So, Sad Puppies slate was announced. To see it, go to Brad’s Blog here.
I would particularly like to endorse Kevin J. Anderson’s nomination. That the man has never received a Hugo is a sort of blot on the field. I haven’t read the suggested novel yet, but I have yet to read one of his novels that isn’t head and shoulders above most of the competition. Because he’s a professional.
While the slate is not rigid — i.e. if you really don’t like one of the stories suggested or have a burning desire to nominate, say (cough) my short story Rising Above from the Shattered Shields anthology, or even (using Wheel of Time exception) Ringo’s zombie series as a “novel” you are not only within your rights but highly encouraged — let’s remember that the more we can “pile on” (which will never be to the brainless level of the other side, which votes for books and authors they don’t even read) the better the overall results.
On the other hand, it’s been hilarious watching the reaction to the slate. For instance, I’m no longer shocked and vaguely puzzled at being called a Nazi and the world’s worst person over telling the idiots that they couldn’t/shouldn’t kick anyone (even Vox :-P) out of human society.
No, the fricking ijits have already started calling Jim Butcher fascist. It’s gobsmackingly mind blowing.
Was discussing this with my friend Bill Reader today, as he said his Romney/Ryan sticker on the car was getting faded, which led to us discussing the once and future election (in this case both of us agree that while Romney was never better than acceptable, we could do worse than Romney, and probably will) and he said “remember when Ryan was picked for VP candidate, our side was all afraid the dems would attack him on his inexperience? Instead, they attacked him on having blue eyes and being fit.”
He says he read a columnist — I’m going to guess Dowd — attacking Ryan PURELY on the fact that he looked innocent and THEREFORE, obviously, must have an evil heart.
I told him “these are not serious people.” Then came home to reports from my eyes on twitter (the other eyes, Christopher) which told me that they were attacking Jim Butcher as fascist SOLELY because he was in the Sad Puppies slate.
Dorothy Grant recently told me about the name for when you stand, with a finger on either side of the bridge of your nose, your eyes closed, your head inclined: Sinal Salute.
Guys, the only reason I’m not doing the sinal salute is that I am typing. I need a moment.
These people are completely unhinged. They are so unhinged they don’t know the definition of “hinged.” It never occurs to them to look at the legitimate reasons to oppose something or someone (say, not liking the person’s writing) or the illegitimate but true reason (not liking the person’s politics, which might not have anything to do with what they write.) No, they jump straight to the crazy cakes reason to oppose say a Hugo nomination. “He’z a fazcisssss eleventy!”
The sad part of all this being, of course that the policies they highly approve of are in fact fascist, because it turns out the only way to make a communist regime sort of work is to make it fascist but not call it that, like China. (And then it only works for limited definitions of work. I mean, it crashes slower. But it’s more effective than communist regimes. Which is sort of like saying paper is more edible than plastic.)
These are not only not serious people, these are people who, in a cartoon, would be running from a guy in a butterfly net. These are people who think that vagina monologues are sexist, not because — duh — they’re a bunch of twaddle centering on a part of female anatomy that not only never spoke but is highly unsuited to thinking with, but because it discriminates against women with penises.
I need a moment. (Does Sinal Salute.)
people Vagina Vigilants who think the most important thing about a guy who landed a probe on a comet is the shirt he’s wearing.
I’ve written characters who would be locked up in real life for being too crazy to live — Dyce Dare, really — but none of them are as insane as people who think that what makes books “important” is “diversity” usually figured out by the WRITER’S external characteristics. Which means the stories are usually all alike, since they conform to Marxism — but the writers, oh, by gum, they have people who can tan all sorts of shades and who self-define as all sorts of genders.
Now, if only we could read the authors instead of the stories? (Did anyone say “entrails”?)
Did I mention that a week or two ago, my Book Plug Friday Post got picked up by Passive Voice. Great, right? Sure, except that crazy people immediately started attacking me PERSONALLY in the comments.
With most of my BPF posts, I would to “Well, they disagree about indie/publishing/politics.” I wouldn’t call them crazy. Except this post was on EDITING and pointing out to people the difference between copyediting and structural edits and the difference in price, as well as caveats before you allow someone to do structural edits on your novel.
Was there room for disagreement? Sure thing. There always is. What there wasn’t room for was calling me the world’s worst person over them. Let’s take wassherface who wrote the dinosaur tripe. I don’t think she’s despicable. A tad immature, perhaps, but that’s curable. (I mean she MIGHT be despicable. I don’t know her. But I rather doubt it, because most people aren’t. They’re okay but flawed.)
Let’s say she wrote a post about how paleontologists would surely be murdered for going into a working class bar. I might call her a few choice names, mostly synonymous with “you don’t live in the real world, do you?” In fact, I more or less did that based on her short story. That’s fine. That’s called disagreement.
But let’s say she wrote an article on how to write characters. And let’s say it was the worst article on how to write anything since Writing the Eye of Argon Way (I apologize because it’s not fair to presume she’d write a bad article, but it’s necessary for the example.)
I might (if I were trying to avoid actual work) comment and point out the flaws. But I wouldn’t call the author the worst person ever, or infer anything about her, personally, from a technical article. Much less would I seize the opportunity to bring in totally unrelated stuff.
The left does this because that’s all they have.
These are not serious people. In fact while I want to emphasize they ARE people, they don’t behave like people. They behave like stray bits of code left behind by the Soviet Union which, devoid of a central animating purpose anymore, or the illusion that it really was better behind the curtain (really guys? That’s why so many West Germans were shot trying to flee to the East, right? Oh, wait.) they just carry on their fragmentary and not very coherent bits of programming. So, the destruction of Western Civ is still on, though only the crazies believe that communism/utopia will magically emerge then.
They remind me of eczema. They remind me of eczema because I have it. Eczema is an auto-immune disorder. This means it attacks my own body. It is also more or less unpredictable. I mean, there are triggers for the eczema: stress, dry skin, a molecule of detergent left on the clothes after three, four, five rinses, sugars or really any amount of carbohydrates over 20 grams a day (in my case. Other people have other triggers.)
But you never know to what triggers the eczema is going to react. Sometimes (my birthday) I’ll eat say a piece of cake, and by rights I should have raw palms (or elbows. or belly) the next morning. But sometimes there’s no reaction at all. Other times it will be all out of proportion.
The only thing I know for sure is that if there is a reaction, it will be disproportionate and counterproductive.
Sort of like the left.
Which brings me to the title of this post. (I was listening to Leonard Cohen again. Shoot me.)
Am I tired of the war? Oh, heck yeah. They’re not interesting opponents. They just jump up and down and either name call or scream things that have nothing to do with the subject or that are in and of themselves completely insane. Like, “discrimination against women with penises, Awk!” (It helps if you add “awk” or “Polly wants a cracker” to the end of the crazy stuff they say. Seems somehow more reasonable.) “Sexist shirt, Polly wants a cracker” “Jim Butcher fascist, Need New Cage Liner.”
However, being tired of the war doesn’t mean I’ll give up fighting. I can’t give up fighting because every time we stop applying a corrective, these people decide they’ve won the war and also that they were right all along. And THEN they take another step into crazyland. (Think cartoon character running middair.) And they are ALREADY not serious people.
Rather being tired of the war means I’ll fight harder because I just — sinal salute — need the craziness to end. Now. Yesterday, if possible. I have books to write and I don’t find this stuff amusing anymore.
I didn’t start the war. I just want to end it. And the only real way to end it is by winning. Even if the weapons of victory involve pointing and making duck noises while the other size screams.
I figure duck noises are more sensible than “Awk, Awk, fascisssss, Polly wants a cracker.”