Her response is so vehement that there had to be more behind it than a mere not-my-thing, or needs-work. As if once she started, she resented having to finish it. Which she didn't have to do. She didn't have to start. But for some reason, her own or friendship related, finished and resented. Maybe something about the book really unsettled her and she couldn't wait to stop feeling that way. Her bizarre reaction and her need to say it to an anxious debut novelist, choosing her own relief over the heart of a friend, reveals a lot about her own fuckedupness. And of course all the acclaim in the world isn't going to heal a wound like that. The lovely thing is that this story gives a kind of grace to the rest of us. If a hero lands a blow like that I might remember that sometimes heroes do that for their own reasons instead of assuming my work is garbage. This reminds me of something you wrote the other day about healthy entitlement, a phrase that hit hard over here because I don't have it either.
I will literally pay you by the hour next time someone says something mean to me
No but this whole assessment is on-point, I think you nailed it (to the extent that, given her anonymity, we can presume upon the motives of a person in her situation...). Sounds like a dick move, and a dickish follow up, but there's undoubtedly a lot of pain behind that kinda venom.
Okay, so the only person in this story who might be entitled to a judgment is refraining from giving one, but everyone else here feels it’s their due to judge: bizarre, jealous, even glad she’s dead, and why not reveal her identity (for the mob to bash her?) Come on, great Substack minds, I’m sure a little bit more discretion and sensitivity could do wonders… If someone opens themselves to tell something so private, I’m begging you, tread softly!
You are a famous successful writer and I'm a nobody writer, but still, I want to say that I'm sorry that this happened to you. Despite being downright mean, it's just "tacky" as we say in the south.
Damn, that's cold, mi pana. When I was shopping my manuscript around in France, I met with a really high-up Venezuelan compatriota responsable for something-something in prestigious publishing house Gallimard. He read my text and said it didn't work, which was a huge letdown. However, when I managed to publish last year (after much re-writing), I sent him a copy and some of the raving reviews to be like, "See? You were wrong!".
Never heard back.
Part of my maturing as a writer and a person (not as a published author) has been to learn to let these kind of auto-beefs go.
Wow! I just now went looking for your words because I finally had another one of those moments that I think might be the beginning of something really crucial to how/what I want to write about. I've been too distracted reading everything I can to figure out wtf is going on and not reading anything real. (It was a short series on Netflix that triggered an Aha! moment - totally unrelated in content except for on a very basic level.) And I thought of you because I love the way you write - your work AND your advice here. Thank you for all of that. It's a lot.
Thanks for this. Your story echoes my constant thoughts about how much courage it takes to be a published author and how vulnerable we can feel when faced with letting go and sending out that life's work for the first time. It's scary and a lonely feeling! This is why I have never sent my writing out yet and ultimately that means everything - that first novel can be the door to a career or a blow to the sense of artistic self-hood. . You can be a solid rock, with an identity and a healthy ego - but when it comes to an author's life's work...I think there are moments we will all stand on shaky ground. And is the hardest when a good and valued friend hits us where it hurts when we are down and need the impetus to finish that novel and face a publisher. I shouldn't say I strongly feel she was jealous and simply wished she wrote it because what do I know? I don't. But that seems obvious to me: that she basked in her reputation and accolades for years and became sure of her own top dog status as an author and didn't enjoy seeing a friend write a masterpiece. If she really thought there were problems she could have told you what, why, where. The fact that she had nothing else to say tells me that she thought it was great and that was the problem...for her ego. Any one else's success was reducing hers. It amazes me how many great authors are really fine, gracious people with big hearts, and yet, so many others...are not.
So sorry this happened. I think her "best wishes for a healthy recovery" message, sent through an intermediary, was a clear attempt on her part to rekindle the friendship. Perhap she wanted you to respond. to her directly. Kings and Queens don't go to their subjects for redress. They leave the door open for you drop by, then pretend the rift never happened.
Perhaps you eventually shifted the foundation for the unusual friendship from its canonical footing of privilege, power and right? The difference between the two might be how you navigate your place among the new classical writers. Aragi claimed you and the world decided in the end. May that woman she rest in peace of that loss.
Ah, the cruelty of friends....
What a great story! I was curiously waiting for the name reveal:)
Thanks for sharing.
Ursula Le Guin was the name that sprang to mind and sat in the corner glowering intently, refusing to leave, until I finished reading this piece.
Good guess, though, could she be so blunt? Now I’m even more curious!!
Margaret Atwood was my other guess, but I don't know why this piece gave me more Le Guin vibes.
Her response is so vehement that there had to be more behind it than a mere not-my-thing, or needs-work. As if once she started, she resented having to finish it. Which she didn't have to do. She didn't have to start. But for some reason, her own or friendship related, finished and resented. Maybe something about the book really unsettled her and she couldn't wait to stop feeling that way. Her bizarre reaction and her need to say it to an anxious debut novelist, choosing her own relief over the heart of a friend, reveals a lot about her own fuckedupness. And of course all the acclaim in the world isn't going to heal a wound like that. The lovely thing is that this story gives a kind of grace to the rest of us. If a hero lands a blow like that I might remember that sometimes heroes do that for their own reasons instead of assuming my work is garbage. This reminds me of something you wrote the other day about healthy entitlement, a phrase that hit hard over here because I don't have it either.
I will literally pay you by the hour next time someone says something mean to me
No but this whole assessment is on-point, I think you nailed it (to the extent that, given her anonymity, we can presume upon the motives of a person in her situation...). Sounds like a dick move, and a dickish follow up, but there's undoubtedly a lot of pain behind that kinda venom.
Your writing always move me. Thank you.
Okay, so the only person in this story who might be entitled to a judgment is refraining from giving one, but everyone else here feels it’s their due to judge: bizarre, jealous, even glad she’s dead, and why not reveal her identity (for the mob to bash her?) Come on, great Substack minds, I’m sure a little bit more discretion and sensitivity could do wonders… If someone opens themselves to tell something so private, I’m begging you, tread softly!
You are a famous successful writer and I'm a nobody writer, but still, I want to say that I'm sorry that this happened to you. Despite being downright mean, it's just "tacky" as we say in the south.
Damn
Damn. And she of all people knew words would hurt. Also: SHE WAS WRONG.
In the immortal words of Kacey Musgraves, you can’t be everybody’s cup of tea, why would you want to be??
It’s a quandary for me. I want them to read it because I respect the way they think. But I analyze every word they say and what they don’t.
My goodness. What a reaction.
Damn, that's cold, mi pana. When I was shopping my manuscript around in France, I met with a really high-up Venezuelan compatriota responsable for something-something in prestigious publishing house Gallimard. He read my text and said it didn't work, which was a huge letdown. However, when I managed to publish last year (after much re-writing), I sent him a copy and some of the raving reviews to be like, "See? You were wrong!".
Never heard back.
Part of my maturing as a writer and a person (not as a published author) has been to learn to let these kind of auto-beefs go.
Thanks for the amazing story!
Wow! I just now went looking for your words because I finally had another one of those moments that I think might be the beginning of something really crucial to how/what I want to write about. I've been too distracted reading everything I can to figure out wtf is going on and not reading anything real. (It was a short series on Netflix that triggered an Aha! moment - totally unrelated in content except for on a very basic level.) And I thought of you because I love the way you write - your work AND your advice here. Thank you for all of that. It's a lot.
Thanks for this. Your story echoes my constant thoughts about how much courage it takes to be a published author and how vulnerable we can feel when faced with letting go and sending out that life's work for the first time. It's scary and a lonely feeling! This is why I have never sent my writing out yet and ultimately that means everything - that first novel can be the door to a career or a blow to the sense of artistic self-hood. . You can be a solid rock, with an identity and a healthy ego - but when it comes to an author's life's work...I think there are moments we will all stand on shaky ground. And is the hardest when a good and valued friend hits us where it hurts when we are down and need the impetus to finish that novel and face a publisher. I shouldn't say I strongly feel she was jealous and simply wished she wrote it because what do I know? I don't. But that seems obvious to me: that she basked in her reputation and accolades for years and became sure of her own top dog status as an author and didn't enjoy seeing a friend write a masterpiece. If she really thought there were problems she could have told you what, why, where. The fact that she had nothing else to say tells me that she thought it was great and that was the problem...for her ego. Any one else's success was reducing hers. It amazes me how many great authors are really fine, gracious people with big hearts, and yet, so many others...are not.
So sorry this happened. I think her "best wishes for a healthy recovery" message, sent through an intermediary, was a clear attempt on her part to rekindle the friendship. Perhap she wanted you to respond. to her directly. Kings and Queens don't go to their subjects for redress. They leave the door open for you drop by, then pretend the rift never happened.
Perhaps you eventually shifted the foundation for the unusual friendship from its canonical footing of privilege, power and right? The difference between the two might be how you navigate your place among the new classical writers. Aragi claimed you and the world decided in the end. May that woman she rest in peace of that loss.