Thursday, June 9, 2011

*raises his hand


It's been a bad week.

But now that everyone has taken their turn, maybe the guy who was first in the crosshairs can say a few things.

Um... you might not be happy.

Just sayin'.

First off, I want to say what's always been mesmerizing and ironic to me about blogging is how the whole idea of a blog is to make everything, in as many contexts as possible, about the GREAT BIG GIANT ME.

Which is why I use that term on my blog.

I don't make fun of anyone in particular -- I make fun of myself. And whenever I cuss, it's always -- only -- at me (um... except for today). It's the whole concept of Jack, our storyteller from The Marbury Lens: He sees the universe as aiming all its arrows directly at him... and, every so often when he comes face-to-face with this never-ending catch, he repeats those three words that drip with self-hatred.

Fuck you, Jack.

So... Fuck you, Drew.

Can we talk?

I need to get a couple things off my chest, but I've been waiting for all the noisy people to give me a turn.

Sorry if that hurts your feelings. I've been a little angry and depressed, and, as of writing this (Thursday afternoon), I haven't gotten any sleep in, like, five days.

Well, nights, really.

I know... I'm a total wuss.

1. To the Wall Street Journal: I have no beef with you. To be totally honest, I understand what Meghan Cox Gurdon was trying to say. I understand, but I don't agree with her.

My take (oops... GREAT BIG GIANT ME rears its GREAT BIG GIANT ugly head) on her article was that it stands as a much more scathing indictment against the disconnect between her generation (I'm taking it as the generation of that addled woman who could not find a book in a bookstore) and today's teens, than even a moderately effective case implying wrongdoing committed by writers or the writing community.

Believe me... my ego is like a sieve.

Almost everything anyone could ever say about me hurts my feelings. And, yeah... Meghan Cox Gurdon hurt my feelings. Oh... and she's kind of wrong, too -- which is something else I'd really like to talk about -- The Marbury Lens has a happy ending.

Please, let's talk.

I'm serious.

I would LOVE to have a civilized and academic discussion with Meghan Cox Gurdon. I really wish her boss would arrange that. I understand he's long on cash.

I'd really like to have a debate with her.

And apologize, too.

Too many people who felt so outraged by her comments published some really offensive statements about her and the Wall Street Journal.

She didn't deserve the name-calling and abuse.

In fact, there was so much of it going on that I didn't even really have a chance to say anything about the real issues involved here, because lots of stuff got sidetracked by all these GREAT BIG GIANT MEs out there who were so outraged and pompous and full of themselves -- especially the ones who raised questions like, Gee, why didn't she pick on GREAT BIG GIANT ME, after all, doesn't she know how "Edgy" and "Controversial" I am... oh... and by the way, I can prove it because I wrote (fill in the title of the book you feel was wrongly overlooked here).

Yeah... full of themselves.

I told you you weren't going to like what target #1 had to say.

But hang in there.

It gets worse.

2. What is this idea that we're superheroes?

I can't save anyone.

Don't put that shit on me.

I can't even save myself. I've been trying to -- it's why I write -- but I can't get this shit out of me and feel healed.

If somewhere along the line, something I write makes a connection, fills in something for somebody, that's a beautiful thing. But who honestly thinks ahead of starting a draft on something that they're setting out to "Save" someone?

I'm a colossal failure at that.

I don't even care about YA at all.

I just write books.

And I haven't saved myself yet.

Yeah... So fuck you, Drew.


Now I'm going to get ugly, but there's no way around this one...

3. To the Los Angeles Review of Books

I was asked right away by LARB to write an essay in response on account of me being -- I think their words included "bloodied" by the Wall Street Journal. I thought about it for a while. They asked again. Then I said yes.

But, like so many GREAT BIG GIANT MEs out there, they had to write their opinion piece and get involved in the great Wall Street Journal pissing match too. After all, it was trending.



Everyone is so outraged by this lady's arguably weak editorial.

But I was alerted to the LARB piece by friends bearing emails:

Dude... Drew... did you see the LARB response to the WSJ? Dude... with friends like that, who needs enemies?

So, I looked at the article.

Here's a quote:

"I’ll freely admit that Andrew Smith’s The Marbury Lens (which Gurdon talks about in her article) scared me and I could only skim it. I told Andrew, who is an acquaintance, to his face that I couldn’t get through his book. I also told my friend Kevin Greutert, who directed Saw VI, that I could never see his movie."



(So L.A. to drop a director's name in... never mind...) 

[Drew really wishes he knew a director so he could use his name here. Fuck, Drew... you are such a fucking loser. And a crybaby, too.]

This is a book review pub?


Where to start?

How about here: LARB, go fuck yourselves.

If I ever wanted to hear bullshit about me or my book from someone who claims to be a reviewer and admittedly had never read it... who then goes on to compare it to a "Saw" movie, which the "reviewer" also has never seen, I'd slam heroin and reactivate my Goodreads account.

Are you kidding me?

At least Meghan Cox Gurdon read my book before writing something about it.

The LARB piece went on to "highly recommend" The Marbury Lens.


Because it was cool to throw your name into the pissing match with the Wall Street Journal?

Shame on you.

Keep in mind that the GREAT BIG GIANT ME -- the guy who was first in the shooting gallery -- outside of a couple obtuse cartoons, hasn't said ANYTHING about Meghan Cox Gurdon or the Wall Street Journal until now.

There was too much noise.

I needed to think about things (and admittedly pout -- sorry, I'm an enormous PUSS) for a long time.

I'm still very depressed, but at least it's quiet enough that I can raise my hand and ask to say a couple things.

And that's really the problem, isn't it?

The noise.

It's unfortunate that in this day of instant like/dislike, Twitter, whatever the blast of the moment is, people don't wait and cool off... take a few minutes -- or better yet, days -- and think about things before racing to post something that makes them look... well.. like Anthony Weiner's dick.


That is all.

Can we get on to something else now?