just heartbreaking.

It means I’ve lost touch with a lot of people who I knew were in my corner, but, for their own health, had to step away from being online. I understand their decision, and I support it, since they were kind to me and I only wish them well. But it’s also tricky for me as an individual, who now feels more alone in an increasingly hostile space. I’m having to learn which newcomers to the scene to trust, who to keep my distance from, and how to determine the difference. And do all of this without seeming too standoffish or someone not worth interacting with. None of it is easy! Navigating whether accounts are bots, what’s engagement bait and what’s important to respond to, being able to stand up for your principles (sometimes against a lot of outright hate), can take an emotional toll.

I do miss certain acquaintances, and some of the losses still sting. But, I’ve been here for 8 years, and a lot of these whippersnappers (uh-oh, “old” alert!) sprang on the TikTok and Instagram trend trains about 3 hype cycles ago. So, here’s to outlasting them, and being around (as the seasoned mentor) when the Reading As A Business bubble bursts and normalcy returns.

(It’ll happen. I’m calling it now.)

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For the last several years, I’ve really been struggling with the resurgence in epic fantasy. It was never my favorite subgenre, but some authors/titles I’ve honestly enjoyed, and I won’t automatically pass on an epic fantasy. But now I can’t take it anymore. I’m done with these works for the foreseeable future. And here’s why:

In March of 2026 A.D., if I can open an epic fantasy novel printed less than 12 months ago, and, on page 2, be reading about a setting where the female main character has to walk behind her male relatives, not make eye contact with male authorities, not speak to anyone else unless they speak to her first…then I don’t want to read it, full stop.

WHY, in the year 2026, do WOMEN authors choose to write about stifling patriarchies that inflict injustice and suffering on the common people? WHY, in a world that supposedly has been put together via imagination, would the preference be to establish sexism, racism, classism, and ableism as thriving practices??? WHY wouldn’t you just, oh, I don’t know, NOT HAVE ANY OF THAT BULLSHIT IN THE WORLD YOU MADE UP?!

I am SO TIRED of seeing our present day problems regurgitated in settings that, according to the guidelines of the genre, don’t have to resemble the world we live in now. I read for escape, for enjoyment, and for hope; I literally don’t give a damn what political ax an author has to grind. If it’s important to you to have a certain message in your story, there are valid creative writing ways to do that without stomping around on a soapbox.

I tried to make this point on social media, and immediately got shot down by someone claiming I “didn’t understand the need for these obstacles so that it can show character growth.” Er, excuse me?? Reading comprehension, much? Why in the hell would we “need” a female character to be oppressed for her to experience growth? That right there is one of the most sexist remarks I could’ve imagined getting on the topic — and EXACTLY what I’m talking about (oh, and it came from someone who does not identify as male, by the way).

I went on to explain that I find it extremely frustrating for the story to be set in a world where this is the system, that I don’t think it’s necessary to keep beating the dead horse of Epic-Fantasy-Must-Be-Like-1500s-Europe. Why can’t we have new publications in the genre ruled by matriarchies, with nobody caring if you get married or who to, and make the religious and governing institutes kind and helpful? The sad truth is that these things aren’t quite reality in the present, so why not have that be the case in a fiction that may also embrace the existence of magic and mythical creatures? There are still lots of ways to create conflict for the characters to tackle and overcome.

And for the perfect example, we need look no further than the archetype itself, The Lord of the Rings.

Yes, this saga is set against the backdrop of a Very Big War waged by a Very Evil Dude — but already Tolkien is swiping his brush broadly. We have no idea who Sauron voted for in the last election; we know he’s bad because he’s randomly killing people who never did anything to him and destroying lands that don’t belong to him and deciding he’s going to be in charge of places that were doing just fine on their own. Tolkien said he hated allegory, that he never had specific individuals in mind when he created characters; it’s pretty clear Sauron is your generic Bad Guy Doing Bad Things. This is precisely how the reader can A) agree the villain is the villain, and B) put that to one side so they can focus on the Fellowship and get closer to them, as they are the heart of the story.

And, yes, the Fellowship are soldiers in this Very Big War, but they are also Just People Wanting Normal Things. Legolas and Gimli are there to provide support for their own kind and for what they fear is a vanishing way of life. The hobbits are truly there to hold up their bro. Frodo does not want to be the chosen one. Gandalf, the sage mentor, is scared. Boromir and Faramir have daddy issues up the ying-yang. Aragorn is nowhere near as worried about maybe becoming King of Middle-Earth as he is of probably losing the love of his life.

And, since it’s what started this whole rant, yeah, let’s talk about the women in LOTR. Across the Shire, into Rohan and then Gondor, yeah, we get the idea most of the women are living domestic lives. But this is just accepted as how Middle-Earth goes; there’s never any indication that females are treated as inferior because of their roles. Even then, there are absolute exceptions — and how those exceptions are portrayed makes all the difference. Galadriel is totally high-ranking among the elves; she’s been to battle, she’s kicked ass; yes, she has a husband, but she’s definitely in charge at Lothlorien. Arwen is more than fine letting Aragorn go be a Ranger and go into war and do King things, not because her place is behind him, but because she knows he is The Hero and that he’s got this.

And we cannot forget the biggest sister of them all, the Shield Maiden of Rohan, Eowyn.

Eowyn is the niece of King Theoden, and he wants her to be Queen of Rohan if he doesn’t survive the war. She wants to ride with the Rohirrim to Godor for the Final Battle; Theoden instructs her to stay behind, not one bit for misogynistic reasons. He knows she’ll be a great queen, and he’s desperately hoping his army can secure this future for his people; he tells her to stay away from the battlefield to stay safe, so that she’ll still exist to take over his reign. The irony is that, when Eowyn disguises herself as a soldier and sneaks into the battle, she ends up slaying the Witch King, the formidable leader of the Nazgul — and her greatest weapon is the fact she’s a woman.

We all know the movie scene I’m talking about:

The Witch King:”You fool, no man can kill me!”

Eowyn (pulls off helmet): “I am no man!”

(She skewers the bastard on her sword and he literally implodes.)

HELL, YEAH.

Tolkien never stands on a single soapbox to reach this moment. Eowyn is just A Person, struggling with the fact her country is under attack. Her goal is not to become a heroine; rather her biggest hope is simply for survival, and for the return of peace. We celebrate Eowyn’s triumph because we’re connected to her as a character — not what she might stand for politically.

This brings us back to my original point: Writers can make pretty big statements without turning their fiction into a list of the topics to avoid at Thanksgiving.

And, again, why would you WANT to drown in all of that devastating hell, anyway?? Isn’t creating a story supposed to be fun?? Wouldn’t you rather revel in the idea that you can come up with a world that’s cool and characters that give your readers joy and hope??

We don’t NEED more trauma porn of Every Single Terrible Thing Happening To The Main Character, the subtext yelling, “All men are bad! All religion is bad! All governments are evil!”, wrapped in a pretty cover (that was probably designed by generative AI — not sorry!).

We CAN and DO dream of a better future for humanity. Why don’t we start by putting it on the page? Where are the kind and noble queens (who don’t shit on the female citizens that feel most confident decorating their cottages and teaching their children to sew)?Where are the male dwarves who just want to chill in their woodshop (after showing their daughters how to forge a sword)? Where are my gender-swapped clergy — priests and monks going to care for the sick, and warrior nuns taking out the orc horde?

Why can’t the conflict be not the world’s system itself, but a good old-fashioned dragon invasion, or a zombie outbreak, or a massive earthquake releasing a ton of sandworms? Again, isn’t it fantasy??

Isn’t anything possible?