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Hell might be a bad place, but why is “hell” a bad word? (image via Wikimedia)
When it comes to profanity, the word “hell” isn’t that bad. It’s not as profane as “s***” or “f***” or “c***.” In fact, it might be the least offensive of the bad words, but when I was a kid, I still got my mouth washed out with soap if I said it in front of my parents.
A lot of words led to my mouth getting washed out with soap. I got my mouth washed out with soap for saying “Hoover Dam.” I probably shouldn’t have whispered “Hoover” and then shouted “DAM!!!!” I got my mouth washed out with soap for saying “shitzhu.” I probably shouldn’t have shouted “Sh*t” and whispered the “zhu.” Now that I think about it, I probably deserved getting my mouth washed out with soap.
“Hell” is similar to a lot of vulgar words in that it has four letters. Four seems to be the magic number when it comes to vulgarity. Yeah, a lot of profanity has way more than four letters, but most root words in profanity have four letters. In “mother****er,” the root word is four letters long. In “pieceof****,” the root word is four letters. The root word in “****sucker” is four letters. Those are all pretty bad words. The exceptions seem to be “ass” and “b*****,” and neither are THAT bad (though I’d be careful who I’d say “b*****” around because it can cause more of a reaction than the other words, depending on whom you say it to).
But Hell is unique for a four-letter bad word. It’s the only word that references a place. Yeah, a few vulgar words refer to places on the body, but a body part is different than a place. “Hell” is a place (if you believe in it), and it’s considered to be bad (if you believe in it). But should it be profane? The Gulag is a bad place, but if I ever shouted “Holy Gulag!” I wouldn’t have gotten my mouth washed out with soap.
It comes down to context. When I asked my mom if “Hell” was a real place, she said I’d find out if I kept saying the word “hell.” Then she washed my mouth out with soap. When I told my older brother to “Go to Hell!!” after he gave me a wedgie, I got the soap washing with no explanation. I guess saying “hell” is worse than giving somebody a wedgie. When I used the word “hellacious” as an adjective, nobody batted an eye.
That’s how I knew “hell” shouldn’t be a bad word. If I had said “crapola” or “f***tastic,” my breath would have smelled like Irish Spring for a month. But “hellacious,” I could get away with.
Out of all vulgar words, I think hell is the most fun to say. Something about the extension of the “L” sound gives it a humorous effect. I always laughed when my dad angrily said “Hell’s bells!” in front of us (but I made sure he didn’t see me laugh). The idea of Hell having bells was ludicrous, and the contrast with my dad’s anger made it tough not to laugh. In school, we students would yell at each other in the hallway “Go to health!” when we were on our way to health class. The teachers couldn’t punish us because we were simply telling our friends to go where they were supposed to go.
I don’t think “hell” should be considered a bad word. It’s a place, and it’s too easy to say for it to be forbidden. But I don’t want my kids to get in trouble at school, so I’ll teach them not to say “hell” in public or in front of adults. You can have a lot of fun with the word “hell,” but you probably don’t want to end up there.
The quiz below is proof that my wife and daughters have brought way too many women’s and girl’s magazines into our house.
Reading habits can explain a lot about your personality. Take the quiz below, keep track of the points as you go, and see what kind of reader (and human being) you really are!
A. A friend declares that a book he/she has just read is “THE BEST BOOK EVER!!!!!” What do you do?
- Trust your friend’s judgment and try reading the book.
- Tell your friend that you’ll read the book but then never get around to it.
- Calmly tell your friend that you know he/she has not read every book ever written so he/she is in no position to judge whether or not a book is the best ever.
- Tell your friend about another book that you think is “THE BEST BOOK EVER!!!!” just so he or she knows how it feels.
*****
B. When you see a copy of Moby Dick, your first reaction is
- To feel a smug satisfaction, knowing that you’ve already read it and understand all the symbolism and themes of the novel.
- To feel that your life is a little empty since you haven’t read it, but you’ll get to it.
- Turn away in disgust, knowing that you’ll never read it and you’re proud that you’ll never read it.
- Moby Dick. Ha ha ha ha! Dick. Ha ha ha!
*****
C. You find out that a book that you truly love is about to be made into a movie. What is your reaction?
- Obsessively watch for news about the casting and release dates of the movie.
- Make a mental note to be on the look-out for it, but you don’t put much thought into it.
- Watch the movie and intentionally catalogue every flaw in it.
- You know it’ll suck because every movie based on a book sucks.
*****
D. A famous author is having a book signing while you’re there. What do you do?
- Grab a copy of the new book, stand in line, and gush when the author signs it.
- Find a beat up copy of an old book and hope that the author doesn’t call you a cheap skate.
- Stand in line without a book so you can at least brag that you’ve met the author.
- Who cares? All authors do is write books. Anybody can write books.
*****
E. An acquaintance recommends a book from a genre you don’t care for (maybe sci-fi/fantasy, a trashy romance, or literary fiction). You automatically think…
- I’ll have to give that book a try.
- Maybe it’s a good book, but it’s probably not for me.
- Oh, it’s one of “those” books.
- There’s a good reason why this person is only an acquaintance.
*****
F. How long does it take you to decide whether or not you’ll finish reading a book?
- You’ll finish reading a book no matter what.
- You’ll read at least half of it and give it an honest chance.
- If it doesn’t grab you within the first few pages, you’re done with it.
- If it doesn’t have a cool cover, forget it.
*****
G. When a teacher at school assigns (or assigned) a novel, what is your initial response?
- If this book is in the school curriculum, it must be very interesting.
- I’m already reading a good book, but I guess I’ll juggle both.
- If this book is in the school curriculum, it must really suck.
- Flippin’ school! You’re not gonna tell me what to read!
*****
H. A book that you really want to read comes out in hardback and is very expensive. What will you do?
- You shell out the $30.00+ because you’ll read this no matter what.
- Check the book’s availability at the library and then maybe buy it for $12.99 on your Kindle.
- Wait for the paperback and hope that it’s not one of those $15.00 paperbacks. $15.00 for a paperback? That’s ridiculous!
- No book is worth putting that much effort into. You’ll read whatever you want whenever you feel like it.
*****
I. You’re reading an intensely sad scene from a book while in a public place and are about to cry. How do you respond?
- You openly weep because you’re completely wrapped up in the book and don’t care what anybody thinks.
- You read the book in short increments so that you don’t cry in public.
- You stop reading the sad book and do something else.
- You never read in public because you’re afraid you’ll get conked on the head.
*****
J. You’re reading a really good book in a public place when you notice a person who needs assistance in an emergency situation. What do you do?
- Put the book down immediately and help out.
- See if somebody else is around to help before you stop reading.
- Finish the page/chapter/book that you’re on before you help.
- Stop reading immediately and record the emergency situation with your phone.
*****
SCORE
10-15 Points- You are an open-minded reader and are sensitive about others’ feelings.
16-25 Points- You are independent-minded but willing to try new experiences occasionally.
26-35 Points- You are fiercely loyal to the books you love but are sometimes called inflexible and stubborn by people who just don’t understand you.
36-40 Points- You don’t read (or play) well with others.
*****
BONUS QUESTION- This one doesn’t count!
After finishing a reading style quiz, what do you immediately do?
- Leave a comment that announces your score and gives feedback.
- Add up your score but keep it to yourself.
- Ignore the score and move on to another article.
- Click the “Like” button without having even read the quiz.
*****
Here’s the true story of my one moment of high school glory!
Only 99 cents on the Amazon Kindle!
It’s never easy for a guy to break bad financial news to a girlfriend, especially when the girlfriend expects the guy to pay all her bills. A few weeks ago I had lent most of my savings account to my brother to pay some debts and maybe save his marriage. Even though it was called a loan, I knew I’d never see that money again. I wasn’t sure how Daniella would take the news. She knew something was going on because she caught me using a credit card to buy a few novels at the bookstore in the mall.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Daniella asked as we strolled through the food court. All she held was her giant bag/purse. I carried the books we’d bought and her lingerie (even though she hadn’t let me go into the lingerie shop with her). She was wearing her badass leather jacket, and I had my trench coat, which made me look not quite so skinny and intellectual as usual.
“Okay,” I said as we kept walking. I looked straight ahead and tried to avoid eye contact.
“I lent my brother a lot of money.” I explained my brother’s situation with the antique store and how I was the only person left who could help him out. I told her how much money I lent him and that it was all I had. Daniella’s face tightened up. Her eyes got a little red. She blew her lips out and rubbed her forehead, but she didn’t yell.
“You lent him that much? When will he pay you back?”
I hesitated. “I probably won’t ever get it back.”
Daniella rolled her eyes. “You just gave him the money, and his wife is probably going to split anyway, you know.”
“Maybe, but I wanted to give him a chance.”
“But that was my… our… that was a lot of money.”
“It would have only lasted a few months,” I said.
“I wanted that few months.” Then she paused. “Were you really going to use credit cards for me?”
“For a while, yeah.”
“That’s sweet, but… you can’t do that,” she said. She looked up. “This really fu… this messes everything up.”
“So what if I use credit cards?” I said. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t want to be with somebody who needs to figure it out,” she said.
Ouch. That was blunt, I thought.
“I know how credit cards can screw with you,” Daniella said.
“What do you care as long as I pay your bills?” My question came out worse than it had sounded in my head when I was forming the words.
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “I’m not a… Do you think I’m…?”
“No, no, no!” I really didn’t want her to finish that sentence. “We’ve just never had this conversation. We’ve kind of maneuvered around it, moved around…”
“I know what ‘maneuvered’ means!”
Egad, she was pissed, I thought, and I didn’t blame her.
“I just don’t know… why you’re with me,” I said. “Is it only because I pay for everything for you?”
Daniella stopped walking. “Why are YOU with me?” she asked, hands on her hips and her chest out.
She had me trapped. When we had first started living in sin, it had been about the sin, but now it was… my mind was cloudy. I wasn’t a quick thinker, and we were in public, and shoppers were looking at us funny, a gawky guy getting chewed out by a badass hot chick who was way out of his league, but it was selfish of me to worry about that. I had just hurt Daniella’s feelings, had handled this in the worst way possible. I knew I should have written a script for this conversation.
“Because you’re… incredible,” I said. It wasn’t far from the truth.
She rolled her eyes and said, “You are full of…” and then she stopped and looked past me. The pervert photographer we had seen earlier was approaching Daniella and stood a few feet beside me.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he said, with a warm expressive voice that I could never mimic. With his gelled up hair and green polo shirt, he kind of looked like me, but way more slick and polished. This guy could schmooze, I was sure, but he might have been oblivious. He seemed unaware that we were in the middle of a semi-argument, or it could have been that he didn’t care. Either way, maybe, just maybe, I was being bailed out.
“Have you ever modeled before?” the photographer asked.
I stepped back. Daniella was pissed, she was dressed as a badass, and she hated photographers, especially perverts who tried to take advantage of young, naïve girls. I still almost felt sorry for him. Even though I thought she would explode at him, she widened her eyes, glanced at me, and then gave a wide-open smile to the photographer.
“Do you really think I could?” Daniella asked in a fake squeaky voice. She clasped her hands in front of her and shook her hips a little as she talked.
“You have a perfect face,” he said.
“I’m not too short?” Daniella said, voice still artificially high.
“You?” the photographer said. “The camera doesn’t care how tall you are.”
“Really?” Daniella said, even more bubbly. “My butt’s not too big?” The jacket hung over her rear, but her tight jeans gave everybody an idea about her proportions.
“Not an issue,” the photographer said.
“How come you don’t have a camera?” Daniella asked.
“I have a studio a couple blocks away,” the photographer said. “I’m a professional.”
“Are you going to ask me to take my clothes off?” she asked sweetly. She drawled out the question so hard, even the photographer seemed to wonder if she was putting him on. Her voice didn’t match her appearance.
“No!” he said. “My portfolio has…”
“What if I want to take my clothes off?” she said, and moved closer to him.
“We… sometimes… will if the model…” The photographer stepped away and looked at me.
“How come you don’t have a camera with you?” Daniella asked again.
“I don’t take pictures here,” he said. “I just… sometimes, I’ll see somebody…”
“Do you have a card?” Daniella said.
“Uh, sure,” the photographer said, reaching into a pocket. He handed a card to her, and Daniella inspected it. Then in a quick motion, she crumpled the card and flicked it into the guy’s face, bouncing it off his nose.
He flinched and rubbed his face with the side of his hand. “What… why?”
“If you talk to me again,” Daniella said in her fake bubbly voice, “my boyfriend will kick your ass.”
The photographer looked at me and tensed up.
“Not me,” I said. “I’m just here to pay her bills.”
Daniella turned toward me, her mouth hanging open. “Fuck you!”
I laughed, and then realized she hadn’t used her fake bubbly voice and that she had said it to me.
“Wait,” I said panicking. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I can’t believe you just said that,” Daniella said, her voice shaky but no longer squeaky high.
“I… I… I can’t believe you just said ‘Fuck you’ to me.”
“FUCK YOU!”
Dozens of people were watching us now.
“So, how did you like that?” Daniella said. “You want me to say it again? I will!”
The pervert photographer shook his head and stepped away. My stupidity had just bailed him out. He was backing away, and now he was enjoying the show.
“This isn’t the…” I was stammering badly.
“It’s never the time, is it?” she said. And she turned and stormed away from me.
“Where are you going?” I said in a near-shout.
Daniella kept walking and stuck a middle finger in the air without even looking at me. She just hung that middle finger for the whole mall to see and kept it there. It seemed like everybody at the mall was staring at one of us. If there had been an official world record for keeping an extended middle finger up in the air, she might have broken it. I cursed for putting myself in this situation. Daniella never would have acted like this if she’d been dressed like a librarian. She was pissed about the money. She was pissed about what I’d said. I was certain she was pissed about other stuff I couldn’t think of. The only good news… was that I had the car keys.
*****
To be continued in… The Literary Girlfriend: The Bombshell .
If you want to read “The Literary Girlfriend” from the beginning (it’s getting kind of long), start here.
My girlfriend Daniella had three looks: the badass, the librarian, and the hot chick. When I had first met Daniella in the laundry room, she was “the braless hot chick in the clingy t-shirt.” When she wore tight jeans, her black leather jacket, and put on too much eyeliner and make up, she was a badass. And when she wore her thick glasses, pulled her hair back, and wore drab blouses and jeans, she looked like a really cute librarian.
Sometimes in our apartment she would pull her hair back and wear her glasses with a tight t-shirt and shorts for a hot-librarian fusion look, or she might wear her leather jacket with glasses and little make up as a badass librarian, but she rarely mixed badass with hot chick except for a couple times when she was coming home from work. And she rarely mixed looks in public.
On a cold January day, Daniella went to the mall with me wearing her badass leather jacket with a sweater and her hair down. She had intended to go to the mall as a badass librarian, but she couldn’t find her glasses, so she had just said forget it (she said something like “forget,” but it was four letters and one syllable). We weren’t too much of a mismatch because I had a cool trench coat (it was obvious I was wearing clothes underneath it), and I had on nice shoes, and I always looked bigger in winter because of the extra layers. We were still a physical mismatch, but it wasn’t as obvious as usual.
Between regular expenses and Daniella’s New Year’s Eve bar-hopping, I was down to my credit card. I hadn’t told Daniella about how I’d lent (or given) most of my savings account to my brother to help save his antique store (and maybe his marriage). I didn’t know how to tell her. Things were going so well. Even the bar-hopping had been uneventful (but expensive.).
That afternoon at the mall, I spent about a half hour in the book store (this was back in the 1990s when malls still had book stores) while Daniella was in the lingerie shop a few stores down. For some reason, Daniella wouldn’t let me go into the lingerie shop with her, even though I offered. She didn’t mind making me wait for hours in other women’s clothing stores, but she wouldn’t let me set foot in the lingerie shop. She even glared at me as we walked past to make sure I wasn’t ogling any of the mannequins. To her credit, she used her own money in the lingerie shop. But when she came back to the book store to get me, she seemed perturbed.
“There’s a pervert photographer out there,” she said.
“Where?” I looked around the visible mall area outside the store but didn’t see any sleazy looking guys.
“Just standing by the lingerie store.”
I gave Daniella my books (a couple trashy romance novels were for her), and she stayed in line while I nonchalantly stepped out of the bookstore and into the mall. I saw a man in his mid-20s with gelled up hair and a polo shirt talking to a group of young women. They might have been high school girls, but even back then, it was sometimes tough to tell.
“The guy in the green shirt?” I said when I returned to the line. “He looks normal.”
“He’s talking to teenage girls,” Daniella said.
“That’s not good, but pervert?” I said.
“Watch. He’s going to give them his card,” she said. “That’s what they do, talk to girls, get them to take pictures, get them to show a little…”
“And the pictures end up in skin magazines,” I said, finishing for her. “I don’t know. Do you trust your pervertometer?”
She paused. “My pervert… o…meter… is never wrong.”
“What about me? Did you think I was a pervert when we met? I kept your panties for a month.”
“You were close, but you luuuuvved me, so I forgave you.”
“Loved you?” I had used the word “love” once around her, and it was accidental. We didn’t use the word “love” around each other.
“No, luuuuvved,” she said, extending the sound. “You had a crush on me. You blushed, and your ears turned purple. It was cute. I like guys who luuuuuuvvv me.”
I bet, I thought, because it’s easy to get us to pay your bills, but I kept it to myself.
“If I looked like that, would you still luuuuvvv me?” Daniella nodded toward a young lady on the other side of the store. She was not exactly a head-turner, and she had bad posture. To be fair, I wasn’t a head-turner either, and I had bad posture as well.
“Well, my ears probably wouldn’t turn purple anymore.”
Daniella narrowed her eyes and frowned. “Hmmmm.”
“She probably has a good sense of humor,” I said.
I was tempted to ask Daniella if she’d still be my girlfriend if I couldn’t pay her bills anymore, but by then, we had reached the front of the line. I didn’t have any cash on me, so I pulled out my credit card. I didn’t think anything of it.
“Why are you using your credit card?” Daniella asked.
“Huh?” I said, surprised. “Uh, the cashier last week miscounted my money.”
“So? That was only ten dollars.”
“It ticked me off,” I said without conviction, and I could feel my ears burning.
“You hate credit cards,” she said.
“I use them sometimes,” I said. I had used a credit card a couple months ago to pay for the repairs to Daniella’s sports car. Of course, I had made a big deal when I paid the whole balance at once to avoid interest charges.
“For books?” Daniella said. She looked at me funny, and then she was quiet about it and let me finish paying.
As we walked down the mall, she said quietly, “You’re not telling me something.”
“It’s no big deal,” I said. But it was. I was sure Daniella was only with me because I paid her bills, but a part of me hoped there was more to it. There had to be. On the other hand, she seemed certain that I was with her only because of the way she looked and her willingness to live in sin with me. Maybe at first those had been the reasons, but now I was wondering if there was something more. We were too comfortable, too at ease, around each other for these superficial reasons to be the foundation of our relationship (whatever it was).
The uncertainty gnawed at me. As long as I kept the truth about my money situation from her, I’d never really know what we meant to each other. I had to tell Daniella about the money sometime. While we were at the mall probably wasn’t the best time, but I knew there would never be an ideal moment. I wished she’d had on her glasses, but the librarian look wasn’t a guarantee of good behavior either. Daniella was in a good mood, even as a badass. The credit card was on her mind, and if I waited to spring the money situation on her later, that would piss her off even more.
I took a deep breath. This was it. I decided to do it then. I was going to tell Daniella about the money.
*****
To be continued in… The Literary Girlfriend: Identity Crisis, Part 2 .
If you want to read “The Literary Girlfriend” from the beginning (it’s getting kind of long), start here.
When selecting a “Best Book of the Year,” some critics would argue that the nominated books should actually be released first. (photo credit: Wikipedia)
It’s not easy choosing the “Best Book” of any year. Before a “Best Book” of the year can be chosen, a list of “Best Books” must be compiled. The annual “Best Books” lists usually don’t come out until the end of the year, and that makes sense because by then all of the books that year have been published.
The problem is that by the time the end of the year rolls around, there are too many books to decide which one is the best of the year. No individual can read every book published in one year, so if you’re going to judge a best book, it should be done when there are few books to choose from. As of this writing, the first wave of highly publicized books will start being released in a couple days, so these books have been the ones nominated.
The advantage of selecting “The Best Book of 2014” before the books have been released is that since the books haven’t been released yet, I can’t read them before I select them. I probably wouldn’t have read them anyway, but now nobody can blame me. I WOULD have read them if they’d been released on January 1st, but publishers waited until the 7th or beyond. If book companies want one of their products to be Dysfunctional Literacy’s “The Best Book of the Year,” they need to pick up the pace. Maybe next year they’ll learn.
“THE BEST BOOK OF 2014” NOMINATIONS
Andrew’s Brain by EL Doctorow- It sounds like an overuse of stream-of-consciousness. I usually don’t like overuse of stream-of-consciousness, unless I’m the one writing it.
Radiance of Tomorrow by Ishmael Beah- The title is poetic and suggests hope in a book with a bleak setting and plot. It sounds kind of… literary. It will probably be somebody else’s “Best Book of 2014.”
Hollow City by Ransom Riggs- This is Book 2 in a YA series. I really don’t want to read another YA series.
The Kept by James Scott- Violence in late 1800s New York. Short title with an author who has two first names. I’m partial to authors with two first names.
Apple Tree Yard by Louise Doughty- An affair and a murder. It sounds standard but reliable. I’ve been called a reliable guy, so I like reliable.
Before I Burn by Gaute Heivoll- An arsonist in a book with “Burn” in the title. I have mixed feelings about that.
The Wind Is Not a River by Brian Payton- I don’t like book titles that state the obvious (even my kids know that wind and rivers aren’t the same thing), but the author kind of has two first names, so the book has potential.
On Such a Full Sea by Chang-Rae Lee- The premise (future America, possibly dystopian) might make a good book, but the title is just one long prepositional phrase.
“THE BEST BOOK OF 2014” is….
The Kept by James Scott!
Between a short title and an author with two first names, the competition didn’t stand a chance.
*****
The great thing about announcing “The Best Book of 2014” before the books have come out is that nobody can say I’m wrong. They might disagree with me, but any arguments they have are mere speculation. Some other worthy contenders might come out over the next 52 weeks or so, but they’re too late, and I think it’s going to be tough to beat The Kept anyway.
I’m confident that The Kept WILL KEEP its top spot.
Ugh. I can’t believe I wrote that. Now I think I’ll go punch myself in the face.
Maybe most guys would have been proud to have a topless dancer as a girlfriend, and in a way I was, but Daniella and I had put a lot of effort into hiding what her job was from my/our friends. Whenever she was out in public with me, she wore thick black glasses and carried a copy of a Jane Austen book with her. She told my friends that she was a paralegal. Now my friends were going to the topless club where she worked for New Year’s Eve, and I needed to warn her. Kirk, Jerome, and the others would be there in about 15 minutes. That didn’t give me much time.
The first phone booth (this was in the early 1990s) was on a street corner about five minutes away. Even though a rough looking guy was talking, I parked my car and got out. The rough looking guy saw me and turned his back on me while continuing his conversation. I knew what that meant. I got back into my car, found another phone booth a few minutes away, but a guy was standing nearby at the bus stop looking at me while playing with his zipper. I didn’t like the looks of that either, so I got back into my car. The next phone booth was occupied by three teenagers eyeballing everybody who drove by. The next phone booth was… never mind. It had already been almost 15 minutes since the other guys took off. They’d almost be to Nero’s. Any phone call I’d make would be too late. I took a deep breath and drove home.
It was past ten. The football games were over. The cheesy New Year’s Eve countdown shows had begun. I wasn’t in a festive mood.
I didn’t know what to expect. Would Kirk and the guys recognize Daniella? If she saw them first, would she stick around or leave? Would she pretend she wasn’t Daniella if they saw her? Would Kirk and the guys tell me if they saw Daniella? How would they break it to me, that my shit-talking librarian girlfriend was a stripper? If that happened, would I act shocked, or would I confess that I knew? Would Daniella be pissed at me for not warning her, or wouldn’t she care? I was sometimes surprised by what pissed her off and what she could blow off.
Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long. Daniella stormed into the apartment about 30 minutes later, caked in makeup, hair down, wearing her badass leather jacket and extra tight jeans. Daniella looked great as a badass. I would have loved to have gone out with her in public as a badass, except when I wore a badass leather jacket and rough jeans, I just looked like a nerdy guy dressing up as a badass. The badass outfits accentuated our physical mismatch, so she usually went out with me in librarian mode. But I liked looking at her when she was a badass.
Daniella stood frozen by the door and grinned. “Shit, that was close,” she said.
Daniella told me that she had spotted Jerome as soon as he’d walked into Nero’s. He was a tall guy with a distinct chin, and Kirk had almost gotten them all thrown out right away by grabbing a dancer without paying for a lap dance first. Jerome had had to throw down some cash before they could be seated, but the disturbance had given Daniella a chance to bail out, to act like she wasn’t feeling well and head to the back of the club. That was the short version, which was all I really wanted. The less I knew about Nero’s, the better.
“I tried to warn you,” I said. “I promise. I just couldn’t get to a phone in time.”
“They wouldn’t have given me a message,” Daniella said, still standing over me instead of sitting down. “I know a dancer, her kid was in the emergency room, and they didn’t tell her until after the shift was over. Fuckers.”
She paced around while she talked. “I was lucky I wasn’t on stage when they came in. When you’re on stage, you’re screwed if somebody you know walks in. Shit, I lost a lot of money over this. I was with a guy who works for an oil company and I…”
Then her grin disappeared. “Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear this.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I know it’s too late to tell you now, but you didn’t have to hide. I guess I don’t mind if people know you’re a dancer.”
“I do,” Daniella said. “I like our friends thinking I’m a paralegal.”
Daniella brushed her hair out of her face. She still smelled like smoke. “If they find out I’m a dancer, they’ll think… things… about me. I hate that.”
Daniella finally sat down next to me. “I like having friends that think I’m… normal… for once. I like what we have going.”
I nodded thoughtfully (at least I hoped it looked thoughtful). Even though my friends thought highly of Daniella, “normal” wasn’t a word any of them had used, but I decided to keep that to myself.
“This worked out good for you,” Daniella said, her grin returning. “You said you wanted to spend New Year’s Eve together, and you got your wish.”
“That’s true.” I hadn’t thought of that.
“How do I know you didn’t plan this?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if she was serious.
“I’m not that devious,” I said.
“People think that,” she said slowly. “Your friends think you’re a nice guy, but I know you, I know how freaky you really are. You could plan something like this. You could have… told… your friends to go to Nero’s.” She got so close that my mind got muddled (in a good way), even in her smoky dried-sweaty condition, and I thought she was going to do something seductive, but she was simply looking me in the eye. “Tell me you didn’t plan this,” she said.
“I didn’t plan this.” I hadn’t, so that was easy.
“Hmmmm,” she said. “You might be telling me the truth, but I’m going to punish you anyway.”
Punish? This was getting good after all.
“You’re going to take me downtown, and we’re going to go…” and she listed a bunch of bars and night clubs where the drinks would be overpriced. “And you’re going to let me drink, and you’re going to dance with me.”
This really was turning into punishment, but she didn’t know it. Any guy would have been glad to be her bar-hopping date on New Year’s, but all I could think of was the money, my cash that was running out. One thing about Daniella, she was always an expensive date.
“But… I can’t dance,” I said. It was a lame excuse, but I was desperate, and I’ve never been a quick thinker.
“Then you can stand there and pretend with a drink in your hand, and I’m going to dance, and nobody will even notice you, and you’re going to act like you like it.”
Watching her dance crazy wasn’t a bad way to spend time, but the money issue still gnawed at me. “Some of those places have long lines,” I said desperately. “We’ll never get in.”
“They’ll let me in,” she said.
“But they’ll make me stand outside.”
“I can get you in.”
“It’s getting late.”
“They’ll just be getting started.”
I groaned. This was more impossible than trying to talk my mom out of going to church on Christmas Eve. At least with church, I only had to throw a few bucks into the offering plate. I had no idea how much money Daniella could make me spend at the bars on New Year’s Eve, but I knew it was going to be a lot. I cursed my brother and his wife at that moment. I should have said no to them. I should have been enjoying this moment. Daniella was going to get me into some trendy bars and dance crazy in front of me and probably do something really affectionate at midnight, and all I could think about was the money. The money. The stupid money.
++
To be continued in… The Literary Girlfriend: Identity Crisis .
If you want to read “The Literary Girlfriend” from the beginning (it’s getting kind of long), start here.
Being in a relationship with a liar has its advantages, especially if both people involved know that the other doesn’t always tell the truth. Daniella danced at Nero’s, but we told my friends she was a paralegal who didn’t like to talk about her job. She carried around classic literature but didn’t read any of it. I had no problem with that. I had a bookshelf in my living room with hardcover classics that I’d claimed to have read. The problem with Daniella and me lying to my/our friends was keeping the lies straight and then not getting caught.
New Year’s Eve was supposed to be a big money-maker for Daniella, but I had images of what she would do to earn that money. Guys got really drunk on New Year’s, and I had no idea how crazy things could get at a topless club that night. I had images of Daniella dancing in extra-slutty ways to make money. The mistletoe crap was bad enough, but I had pictures in my head of guys holding onto Daniella at midnight and expecting her to…
But I couldn’t talk to her about that. Daniella had told me several times not to think about Nero’s. She said boyfriends had broken up with her after they’d seen her dance at Nero’s. I didn’t want to think about her previous boyfriends either. This didn’t make any sense, I thought. I was going to have to break up with Daniella soon for financial reasons, and I was still getting jealous. If anything, the dancing should have bothered me less than it had before. I guess jealousy doesn’t work that way.
I wasn’t going to sit at home all night on New Year’s Eve while Daniella worked. Jerome’s New Year’s get-together was an all-male bar-hopping extravaganza. My best friend Kirk was single again, and since he was a decent looking charming guy with a passion for drunk women, Kirk was great for bar-hopping. I was invited as a driver. New Year’s Eve was for amateur drinkers, and I didn’t drink and I was overly cautious when I got behind the wheel, so I was the safest guy to have around.
When I got to Jerome’s at 9:00 (what happens next might make more sense if you read this first.), about ten other guys were already there watching a late football game and getting boozed up. Most of us were in our 20s, but I only knew a few of them. I was a quiet guy, so I probably wouldn’t talk to many of them. I would never have been in this social group without Kirk vouching for me.
“What’s Danielle doing tonight?” Kirk asked. He had a beer in his hand but still seemed sober.
“Did you know her name is really Daniella?” I said. “I just found that out a few weeks ago.”
“No shit,” Kirk said. “What’s she doing?”
“New Year’s Book Club,” I said. “They’re discussing their favorite books of 1992.”
Kirk guffawed. “I’m never going out with a woman who reads again,” he said, probably thinking of Linda, his ex-girlfiend. “But Danielle is cool… I mean, Daniella.”
“Weren’t you Frankenstein?” some guy said, interrupting.
I almost didn’t recognize him without the eye patch, and his hair was longer now. I found out later that his name was Mitchell. “At the Halloween party, you’re the guy with the Frankenstein head,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said sheepishly. I felt like saying “Frankenstein’s monster,” but I was sober now and didn’t care about that anymore.
“Your girlfriend called me a douchebag,” he said.
“She called me an asshole,” I said. I was a quiet guy, but I didn’t mind one-upping others when I could.
“Damn, she’s hot.” Mitchell shook his head. “A shit-talking librarian.”
I looked around the room, and a bunch of the guys were nodding at me, not because I had a lot of good qualities, but because they remembered Daniella. She had made an impression, the crazy dancing hot chick in the Jane Austen costume. I was usually the guy who was jealous of some other guy’s girlfriend. Now they were envious of me. It wasn’t the bad kind of evil Biblical jealousy that got people killed; it was simple mild envy. I took it as a compliment.
“So, where are we going?” I didn’t like bar-hopping because it always took me a while to get comfortable in a new place, and as soon as I would relax, everybody else would want to leave and go get drunker somewhere else. It was frustrating. Kirk and the other bar-hoppers liked having me around because I could put up with drunks, and I’d keep them from getting arrested, but if they got into fights, they were on their own. I was the type to hide under a table and pretend I’d already been knocked out.
“Nero’s, my man,” Kirk proclaimed. “We’re going to Nero’s!”
Nero’s? The city probably had close to a hundred topless clubs, and Jerome had to pick Nero’s? Daniella had warned me to never go to Nero’s. It was a deal breaker in our… relationship. I couldn’t go to Nero’s. I wouldn’t go to Nero’s.
“I hate Nero’s,” I said. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
“What do you know about Nero’s?” Jerome asked.
“The food there sucks,” I said, and everybody laughed, and I had to think of another reason. “And they enforce the two-foot rule.”
“They do?” Jerome said.
Nero’s probably didn’t enforce the two-foot rule (I’m sure Daniella made a lot of money violating the two-foot rule), but it was a great argument, better than complaining about the food.
“When have you been to Nero’s?” Kirk asked.
“I went a couple times when I first moved down here,” I said. “But it’s been a long time. You know, strip clubs can eat through your wallet pretty quick.”
“Does Daniella mind you going to a strip club?” Jerome asked.
“She doesn’t know,” I said. Of course! Daniella was my built-in excuse not to go. “I didn’t know. She’d kill me if she found out.” I pretended to be flustered. “I can’t go. I can’t risk it.”
“Whipped,” Kirk said.
“By a hot, shit-talking librarian,” Mitchell said. “I wouldn’t go either.”
“I’d better not,” I said, acting like I was reluctant. “But, I’m telling you, if you want to see strippers, don’t go to Nero’s.”
Jerome had his heart set on Nero’s, and even though I kept trying to convince him otherwise, he wanted to go to a high-class place with valet parking where he could throw a lot of cash and credit around. It was Jerome’s money, so Jerome got to decide. Kirk, Mitchell and a couple other guys worked themselves up by shouting euphemisms for female body parts they were hoping to see that night. I was trying to think of a way to warn Daniella.
I didn’t know how important it was to Daniella that she keep her dancing a secret from my/our friends. Maybe at first she was keeping the secret for my benefit, but now she had friends who’d bought her act as well, so she had more stake in this than she did a few months earlier. If Kirk and Jerome recognized Daniella, word would get back to Linda and any other friends in that clique. I didn’t know if it mattered that much to Daniella, but I figured she might want to know ahead of time that a bunch of guys in our social group were about to roll into her strip club.
“Call when you’re about to go home,” I told Kirk. “If you need me, I’ll still pick you up.”
The guys understood, and they probably wouldn’t call, but I really didn’t want them driving home.
Jerome, Kirk, Mitchell, and the others piled into a couple cars, and I had no idea what to do. Nero’s was about 20 minutes from Jerome’s house. My apartment was at least 30 minutes away. I didn’t know the phone number to Nero’s; I didn’t even know if the place had phones. I couldn’t just walk into the place and warn her. My only chance was to get to a pay phone and try to warn Daniella. Maybe I could call information and somebody at Nero’s could relay a message for me.
It was a long shot, but I had to try.
*****
To be continued in… The Literary Girlfriend: The Designated Driver, Part 2 .
If you want to read “The Literary Girlfriend” from the beginning (it’s gotten kind of long), start here.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
There are a lot of rules to writing (and I think I just broke five of them with this opening sentence), so many that I won’t even try to list all of them. As an amateur, I read about rules of writing because I want to improve. But I’ve found that when I try to follow the rules too closely, my writing sounds like somebody who is trying to follow the rules of writing.
Since I don’t get paid to write for Dysfunctional Literacy, I’ve decided to write the way I want to write, and I’ve noticed that I tend to break some common rules about writing. Maybe breaking these rules will keep me from becoming a successful author. I don’t know. Maybe breaking these rules will help. Either way, here are some common rules of writing that I sometimes break.
WRITE EVERY DAY.
Nobody should do anything every day, except eat and sleep. Even if writers are paid to write (which I’m not), they shouldn’t write every day. Doing something every day makes people boring. I should know. I’ve been told that I’m a boring guy, so I know what makes people boring, and part of being boring is doing the same things every day. And if you do write every day, don’t tell anybody because then people will expect you to be boring. If you’re going to be boring, surprise people with it.
I write almost every day, but if I don’t write, I don’t beat myself up over it.
SKIP THE BORING PARTS.
Elmore Leonard gets credit for this one, but other authors (like Stephen King) have mentioned it too. It’s probably a good rule, but I break it sometimes (maybe because I’m a boring person in real life). Every once in a while, I intentionally write a scene where nothing happens just to set up a state of being. Some readers would call it the boring part. I try to make the boring part not boring so that maybe readers won’t notice it’s a boring part. I even started a chapter of “The Literary Girlfriend” with the sentence, “This is the part that some authors (and readers) might be tempted skip.” It got a lot of hits, but I don’t know how many people actually read it.
When I write a boring part, I have my characters think or talk about sex. Or maybe I throw in an unnecessary fight. I have a (maybe) boring scene coming up in “The Literary Girlfriend,” so I might throw in a bar fight where Jimmy gets punched out while thinking about sex. Maybe then it won’t be boring.
I think it’s funny that Stephen King has adopted the “skip the boring parts” rule. Elmore Leonard said “Skip the boring parts,” and wrote books that were 200 pages long. Stephen King says “Skip the boring parts” and writes books that are over 800 pages long. The last Stephen King book that I read 11-22-63 was an 800 page book with a 300 page story. Maybe Elmore Leonard should have written it.
ONLY USE “SAID” FOR DIALOGUE.
This is another Elmore Leonard rule, and I think it’s a weird rule. Yeah, using only “said” for dialogue takes the pressure off trying to be creative, but the word “said” is boring, and we’re not supposed to be boring. My daughter brought home a chart from school with words that are more descriptive than “said” (like “declared” and “exclaimed”). Should I send her English teacher Elmore Leonard’s list of writing rules? I tend to use “said” most of the time anyway, but sometimes “said” just isn’t good enough.
DON’T USE ADVERBS.
I don’t think it’s funny when somebody ironically says “Use adverbs sparingly.” It’s only funny when they’re serious.
Maybe a lot of adverbs are unnecessary, but I don’t know. An adverb is a part of speech. I worked hard in school to learn the difference between adverbs and adjectives. I know when words like “in” and “out” are prepositions and when they’re adverbs. I know that adverbs don’t have to end with “-ly.” I know that adverbs modify verbs, adjectives, and other adverbs. I spent a lot of time in class learning my adverbs. My teachers devoted a lot of time and energy trying to make us bored students learn about adverbs. I’m going to use them whenever I feel like it, no matter what Mark Twain (or any other successful writer) said.
I shall not let my teachers’ efforts be for nothing. Stephen King and Mark Twain might say not to use adverbs, but they’re not going to buy my e-books, whether I use adverbs or not, so I’m going to use adverbs.
DON’T START A SENTENCE WITH “THERE” OR “HERE.”
I get this. Maybe it’s lazy to start with these vague words, but when you’re writing a 60,000+ word story on a blog and not getting paid for it, you should get to be lazy sometimes, especially when we’re not getting paid.
AVOID PASSIVE VOICE
I can be a passive guy sometimes. I have nothing against the passive voice, but I won’t use the passive tense just to demonstrate that I’m willing to use the passive voice. I can read a sentence that’s using passive voice, and I won’t notice that it’s in the passive voice. Do readers really recognize passive voice while they’re reading? I don’t think most people notice passive voice when they’re reading, and I don’t notice it when I’m writing.
DON’T USE EXCLAMATION POINTS.
I know, the emotion should be conveyed through strong writing (passive voice alert!) and not punctuation, but I even ALL-CAP dialogue occasionally, and I’m probably not supposed to do that either.
SHOW, DON’T TELL
This is the one rule I intentionally break. This rule has been driven into my brain (2nd passive voice alert!) for decades in writing groups and classes, but I don’t think the successful authors follow it. I’ve noticed that famous authors show AND tell. A writer almost has to do both. If a writer just “shows,” the reader might not always (or ever) interpret what the action or behavior means. I think it’s important to “show,” and I try, but it’s just as important to “tell” for the reader’s sake, especially when word limits are small. When I write a new episode of “The Literary Girlfriend,” I have to assume that there are new readers, so I have to tell the readers what has happened in the previous 40 installments. Writing a serial is different from writing a novel, but novelists still tell… a lot. Find me a novelist that doesn’t “tell.” I bet you can’t find one.
*****
It’s tempting to try to follow all the rules of writing to the letter, especially when the advice is given by successful (prolific) authors. But I’m not sure I want to emulate prolific writers when chances are that I’m not going to be one. Maybe NOT following the rules will keep me from becoming a successful writer. Maybe NOT following the rules will help me develop my own style that readers think is unique (but hopefully not too annoying). There’s probably a fine line between the two (I broke another rule!). The rules exist for a reason, so I won’t go out of my way to break them, but if I just happen to break a rule (or eight), I’m okay with it.
*****
When you’re an unknown writer, make your books short and sell them cheap.
Now only 99 cents each on the Amazon Kindle!
It was tough to act normal around Daniella when I knew I’d have to break up with her soon. Before I left my parents’ house the morning after Christmas, I wrote my brother a couple checks, and these wiped out my savings account. Without the money in this account, I’d have to hit my credit cards to pay for all of Daniella’s bills. I knew I couldn’t do that for long, so I figured that was it. I’d try to enjoy the last few weeks as much as I could.
Since I was normally a quiet guy, I didn’t want to be even quieter, so I overcompensated by talking too much. I drank too much coffee, and it was the coffee that made me talk. We were at the mall post-Christmas shopping (Daniella didn’t like Christmas, but she had nothing against me buying her post-Christmas stuff) when the caffeine hit me hard, and while she lingered from store to store, I talked. Once I began, it was hard to stop.
My friend Kirk had broken up with Linda (if you believed Kirk’s version of the story), but Linda claimed that she had broken up with Kirk. I was friends with Kirk, and Daniella had become friends with Linda, and Daniella told me everything that Linda had told her, but I had kept my mouth shut about Kirk for over a month. At first, it annoyed Daniella that I wouldn’t discuss what Kirk had said to me. Then she respected me for being able to keep a friend’s secret, but then she became annoyed again. From her point-of-view, enough was enough; I was her boyfriend, so I had to tell her what she wanted to know. With a few cups of coffee in me, I told her everything.
I talked about how Kirk was back to having one-night-stands with drunk women. I told her about how he thought it was good that he had broken up with Linda because he thought he would have eventually cheated on her anyway. I even started talking about how Kirk and I were roommates in college, and how I had a cot set up in a friend’s room for the times when Kirk brought in a one-night-stand. Kirk had some good qualities, but he liked his one-night-stands. That was his character flaw.
While waiting in line at a department store, I told Daniella a few stories about Kirk’s college exploits. The line was for three cash registers, and a couple dozen customers were in front of us, and it was a long post-Christmas line with loud kids and couples annoyed with each other. I entertained Daniella with the story about the time Kirk staggered into our dorm room in the middle of the night with two women and told me one was for me. Neither of the women looked healthy (I wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of guy anyway), so I declined and left for my friend’s room, and both women stayed with Kirk. The room got kind of rowdy that night.
“You ever been with two women?” Daniella asked loudly enough for others in front to hear. A bunch of conversations ahead of us stopped, and nobody looked in our direction, so I figured we were getting listened to. I held on to Daniella’s items, a pair of jeans and a couple low-cut sweaters.
“At the same time?” I said. “No. Have you?”
“Two women or two guys?” she asked loudly. I saw other people in line raise eyebrows at each other.
“Uh… I…I don’t think I want to know.”
Daniella locked eyes on me with her cheese-eating grin. “I don’t do things like that,” she said with an innocent tone. “I don’t know why people think I do. I’m very careful.”
She had on her thick black glasses. Her hair was pulled back. She carried around a hardcover of Jane Eyre. Strangers thought she was a librarian when she dressed like this and then would be shocked when she talked loudly about things librarians didn’t normally talk about.
“Well… you did sleep with me on the first date,” I said in a whisper.
Daniella’s grin disappeared. “No, I didn’t,” she said slowly, confused.
“Yeah, you did,” I said, realizing that I had just said something stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I mean, that’s not what I… I don’t mean…”
“It was our second date,” she said decisively, the grin returning. “After our first date, I went to work.”
“And then you came back that night,” I said. I knew that I should have bailed out of this conversation, but I couldn’t help clarifying what she meant. Stupid caffeine.
“I came back the next morning,” Daniella said. “And that was our second date.”
“There was no date involved. You just banged on the door, yelled at me, took a bath, and…”
“That was NOT part of our first date. Once a person leaves, the date is over. And I left.”
“And then you came back.”
“It was the next day when I came back. When you come back the next day, it’s a different date.”
“Only a few hours had passed. It was an extension of the first date.”
“It was a completely different day. Different day means different date.”
We were next in line, but Daniella’s back was to the cashiers as we argued.
“I don’t know why you want to convince me,” she said. “Do you really want to date a girl who sleeps…” Daniella suddenly turned around and yelled out, “HEY!”
A woman with two toddler daughters had passed us and walked up to a register where the cashier was almost done. The store quieted down again, and people from several clothing sections stopped what they were doing.
“You cut in front us,” Daniella said, pointing her finger right at the mother.
“There’re two other registers,” the mother said, gesturing to the other clerks who were still ringing up items.
“This line is for all three,” Daniella said.
“What line?” the mother said.
Daniella and I looked back, and we were the only ones in line now. We hadn’t even realized it.
“We’ve been waiting here for ten minutes,” Daniella said to the mother, who turned and gave a bunch of items to the clerks. All three clerks kept their heads down and rang up items.
“BITCH, DON’T ACT LIKE I’M NOT HERE!”
Daniella didn’t scream it, but her tone was so venomous that everybody froze. She shoved her Jane Eyre onto my stack of her items and then gave me her glasses. The two daughters stepped behind their mother. The mom turned, her eyes widening.
“Whoa, whoa,” I said, stepping in front of Daniella and juggling everything. “She probably didn’t know we were standing in line.”
“Are you taking her side?” Daniella’s eyes were narrow and getting red, and I knew I’d better phrase this carefully.
“You don’t need to get like this,” I said. “It’s just a line. We’ll be done in a couple minutes.”
“But she’s acting like we…”
“She has two kids,” I said. “Even if she did this on purpose, you can’t fight over that in front of her kids. It’ll mess them up. A place in line isn’t worth it.”
“But that’s her fault for…” Then Daniella turned her back to the registers. “Okay, you’re right.” She breathed in. “You handle it then.”
I was going to pay for everything anyway, so I just walked right up to the next register which had miraculously opened up.
“The line was long,” I said to the cashier as I placed the clothes on the counter.
“I’m sorry about that,” the clerk said, but she looked tired and really nervous and kept glancing at Daniella. The clerk was in worse shape than we were.
After the price came out to $70.23 (it was 20 years ago, so that probably wasn’t the real price, but I needed a good number), I gave the clerk four 20s and the 23 cents. I monitored Daniella while she kept her eyes locked on the mother. The cashier folded/bagged all the clothes and gave me the receipt.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry about the wait.”
“Uh…” I said, suddenly uncomfortable again. “I was supposed to get $10.00 in change.”
The cashier seemed perplexed. “No sir. You gave me exact change.”
“I gave you exact coins, but I gave you four 20s. I should get 10 dollars back.”
“I counted it, sir,” she said. “You gave me three 20s and a ten.”
I started to breathe hard. I had counted it myself, and I hated getting ripped off. “I know I gave you four 20s,” I said, my voice trembling. I turned to Daniella. “Didn’t I give her four 20s?”
Daniella shrugged. “I’m still pissed about that bitch cutting in line.”
“I know I gave you four 20s,” I said to the clerk.
“Sir, you gave me exact change.”
“I want to talk to your supervisor,” I said.
Daniella put her hand on my arm. “Jimmy, don’t be a dick,” she said.
“But I gave her four 20s. I know I did.”
“It’s ten bucks. Who cares? Her manager might fire her if you complain too much.”
“But…”
“I don’t care about the ten bucks,” Daniella said softly. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Okay,” I said, grabbing the bags. The mother who had cut in line was gone, and a bunch of clerks were staring at us from their counters. “But I know I gave her four 20s.”
My heart rate was still up as we walked through the parking lot. “I promise you, I gave her four 20s,” I said.
Daniella giggled. “Have you been drinking?” At least one of us had calmed down, I thought.
“What, am I that bad? It was ten dollars.” I could really have used that ten dollars, but Daniella didn’t know that.
“You kept me from being a bitch,” Daniella said, brushing against me and sliding her arm around my waist. “And I kept you from being a dick. That’s the sign of a good couple.”
Good couple. I thought maybe Daniella was teasing me with the irony. I paid her bills, and she pretended to be the type of girl I could fall for, and somehow we were right for each other. The truth was, I was getting attached to her, even if I knew that the relationship was temporary. That moment, I regretted writing my brother those checks, but it was too late. I unintentionally sighed, and Daniella glanced at me but didn’t ask anything. We were a good couple, I thought, at least for a few more weeks.
++++
To be continued in… The Literary Girlfriend: The Designated Driver .
And to read “The Literary Girlfriend” from the beginning, start here.
When a famous actor tries to become a serious author, things can go very, very wrong. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Struggling writers often get frustrated when celebrities who aren’t known for their writing abilities get book deals. Lindsay Lohan is publishing a tell-all, and I’ve never heard about Lindsay Lohan’s awesome writing abilities. The Lindsay Lohan announcement was last week, so by the time you read this, another celebrity will have announced a book deal or maybe another celebrity book whose deal had been announced months ago will come out.
When it comes to celebrity books, I’m not the expert because I don’t read celebrity books, and besides, I’m not famous and I don’t have a book deal and that can cloud my judgment. I might not read celebrity books, but I read about celebrity books, so instead of deciding which celebrity books are better than others, I’m ranking the kinds of celebrity books from best to worst. Again, I haven’t read most of the books, but I can judge the categories.
THE CELEBRITY MEMOIR
This is potentially the best type of celebrity book. Celebrities are cool people who hang out with other cool people, so a good celebrity memoir can tell a bunch of stories about cool famous people. If the stories are sleazy, that’s even better. Maybe the stories will even be true, but that doesn’t really matter. When Lindsay Lohan publishes her tell-all, it will probably have a bunch of sleazy anecdotes in it. If not, a lot of potential readers will be disappointed.
Not every celebrity memoir has to be a sleazy tell-all, though. Tina Fay is actually a writer, so Bossypants was interesting without being sleazy. I’m sure there are other good ones out there. I would have read Kevin Smith’s memoir, but he titled it Tough Shit, and putting profanity in a book title is a sign of desperation. Even I didn’t do it with my e-books (maybe I should have). No celebrity should ever put profanity in a book title. Leave that to the struggling author that nobody has ever heard of.
THE CELEBRITY EXPERT
Bill O’Reilly is writing history books. I think Bill O’Reilly taught history, but I know a few teachers who have taught history for years, and they’ve never written one history book. Now Bill O’Reilly has written several of them: Killing Lincoln, Killing Kennedy, and now Killing Jesus. I’d say Bill O’Reilly is making a “killing” off all of these books, but then I’d have to punch myself in the face.
Fans of Bill O’Reilly like the book. I watch his show occasionally, but I won’t buy his books, even if they’re not about politics (and even if he didn’t really write them). I’m pretty sure the other author did most of the work (speculation on my part, please don’t sue me) and that O’Reilly is involved for name recognition. I’m not sure why , as a reader, I should trust Bill O’Reilly’s account of Jesus over anybody else’s, but at least he’s getting people to read about Jesus.
Maybe Bill O’Reilly really does know what he’s talking about, but I automatically don’t trust him because he’s a celebrity (and a blowhard), and I don’t trust celebrities (even if I agree with them, and agreeing with them usually makes me rethink my position). Since I don’t trust celebrities, I can’t trust a “celebrity as expert” book.
CELEBRITY AS SERIOUS AUTHOR
I should admire James Franco. He has a monotone voice. I have a monotone voice. James Franco is an example of what a guy with a monotone voice can accomplish (if he’s really handsome and enough people proclaim that he can act). But James Franco as a “serious author” might be a bridge too far.
I haven’t read his latest Actors Anonymous, but I read a few short stories from Palo Alto. I hesitate criticizing authors because I know I have enough flaws in my own writing. But still, James Franco could… have… used an editor. I’m sure (or I hope) that most college students who write something the quality of Palo Alto would be encouraged to try harder next time. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t get book deals and lots of praise. I don’t trust celebrities who try to become serious authors because nobody is going to tell a celebrity that his/her serious work needs a lot of work. Well, somebody might tell a celebrity that, but then that somebody may end up unemployed.
I’m not a fan of the celebrity as a “serious author,” but there is one type of celebrity author that is even worse.
THE CELEBRITY CHILDREN’S BOOK AUTHOR
I don’t know why celebrities want to write children’s books. I’m no psychologist, so I won’t even try to come up with a theory. It’s just kind of weird, when I see any of Jamie Lee Curtis’s children’s books, I think of the scene in Trading Places where she took off her shirt (I was in high school at the time, and we didn’t have the internet yet, so it left an impression). Whenever I see one of Madonna’s children’s books (the illustrations are pretty good), I think of her sex book. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but once you’ve done a nude shot in a popular movie or written a sex book, maybe you shouldn’t write children’s books. If Madonna wrote a YA dystopian novel, maybe I’d check that out.
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Struggling authors can’t stand celebrity books because we see them as taking up a publishing spot that a lesser known unpublished author could have had. I know it doesn’t really work like that. I’m pretty sure anybody who buys a celebrity book wouldn’t have otherwise bought one of my e-books. Celebrity books have nothing to do with my success or failure as a writer. I know that. but I still get just a little annoyed when a celebrity book deal is announced.
