Let’s be honest, a phrase invariably found problematic regardless of the source, I like to think of myself as an artist.
That’s just the simple truth of it. Dues have been paid.
Sixty-eight years old, been around the block or two, sometimes there was no block, sixty-eight years old before I finally start to figure out Me.
Me & This Life.
For instance, if you want to know who your real friends are in life, just write a book.
Then tell some of them, you’re coming for a visit. Chill the beer.
Photo by Carla Perry
If you are lucky, your book gets reviewed. Haven’t yet received that sell-a-boatload-of-copies review. But people I respected said nice things.
Last I looked – this morning – seventeen reviews on Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/When-Running-Was-Young-Were/product-reviews/1909457167/ref=cm_cr_dp_synop?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=0&sortBy=bySubmissionDateDescending#RLKCLBW9SB40O
Now, I did not personally beg all of those reviewers to write five star reviews. Nor do I know personally everybody who has chimed in. Not all of them.
Sixteen 5 Stars. Thank you. One Two Star. Two stars!!!?? Here it is:
0 of 7 people found the following review helpful
2.0 out of 5 stars Boring Rehash, October 10, 2014
Verified Purchase(What’s this?)
This review is from: When Running Was Young and So Were We (Paperback)
Boring rehash, nay reprints, of poorly written runner bios. I wish I could get back the wasted time I spent reading this book.
Now I don’t know this guy, this “Pre Historian.” But he pisses me off.
Wish I could get back the wasted time I’ve spent fretting over what this clueless individual says he thinks.
(Note: no one has found his review helpful.)
Then I am reminded he is a verified purchaser, he bought the book. Think I get the last laugh.
Winning the Armory Award by the Track & Field Writers of America (TAFWA) for “Best Running Book of 2014” also soothed that wound.
But it gets better.
A study (Journal of Consumer Research) of the effects of polite negative reviews found negative reviews – written in a polite fashion –
can, in fact, increase your credibility and the amount of money potential customers are willing to spend with you.
That’s what I’m talkin’ about.
This bonehead makes those other sixteen savvy readers seem like they can’t all be bogus.
Not all of them anyway.
Still… there is little amusing about gratuitous sludge hurling. And you might guess I can be a little sensitive about criticism.
Especially when it is s0Oooo bogus.
Same is true for some of the fan mail. But a ‘fan’ is like a copper penny coin. Heads one side, ass the other.
Fan is a truncated version of the word “fanatic.” Some are supportive and some not. Haters gotta hate.
So, I “met” a “friend” on Facebook, which looking back gives me a better understanding of social networking.
A middle-aged lady who, like me, is trying to become a good writer.
We exchanged introductory e-mails. I asked her to subscribe to jackdogwelch.com. She did.
Day before I received the e-mail below, think I got eleven e-mails from her. Many lengthy.
Told her – of course – I’d love to read your manuscript.
Also told her I was going to read John L. Parker’s new book. First.
So I wouldn’t be able to get back to hers right away.
Her next e-mail to me, the next morning:
So, the nice thing about getting older…although I’ve always been one to speak my mind, announce for all the world to hear that the emperor has no clothes and to tell people to go fuck themselves when I felt that they deserved it…is that you don’t feel the least bit of remorse in telling people that you think they’re sexist and misogynist…and that you don’t really like that in a person. This crap is just that…crap. Oh yeah, it’s well-written and it’s clever and I’m sure that your misogynistic and sexist friends are going to get a big hard-on when they read it…but it’s still crap. Women really scare the shit out of you, don’t they?
I’ve unsubscribed to these mailings, and unfriended you on Facebook. Don’t bother to read my manuscript, which you weren’t going to be able to do for a long time anyway, since you’re such a busy guy. I bought your fucking book, I wrote a very favorable review of your fucking book. [They] didn’t choose to publish it, but that’s not my problem.
You wrote to me that you’d like to exchange work, and when I agreed, you sent me the link to your website. I asked you if you could read my manuscript, which you agreed to do, but…oh, gee…I’m so busy now reading something new that has just come out…it’s going to be a long time until I can get to it.
My, my…it must be wonderful to think so highly of yourself. Yeah, you’re a good writer, a very good writer in fact…but you’re also an asshole, who obviously has a real problem with women. Like to be in control, do you? Putting the ‘little woman’ down? I mean, how important could the stuff she’s writing really be? She’s just a woman after all, who’s going to get after you for not putting down the toilet seat. Fuck you. I don’t need your validation, your criticism, your critique. I’m a good fucking writer, I know it and I’m not going to wait around holding my breath until the great and magnificent Jack Welch tells me that he likes what I’ve written. Bull fucking shit. Go fuck yourself.
To which – frankly startled and a little disappointed – I responded:
Not yet 8 a.m., already at my computer because I am so busy & have so much to achieve.
So, the first item of e-mail I open this morning is your letter to me.
Because I so enjoy our conversations & thought we might be mutually supportive of each other’s writing.
Way to start my day.
Can’t imagine anything will be more surprising.
Well, at least you were upfront about your grotesque misconceptions.
I am not Guido Maldemarra, I do not agree with his conception of marriage nor his conception of women.
I am completely comfortable with women. As comfortable as I can be. Some of my best friends are women.
(Not so many African-American friends, but they have been scarce in my life.)
Apparently, you missed the point of the piece.
Like to be in control? Please, don’t make my wife laugh.
Have a nice day & good luck with your writing.
Jack
Let me explain.
Attention World! Guido is a real guy, not me. He actually said those things, I didn’t.
And he did finally marry and I am really having dinner with them in a couple of months.
It is a true story. It is not me.
Thinking I must remind this woman of her first husband.
Or she was drinking.
Maybe her pet just died.
Still haven’t finished Parker’s new novel.