When I read items such as the simile stomp at agent Nathan Bransford’s blog, I have to marvel at the thought processes of other readers (because it’s really not a writer issue but a matter of perception by the reader, even if that reader happens to be a writer).

Apparently, some readers, upon coming across the phrase “neck like a giraffe,” have to stop reading to ponder the meaning of that phrase. Are, in fact, wrenched from the setting of the story and deposited in the African savannah or perhaps the San Diego Zoo’s giraffe exhibit to ponder the meaning. Do, in fact, curl their collective lip at the literal impossibility of a human being with a six-foot long neck with arterial valves to prevent fainting upon bending over.

Really?

When I see “neck like a giraffe,” I think “longer-than-average neck” and carry on with the story. No pause necessary.

Adverbs, of course, were thrown into the fray in the comments section, as they are so much more fun to bludgeon. One example was “walked furtively.” Apparently this is so ambiguous, another reader has to put down the book and Google the word in an attempt to discern the author’s meaning.

Amazing, as it gives me a perfectly clear picture of the walker’s behavior, right down to posture. Furthermore, had the author taken a paragraph to convey the exact image that one word evokes for me, I would have skipped it.

Obviously, I am a failure as a reader, as I do not focus on a single word or phrase to the extent that it has the power to distract me from the remaining 300 pages of words.

How long must it take to read an entire book with all that pondering of meaning for every sentence? No wonder that other reader wants no-frills prose. My TBR shelf would represent a lifetime of labor.

I anticipate having some wiggle room between books no later than June.

Edited to add: I administered a reading test to a six-year-old this morning, and had he stopped to ponder every few words, he would have lost points for comprehension and fluency. This sort of experience with scoring of reading ability may have something to do with my failure to understand the stop-and-ponder approach in adults.

I was putting together a how-to to benefit all of mankind, and I thought I’d better test it to make sure cut-and-paste did the trick.

I guess it’s a good thing I did, because it resulted in the ever-popular FATAL ERROR and mass widget death. Total sidebar wipeout, and the whole page turned purple.

*pout*

That’ll teach me a lesson about trying to be helpful…

I had a work-related teleconference this morning, at which I had to introduce myself, following which another attendee said, “Oh, you’re the one who started the biggest flame war of all time on the company chat board.”

Huh? I’ve been on the company chat board about five times in the last four years, and I open only innocuous threads such as “daily funnies” and “Thanksgiving plans” because I don’t want to be exposed to any drama. How could I possibly cause any drama?

As it turns out, Thanksgiving 2006 is what did me in. Someone asked what everyone’s plans were. I said I was having friends over and cooking everything except stuffing. Everybody was bringing their own stuffing because everybody had a different idea what constituted stuffing—bread and savory vegetables, or rice and cranberries, or barley and apples and walnuts… People couldn’t even agree whether to call it stuffing or dressing. My solution kept the peace, not to mention making less work for me. I wished everybody a great holiday and bailed.*

This provoked 400+ comments of escalating hostility that continued well past the Christmas stuffing/dressing season.

“It’s stuffing.”

“No, it’s dressing.”

“I looked it up in the dictionary. It’s stuffing.”

“Well, I looked it up in my dictionary, and it’s dressing, bitch.”

“Well, if your dictionary is as retarded as you are…”

And so on and so forth.

The inflammatory nature of one person’s comments was such that she allegedly was fired as a result.

In 2006, this would have shocked me. Now, not so much. In the last year, I’ve seen people stroke out over some of the most nonsensical things. Defending your family’s stuffing/dressing tradition to the death actually makes more sense than some of the other dustups I’ve seen.

This week’s “damn, people need to calm the fuck down” moment is brought to you by the letter M, as in “muse.” Use that word to anthropomorphize your creative process, pop some corn, grab a comfy seat, and wait for the grenades to start flying.

“There’s no muse! You can’t be a professional writer and flit around waiting for inspiration to strike! You sit your ass in the chair and write whether you feel like it or not!”

You’d think writers would be less literal, but no. As there seems to be some confusion, let me clarify that nobody talking about “the muse” really thinks there’s some chick in a toga whispering ideas in their ears. Or, if the upset stems from a sense of ”hey, no fair, I have to think up my own ideas,” nobody actually has some chick in a toga whispering ideas in their ears. 

For probably the first time, I’m removing a book from my to-buy list because of online exposure to an author, not because I found her anti-muse outburst personally offensive, but because with it, she impressed me as utterly lacking imagination and fancy, which doesn’t fill me with confidence about her forthcoming book.

* For the record, I am so noncommittal on the issue, I use “stuffing” and “dressing” interchangeably, and I support your right to put anything in it you want.

Just don’t expect me to eat it.

I have all kinds of awesome in my TBR. I even have a shortlisted TBR for books I know are going to be so awesome, I refuse to start them until I have a good chunk of time in which to immerse myself in the reading experience.

My last three books read have been Paranormal Romance Lite, Humorous Contemporary Romance, and Paranormal YA. They had the advantage of being put-downable when my three minutes were up, but they didn’t quite hit the spot.

I decided what I crave right now is something written by a dude. They tend to use shorter, punchier sentences, light on the eloquent language, more emphasis on action (at least the dudes I read), perfect for bit-by-bit reading.

So I sorted my TBR shelf by gender.

And without the slightest pause, I tossed Dean Koontz in with the chicks.

Now, I love Dean. He would occupy several slots on that Top 100 Books Genre Notwithstanding List I’ve been too lazy to compile, but let’s face it. In the past several years, he’s undergone some kind of spiritual conversion, and now he’s all sensitive and emo.

Total purse holder.

(What I decided to read, incidentally, wasn’t TBR after all, but an old keeper, Rules of Prey by John Sandford. John writes like a Man, and Lucas Davenport don’t hold nobody’s stinkin’ purse.)

I’m over at Romancing the Blog today, talking about myself my favorite heroine.

Yes, I do realize Hero Boy is not alone in the story!

Sometimes.

Angelic Daughter (who is fascinating to talk to, if you ever get the chance) and I were discussing books, and she complained about over-description because it interferes with her participation in the story. Like her mom, she converts books to mental movies, and like any good director, she likes to add her own interpretation to the scene to enrich the personal experience.

We came to the conclusion that over-description is the product of an author being a control freak. “I have a clear vision of this scene, and the reader must receive that vision in all its authentic glory. If I leave anything to the imagination, she’ll get it all wrong. Therefore, I’m going to describe every carpet fiber, every leaf, every freckle on the heroine’s perky bosom to ensure the reader doesn’t contaminate my vision with her inferior imaginings.”

Psst. Hey, Ms. Control Freak. I have to tell you something.

WE SKIP YOUR PAGES OF DESCRIPTION AND INSERT OUR OWN.

Sorry, but we have no respect for the minutiae of your artistic vision. We’re hanging out with you solely for action and dialogue and forward momentum. Put those toys away for too long, and we’re outie.

Give your readers a little credit for imagination. If we had none, we’d be watching TV or a movie and having our entertainment spoonfed to us instead of curling up with a book.

WARNING: Many mixed metaphors ahead. Proceed at your own risk. 

Maybe it’s just me, but the insistence that I don’t know what I really want to read—that I’m on some merry-go-round of crap reading because publishers print only crap so readers have only crap to buy so publishers continue to print the crap because that’s what sells—really pisses me off.

Look, I understand that you may be dissatisfied with the books you’re reading, but don’t try to drag me into that boat with you. I’m not drowning here; I’m swimming quite contentedly, as a matter of fact. I really, truly, genuinely enjoy many of those books that dissatisfy you and really, truly, genuinely buy them on purpose, not because I’ve been brainwashed into thinking that’s what I want.

Yes, I get the occasional wallbanger, but I lack your sense of entitlement that the entire publishing industry should revolve around my needs. When I get the occasional Peanut M&M that tastes like a dirty sweatsock, I bleh and scarf down more to get the nasty taste out of my mouth, whereas you probably advocate forsaking Peanut M&Ms altogether.

You do that. I’ll eat your share.

And Ye Olde Banana Analogy you think supports your “you don’t know what you want” theory?

“If the grocery store sells nothing but bananas, you have no choice but to buy bananas.”

Not helping your cause. Because, you see, I do have a choice. There’s another grocery store with a wider selection down the road, and then there’s the farmer’s market and also online shopping, where the food is packed fresh and delivered right to my door, not to mention digital foodstuffs if I have a craving for something really exotic. If the Banana Grocer doesn’t sell a shitload of bananas, they’ll be forced to expand their stock if they want to compete and stay in business.

But maybe they’re catering to a niche market of banana addicts you know nothing about, banana hater. There are people who do like bananas, regardless of how offensive you may find them.

I’m not wild about bananas straight from the skin, but I’m quite fond of them in banana nut bread, banana splits, and Bananas Foster.

I do not want to live in a world without Bananas Foster.

You have every right to despise bananas, but enough with trying to convince the rest of the world bananas are the root of all evil. Face the fact that pomegranate fetishists are a minority and might have to drive that extra mile to get what they want.

Myself, I’m violently allergic to pomegranates, so I’ll be at the Banana Store, stocking up.

Dessert at my place later.