I Hate Other Writers

I have a confession to make.

I hate other writing bloggers.

Well, let me qualify that statement: I hate a lot of other writing bloggers. Or, I don't hate them as people, but I hate a lot of the things they do. And say. And how they act. And their websites. And I'm 99% sure they don't have souls.

Like I've mentioned before, there are some good writing websites out there. There really are. But for every good website full of legit advice and good company, there are eightyteen bajillion sites that are full of crap and trying to steal the money of naive, hopeful beginner writers who think that maybe shelling out $5.99 for the eBook of "30 Days to Fame and Fortune Through Writing!" is going to unlock their creative potential.

This is just an example. I don't have anything against this person and I have no idea what's in this book. But it graphically illustrates the kind of thing I'm talking about.

For any of you who read those blogs, or buy those books, I have some bad news: those people don't know anything. They have no knowledge that you don't have (at least, no useful knowledge that they're actually going to share with you). If they really understood how to get fame and fortune in 30 days, they wouldn't be trolling the internet, peddling eBooks; they'd be on a yacht, enjoying their fame and fortune. The only profitable skill those people have is convincing you that they're smart and you need to give them your money. Don't buy it.

Now, I don't have anything against writers who use their blogs as a platform to advertise their books. That is totally legit, and I hope I can someday do the same. What I'm talking about are bloggers whose entire blogs are nothing more than a front to push their writing advice eBooks. Bloggers whose posts are just clickbait that promise quick and easy answers, if you'll just shell out $3.99 for a PDF, or join their $25-a-month writing club. 

I'm never going to charge anybody for my advice. This is a promise. I mean, it's a pretty easy promise to make, because let's be real, my advice isn't that good, and I'm addicted to giving it. I've been known to follow strangers around, offering them 50 cents if they let me tell them what they're doing wrong with their lives. 

Look. There are two branches of worthwhile advice: free advice, offered willingly, that you personally assess as useful; and paid advice, from someone whose work and success you admire. That's why I'm not going to accuse Stephen King of being a swindler for writing a book of advice: he actually has a career. He has the experience, talent, and book sales to warrant shelling out 10 bucks on Amazon for his advice. If someone's only writing credit is the book they're trying to sell you about how to write a book, then it's pretty safe to say, they ain't legit.

This is like when my thrice-divorced great-aunt Petunia tells me that the way to find love is to lower my standards. "You're too picky," she croaks at me through the smoke of her third cigarette of the afternoon. "You catch more flies with honey, y'know." And by "honey," she means more cleavage. 

Or when your unemployed friend tells you not to let your boss walk all over you. "You tell him where he can shove his properly formatted memo!"

The moral of the story is, don't take advice from someone unless you want their life. 

Except, take that advice from me, even if you don't want to be an unemployed college graduate with writer's block and massive student loans.