Hello again, friends! Welcome back to Am I the Literary Asshole?, the biweekly advice column that takes your question, flips it and reverses it (channeling either Missy Elliott or an Uno card here). I’m your drunk host, Kristen Arnett, asking is it even a keg stand if there’s no one around to see you fall down and bust ass directly afterward? Lots to think about.

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We’ve finally transitioned into fall and what better way to celebrate than by heating up a batch of hot toddies? They’re medicinal (I think) and as long as I drink them inside the house and enjoy the crisp Florida air conditioning, I can pretend it’s not 90 degrees outside. Terrific!

So just sit back and relax, sip your drink, and let’s slip comfortably into our first question of the day:

1) I have in the past had books signed to me by the author that I no longer want to keep. I have torn out the page where it’s signed before donating these books to the library for their book sales because I don’t want the writer or other people to see that I got rid of it. Am I the Literary Asshole or some kind of monster for defacing books?

This is a great question because I anticipate my audience being a real house divided on this one!

There are those who would yell, “absolutely not, how dare you deface that book” and then others who might shrug it off and say, “you’re getting rid of it, anyway, so what does it matter?”

Since I hold a masters in library and information science and I spent the majority of my adult life working in libraries (and I’m also a published author), I can safely say that there is merit in either response. Books are important, books are ideas, books are portals to another world! Books are also very real physical objects that take up valuable real estate in our homes.

The author in me wants to hope that a signed copy of my book could live forever on someone’s shelf, lovingly held onto by a reader who really appreciates my work. The librarian in me understands that we cannot possibly keep every book we’ve ever been given or purchased, and that weeding our books is a necessary and crucial part of curating a collection.

Now, to tear or not to tear—that is the question.

There are definitely authors who would ask you not to tear out a page before donating. But I also know some authors (and I am one of them) that would prefer you remove a deeply personal inscription from a book rather than give it away fully intact. I’m talking about a nice, long paragraph that establishes a level of intimacy between the writer and the recipient. I consider myself pretty easy going, but even I have to admit it might hurt my feelings if I found a copy of my book at a used book sale and it was made out to a very good friend. At the very least, I’d need to consult a beer or three about it!

In this particular situation, and like many in life (and many in this column), I’d say that you need to trust your gut. Unless your name is incredibly uncommon, I’d vote to leave in a page that contains only that and the signature (people love to buy used books that are autographed by the author). However, if it’s someone you know and they’ve left you a personal note, you could tear out the page (or use an Exacto, be precise and make it as neat as possible). At the end of the day, someone’s always going to have an opinion about this that’s going to be contradictory to your own.

But I’ll offer up this: if you (neatly) take the page out and don’t tell anyone about it? Then it’s like it never happened. We can just keep that between us.

The thing about a hot toddy is that you can have quite a few before you realize that you’re actually drinking a hell of a lot of alcohol. Oh well! I’ll ladle out another and let’s get to our next question:

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2) I’m in a book club with a person who doesn’t seem to like anything, especially if it’s a “popular” book. If it were up to them we’d probably just read classics. Normally I would be fine with some negativity to keep things fresh but it’s becoming unbearable to hear them talk. I’ve found I’m looking for the good in books I didn’t really like just so I won’t agree with them, and hating on their picks even when they’re books I like. Am I the book club asshole?

Friend, I’ll go ahead and say right now that you’re NOT the book club asshole.

Every group, no matter the setting, likely has one of these curmudgeonly people taking up space. Sometimes it feels as though they’ve taken on the mantle of being the most breathtakingly annoying part of everyone else’s day; like it’s their job and they’re getting paid specifically to be a pain in the ass.

Now, as I’ve stated here previously, everyone likes different work. That’s what makes art cool and fun, and it’s a big part of why people come together to enjoy book groups. It’s not just eight people all nodding at each other and saying EXAAAAACTLYYYY over and over again. Liking different kinds of work—genre, style, etc—makes for a riveting and ultimately rewarding book club.

However, it’s important to differentiate between a lively discussion and someone just being a straight-up pill when it comes to talking about books. Only reading “classics” can be a red flag when it comes to discussing anything, because sometimes that word is used as a substitute for “I only read books that were written by someone white, male, and heterosexual.” The literary sphere is expansive and stuffed with all kinds of work! And when we challenge ourselves to read broadly, we learn more about the world around us and subsequently more about ourselves and our place in it.

It sounds like this person just wants to gripe about anything that they didn’t personally select for the group. Unless you all want to come together to kick this person out, it’s going to be hard to combat their continued negativity. However, there are a few tricks you might employ!

You could suggest new rules for the group where everyone gives an equal amount of praise alongside the criticism for each book discussed. Maybe try alternating “classics” with newer work with the understanding that they need to be treated with an equal amount of respect. If the person seems fairly reasonable other than this nasty book club quirk, maybe express your unhappiness directly. Tell them that it bums you out to put up with a bunch of negativity when it comes to something fun you do with your free time.

You also might join a new book club? To be perfectly honest, unless you’re willing to put up with this person forever, that might your best plan moving forward.

Best of luck, reader!

And now for our final drink and final question. I’m feeling toasty!

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3) Hi dad! I… basically can’t talk about my writing? When other people ask me for my hobbies, I’ll list anything but writing, when I *do* mention writing, I feel mortified about it. (The questions about what I do write make me want to turn invisible on the spot.) And even to my close friends I don’t really talk to them about my process?

Somehow, my brain has convinced itself that if I keep it a secret, I can write well—or write, period, because I swear every time I talked to my friends about an idea I had, or something I had to think through… I wound up not writing it. Then the other day, I told my best friend a song inspired me to write a short story. I was like, did I tell you this? And he was like “I don’t think you told me that.” Now I feel bad! Why am I like this even to my best friends?? Am I the literary asshole?

Oh pal, please don’t fret over this. It’s totally fine that you want to keep this little world all to yourself.

There is no rule that you have to talk about your writing! Process can be incredibly private. Secret, even! I mean, if you were writing in to say that you DID want to talk about your work, but you were struggling to find the words or the self-confidence, that would be one thing. But if you just don’t like to tell people about your process—one that enables you to get the work done, without stumble or falter—I want to tell you that’s a fine choice!

The only word here that really gives me pause is your use of “mortified,” which leads me to believe that you might actually want to discuss your work, you just don’t like calling yourself a “writer.” This is a form of imposter syndrome that strikes many creatives, and you’re not alone in that. For years I refused to tell people I was a writer because some part of my brain was stuck on the fact that I would need to “make it” in some kind of grand and spectacular capacity before I should be allowed to call myself that. It’s not true—anyone who writes is a writer.

But! I will note that it’s also perfectly okay not to discuss your projects mid-creation? I usually don’t talk about mine when I’m still at the heart of a draft. Our brains (some of us) need the space to figure out the structure before we reveal it to other people. Some of that, for me at least, comes from needing the time to figure out what a story is actually doing, and a big part comes from actually sitting down and writing the whole thing out.

Cut yourself some slack! It’s great to keep writing and process private, just for yourself. But also: you are a writer. If you want to share, you can.

And that’s all the time we have for today! Join me next time when the temperature outside hopefully gets below 80 degrees and I might start wearing pants again.

Send me your questions!

Bon Jovi,
Dad

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Are you worried you’re the literary asshole? Ask Kristen via email at AskKristen@lithub.com, or anonymously here.