6 Signs of a Toxic Writer
By: Walter Rhein
Tags: Writing, Advice, Literature, Creative Writing, Academia

Let’s call him Darius, because that’s a name that sounds nice and pretentious. He had a commitment to arrogance despite the fact that he had never written anything of consequence. Darius had a master’s degree in either English or creative writing. On the last day I talked with him, our meeting was cut short by the arrival of a prostitute he’d met online.

Although initially surprised, I later realized her arrival explained a lot.

He was teaching high school in Lima, Peru, so I suppose I should be thankful that he hadn’t arranged a rendezvous with one of his students. I always find it extremely hypocritical how academics can come up with convoluted justifications for deviant behavior while simultaneously being dismissive of practical thinking.

I’ve always had a hard time with writers with too much education. They always seem to regard me with a strange mixture of contempt and envy. I like to refer to myself as a working-class writer. I don’t make a lot of money, but I get to do what I love and that’s enough for me. So many writers I meet seem to think that there are no categories to occupy between the extremes of literary giant and complete bust. The truth is, most writers are too lazy to put in the work to find success and too delusional to even recognize how to begin.

1. They never publish anything

One of the first things that bothers me about poser writers is that they often refuse to publish anything. Before I found out that Darius was a Weinstein, I was willing to do what I could to provide him with greater visibility for his work.

I’m not going to sit here and say that he didn’t have any talent because that wouldn’t be true. I eventually got Darius to send me some of his writing and I found it to be of professional quality. Was it good enough to achieve a large following? Who knows? Even professional acquisitions editors can’t seem to predict that with any accuracy.

Darius had a bunch of articles sitting in a dusty drive that he refused to submit anywhere. When I told him about pages like Submittable, he just scoffed at me as if that was beneath his dignity.

2. They have an inflated sense of their work’s value

When I first started out, I was happy to sell a story or an article for $5. After a few years, the number became $15, then $25. These days I’ve made as much as $800 for a single article, but I’m still happy to write 900 words for compensation in the $50-$100 range.

Although you have to guard against being exploited, there is value in getting your work out there. Followers and emails mean something, and journals or web pages that offer engagement are important. Darius thought all this talk was stupid.

He’d had a couple of articles published in a journal that paid around $500, and he believed accepting anything less than that diminished the value of his work. However, when he revealed that number it led to an awkward conversation.

3. They don’t consider where the money comes from

Writing is something of a solitary profession, and I always enjoy the opportunity to meet with other authors and talk shop. Darius was a co-worker of a friend of mine who knew of my proclivity for writing and thought we’d get along. We were having a beer when the topic of article payment came up.

“Did you see a lot of engagement from that article?”

“I received one email.”

“Only one? If they’re able to pay $500 per article, I would have expected a massive readership. There are a couple of places that I place works that don’t pay, but you can always guarantee a dozen responses.”

Darius grunted dismissively. It was clear he thought a discussion of where the money came from had no value whatsoever. Maybe some sixth sense knew where the conversation might lead and he didn’t want to go there. But I have a curious mind and I can’t leave things alone.

“Was it some kind of writer’s association journal?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, that explains it,” I said. “They were probably funded by membership dues and not from the actual impact of the magazine.”

“What do you mean by that?” Darius said, obviously insulted.

“Don’t get me wrong, $500 is still $500, but in the end it comes down to one person deciding where the money goes, and not hundreds of readers. If that gatekeeper sours on you, you’re out of business.”

In any industry, it’s important to at least understand the mechanism that creates value for your work. If you don’t see where the money comes from, you are handing over control of your life to a shadowy entity.

4. Flat dismissal of pop culture

I’m always inclined to engage with academics, even though it often doesn’t end well. I recognize I have a perception of a problem that I can’t quite articulate and a healthy debate helps provide structure to the issue. The hope is to achieve a breakthrough that provides an actionable concept.

Darius and I were having the typical discussion of favorite films and I began my list with Breaking Away, a coming of age movie from 1979 starring Dennis Christopher and Dennis Quaid. Darius’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Really?” he said with a smirk.

Yeah, I know, when you’re discussing films with literary types you’re supposed to say Wild Strawberries, 8 1/2, and Citizen Kane. Am I the only one who is sick of talking about those movies? The fact is, if I have some spare time and I want to watch a quality film, I’m a lot more likely to reach for Breaking Away. That movie honestly appeals to me. What movie appeals to you? I’m genuinely curious.

It does me no good to pontificate on Citizen Kane for the thousandth time. I’d much rather hear about some hidden gem. Why do academics think their stature as an intellectual is diminished if they admit they enjoy the work of Robert Rodriguez?

5. Dismissal of television

I kept thinking that Darius was smart enough to provide some insight if I could just get him to engage the problem. He was a representative of academic thinking. Perhaps I hoped he could enlighten me so I wouldn’t have to fight with people all the time.

Darius made a post on Facebook that led to a kind of comical discussion. This was prior to the last season of Game of Thrones, and his comment was something to the effect of, “Next week we’ll have to hear GOT fans whine about how the next episode didn’t live up to their expectations.”

At this point, I was already getting tired of the guy, so I replied, “Yeah, that’s terrible, because only literary elites should feel entitled to share their opinions on anything.”

Personally, I always find it fascinating when a book, film, or television show grabs the attention of the public. I believe the literary community should pay attention. George Lucas created a property that so excited a fan base that many of them were willing to pitch tents on concrete and wait three days to purchase a ticket. Nobody ever did that for a release from Toni Morrison.

In discussing this, Darius replied that juggernauts like Star Wars and Harry Potter get enough attention. But that comment misses the point. My position was that our literary establishment tries to manufacture properties that people aren’t really interested in. We shouldn’t dismiss things that actually earn a following. There are plenty of smaller properties that speak to people that our literary community won’t even engage.

Darius insisted that the gatekeepers exist to protect a certain literary standard. I contested that you can’t have true literature unless your work has the power to move people, and that gatekeepers often force inferior works down our throats. He replied that I didn’t understand literature. The conversation spiraled into hostility without the true argument ever being engaged.

At the very end he posted, “Actually, I don’t take fantasy very seriously.”

I replied, “Then why should we take your opinion on fantasy seriously?”

That’s when he blocked me.

6. They believe they’re the victim of a conspiracy

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s important for all writers to feel a little bit of impostor syndrome at all times. A deeply rooted sense that you’re not good enough is what motivates you to improve. If you overcome your impostor syndrome and believe you’re good enough, then you’re finished.

Arrogance is a lot easier to live with on a day to day basis, but the regular pain of impostor syndrome is necessary if you aspire to ever write anything important.

Darius harbored resentment because he felt the literary community had treated him unfairly. One of his professors had been accused of sexual impropriety by multiple students, and Darius was convinced that because his name was associated with this professor, his work would never be given a fair consideration.

“Submit under a pen name,” I said.

But Darius wasn’t interested in practical solutions. He was so committed to his belief system that he didn’t even notice it was causing him to descend into alcoholism and sexual addiction.

Let’s have honest discussions

I gave Darius more respect than he probably deserved based solely on the fact that he had a master’s degree. I respect people who have taken the time to engage in higher education, but the tunnel vision you encounter can become frustrating. A degree provides us with a set of intellectual tools, and those tools become more valuable if you’re willing to use them everywhere.

Why do so many educated people limit their potential for insight by refusing to engage their talent with works that haven’t been “anointed” by a literary gatekeeper?

Write and think with honesty

I don’t understand why so many talented writers are committed to a belief system that doesn’t produce results. Sure, it would be great to get an agent and sign a six figure contract for a novel. However, it’s foolish to think that is the only pathway to achieving success as a writer. Even with the advantages of marketing and distribution, the majority of the works released by big publishers fail spectacularly.

It’s important to evaluate our literary community at every level. Academics often dismiss the business side of writing, but profit is always king and following revenue streams is the easiest way to get to the truth about any industry.

All writing is worthy of study

It’s staggering to me that intelligent people don’t stop for a second and contemplate their own instinctive dismissal of certain properties. Who does it serve if you are committed to never picking up an independently published book? Why are you conditioned to think that way? Why are you afraid to say you like Breaking Away more than Citizen Kane?

Writers want their work read. A writer that doesn’t read isn’t fulfilling his/her part of the social contract that allows creativity to flourish within a society. All writers need to have the courage to be the champion of something unheralded.

If your education has made you too terrified to offer an honest opinion, then what’s the point? It’s time for the writing community to self-evaluate and perceive how their behaviors inadvertently contribute to the proliferation of the very institutions of oppression they claim to work against.