So You Made Some Bad Art Friends

If you haven't yet, read this insanity.

Holy shit, right? Just wow.

I realize the epic that is Bad Art Friend does provide an opportunity to talk about a little discussed topic within writing: the perils of networking (or, how to gauge/temper your social relationships in a healthy way before you drive yourself fucking insane).

The very act of writing is a mostly solitary exercise, so when some writers need to approach others within their community, be it for feedback, opportunity, or kinship, well, there can be a lot of weird pitfalls. Most commonly, these pitfalls are easy to navigate. Some of us are shy, some of us are not. 

It happens. 

But sometimes, oh, sometimes all those doubts, fears, and monsters in our heads can overwhelm us and imposter syndrome creeps right into your socializing, leaving you wondering if the people you're connecting with see you as a peer or if they even see you as a fellow artist at all.

9 times out of 10, those fears are unfounded. But that single time like the one above, where your fears are validated (not discounting an IMMENSE lack of self awareness, but that's a much deeper discussion that isn't so writing-focused), what the hell do you do?

Here are a few tips to life after bad art friends.

1) What hill do you plan to die on?

OK - you just found out there are writers talking a little smack about you. Hell, you may have found out that you are - gasp - DISLIKED among a certain set of writers. 

Bluntly, take stock of your shit. Take a second to do a little reflection and see if your actions may be to blame. Now, this isn't the time to dump the weight of the world on your shoulders, but there's always a chance there's a few crossed wires that you can sort out with good communication and a proper cleaning of your own house.

If not...

Move the fuck on then. As in high school, there are many cliques within writing communities. More often than not, it's harmless, just like-minded people bonding with other like-minded people. Sometimes, it is a group of Mean Girl-wannabes looking out for themselves and thirsting for non-stop validation from fellow boot lickers. Thems the breaks. Ask yourself, is it really worth pushing back? To paraphrase something I heard somewhere, you can't wake someone up when they're faking sleep. Meaning, if someone is willfully doing something, there's not much of a chance you're going to win them over. Starve their fire by choosing not to be the oxygen in the room.

2) Don't drive yourself insane

It's really easy to get wrapped in your own head without hurt feelings. Add the latter to the mix and we all lose ourselves a little. 

I've always been of the belief that I should never assume everyone likes me, but I should also never believe everyone hates me. Temper your relationships within the community. Understand boundaries and understand the people around you. You don't need anyone's friendship to succeed. if someone is toxic, but they hold some sway, who cares? Don't fool yourself into believing anyone's favor is going to change your writing career. Your work will do that, not being friendly to any assholes with perceived power (because I promise you, they ain't as powerful as you think), won't ruin anything for you.

Besides, you have writing to do. You see the room's packed with nonsense? Guess what? You can leave and go write! Maybe even about them (but just avoid like, outright lifting shit from them. Apparently, that ends BADLY).

3) Redefine your own boundaries/goals

Take stock of your situation. What will place you in a safe space? Pulling away entirely? Avoiding certain events? We all handle our traumas differently. Try to find the best way you can tend to your ego wounds without harming your artistic endeavors.

Remember: the social aspect of writing is NOT the same as the act of writing. The only people that can hurt our writing is ourselves. Bullies, hangers-on, and other dummies can't be allowed to hurt your passion of the act itself. Now, some people may argue that smack talking can indeed hurt their career, that folks may talk crap about you to industry professionals.

Well, I mean, if you did something awful, sure, you're done. Let's call that a caveat here. In the event that you're simply disliked by a group of people who like to stir shit, then don't worry. First, if your work is good and you're a professional, nobody is going to avoid working with you because you talk about another hobby too much or you were awkward one time during a reading. And if that industry pro WERE to do that? I mean, shit, is that someone worth working with in the first place?

4) Don't hate yourself, love yourself

Not everyone in life will like us. Even if we're the most put together, compassionate, vibrant being of pure light. There will always be someone out there who wants to dim that shit.

Therefore, if there's something to fix on your end, by all means do, but don't do it for others. I started writing to heal my own traumas, not to be best friends with everyone I meet. I continue on that path, because writing has made me a better person and has helped alleviate some of my scars. I've made friends too, but that's icing on the cake.

Don't sweat the icing. Make the cake.

5) Do good to do good

An obvious issue with Bad Art Friend's kidney story is the sense of neediness based off a person's good deeds. I'm of the belief we do good things to simply put good into the world. We don't need a million pats on the back for being a decent person and we should never expect friendship or opportunities based on the perception of our actions.

I've found paying it forward is therapeutic and a great means to sort out my emotions when I feel down. In a rut because of the bad art friends? Find a way to be a good art friend to others.

Anyway, I'm hoping this is a helpful (if cheeky) rundown on how to handle the stress of high school level drama in an adult world. Be the best art friend you can be - even if it's only to yourself.

What Not to Forget When Traveling Out of Country

One of my goals for the year was to attend one of the big crime fiction conferences. Since I had attended Left Coast Crime a few years back when it was in my home town of Phoenix, I decided to go with that.

As it turns out, this year's Left Coast Crime was being held in the beautiful city of Vancouver, British Columbia. Woohoo!

I'll admit, I'm not much of a world traveler. In fact, the last time I'd been outside of the United States was twenty years ago. But despite having turned into a bit of a homebody over the past couple of decades, I was excited about visiting our neighbor to the north.

And I was rather organized about it. I got my passport renewed in plenty of time. Hotel booked. Flights booked. Supershuttle booked. I'd called my bank and my cellphone carrier to let them know of my travel plans. I made a comprehensive list of things I needed to bring (including underwear and socks), and other things to do before I left. I was very organized.

All in all, I was looking forward to this little adventure.

Photo credit: simonlesleyphoto on Best Running  CC BY-ND

Sure, I was a wee bit nervous about getting through security. Kind of a crime fiction writer's dilemma. Secondary research can make one look suspicious, especially when you Google such topics as "the kill radius of one pound of C-4", "how to turn raw opium into heroin", and "how to defeat magnetic door locks."

Honestly, it's for research. Look! I have a concealed carry permit and a fingerprint card. I've already been checked out. To quote Eliza Doolittle, "I'm a good girl, I am."

But my concerns over being pulled into a room and questions by the TSA were unfounded, as it turns out. I wasn't on any "Do Not Fly" list. My passport wasn't flagged. In fact, I breezed right through security.

In fact, everything went great until I was in the air on my way to Calgary (where I would pick up a connecting flight to Vancouver.)

The flight attendant came down the aisle with the refreshment cart and asked if I'd like anything. I asked for a bag of granola bites and reached into my wallet to pull out my bank card. Which wasn't there.

Photo by johnhain

You know those scenes in movies where the walls start closing in? That's what it felt like. I was headed to Canada without my bank card. Let the panicking begin!

I dug through my bag and finally came up with a PayPal Mastercard. I paid for my snacks with it and the charge went through. Whew! So while in flight, I used the onboard WiFi to move some money from my regular bank account to the one that my PayPal account drew on since I had a zero PayPal balance.

I tried to breathe, but I was still a bit shaken up. Was that enough? Would I be okay?

When I reached Calgary, I got through customs okay and figured I better pull some cash out of the ATM before heading to my flight to Vancouver. I slipped in my card, tried to pull out a hundred dollars and...Transaction Declined. Resume panic attack!

I called PayPal. The customer service rep let me know I needed to authorize the card for use in Canada. I gave them all of the security responses and they authorized it. Great. I tried the ATM again. Transaction Declined. Crap!

The rep then explained I had a zero PayPal balance. I replied there was plenty of money in the bank account it drew on. He said he could transfer some money, but it would take three business days before it would be available. Ugh! Not helping!

Finally, I just said, "Screw it. In for a penny, in for a dollar. Or in this case, a loonie."

With the help of a friendly WestJet agent, I breezed through security and ran like an Olympic sprinter through the airport as they were announcing my name over the loudspeaker along with the words "Final Boarding Call."

Laurie Rockenbeck's Bound to Die

I just barely made it onboard my flight. Once in the air, I texted to my dear friend Laurie Rockenbeck, author of Bound to Die and Cleansed By Fire. She and I were going to be hosting a table at the Left Coast Crime banquet. Even as I sent her my panicky plea for help, a voice in my head was telling me I sounded like those FB scams where con artists pose as friends caught in a similar situation.

To let her know that my situation was legit, I included details about our books, previous interactions, and a very worried photo of myself on the plane. My biggest worry at the moment was how I was going to get from the Vancouver airport to the hotel. Did taxis in Vancouver take credit cards? And even if they did, would mine work?

Fortunately, Laurie responded, letting me know she was ready to help out in any way possible. It's so good to have friends.

When I arrived in Vancouver, I managed to grab a taxi. Yes, they did take credit cards. Whew!

While en route to the hotel, I called my wife and told her to send money from her PayPal account to mine. I also sent a panicked money request to a client that owed me a bit. She helped me out right away.

Bottom line, in the end, everything worked out. I was able to pay for what I needed to pay for. The conference was fabulous. I got to meet some friends who until then I'd only known via social media. I ate a lot of fabulous food. And everyone loved the panels I was on.

Me with Snopes's David Mikkelson

Me with Susanna Calkins, Julie L. Brown, and Lori Rader-Day

Me with Kellye Garrett

The moral of the story is twofold. First, when traveling, DON'T FORGET YOUR BANK CARD! Second, the Beatles were right. We do get by with a little help from our friends.

Thanks to my wife and all of my dear friends who made Left Coast Crime 2019 a wonderful experience. I can't wait to see you in San Diego next year.

---

As one of the only transgender authors in crime fiction, Dharma Kelleher brings a unique voice to the genre, specializing in gritty crime fiction with a feminist kick. She rides a motorcycle, picks locks, and has a dark past she’d rather forget.

She is the author of the Jinx Ballou bounty hunter series and the Shea Stevens outlaw biker series. You can learn more about Dharma and her work at https://dharmakelleher.com.

We Are Not Alone

By Russel D McLean

Writing is something that is done – for me, at least – in solitude. My dear friend, Rebecca, gets very fed up with people saying to her, “You know a writer? Isn’t he an exciting person?” In fact she gets so fed with people saying this to her that she now has a catch-all response:

“You want to know the truth? Russel spends all day* sitting in front of a computer in a dressing gown and slippers that could walk around on their own, swearing to himself and occasionally tapping things on a keyboard.”

And it’s a joke, but its also quite true – the life of a writer is hardly glitz and glamour. The movies make us look like tormented geniuses and the montages of writing make it seem like such a natural and smooth and terrifically momentum-fuelled process that, you know, there’s something pretty sexy about it – particularly since writing seems to be a process of doing things out in the real world while doing a voice over.

But more often than not, we’re just people, sitting in a room thinking, “what the hell do I write next?”

I mention this because one of the most important things to have around you as a writer is a support network. Often this can be a spouse or partner. I don’t really, at this time, have anyone like that. But I do have friends. And my mum and dad, who have been very supportive of my choice to try and write for a living (even if mum dissaproves of some of my swearing!). I have very good friends both within and without the writing community. And all of these people are hugely important to me. For one thing, they force me out of the house to occasionally interact with the real world. This is a good thing because, given my personality, I could quite easily sit in this tatty dressing gown and squelch in these slippers and not notice the apocalypse occurring in the world outside so intent would I be on trying to perfect a piece of work that I never really see as finished**

And that’s the thing: a writer – even a pulpy writer like myself – needs to engage with the world. To be part of it. You cannot write in isolation. Stuck inside all day with those voices in your head? You’d go mad. Well, I certainly would.

So my friends – both those that write and those that don’t – provide a necessary relief. They are my connection to the real world. They keep grounded. And they keep me sane. And some of them even ensure that I remember to wear clothes when I leave the deepest, darkest shadows of my abode.

Because of these people – because of their support – I feel like perhaps they make me a better writer. Not by offering advice or assisting professionally (although some of them do) but by simply being my friends, by being there to arse around with or talk to.

So while the act of writing is by necessity a solitary activity (even when you’re writing in tandem, I think there is some element of solitude that must come between collaborators, but then I’ve never really collaborated, so what do I know?) I do believe that any book owes its genesis as much to those around the writer as it does to the writer themselves. Not in a direct fashion, perhaps, but without the support network that friends, family and colleagues provide, I don’t know how anyone could do this crazy gig and come out the other side with anything like their best work.

In short, this week’s post is dedicated to those people in my life. I think you all know who you are.

I just want to say thank you.



*Not entirely true – I do occasionally get dressed and go to a day job.
**Perhaps that’s another post – but here’s why deadlines are important for someone like me: I can never see a work as finished until they pry it from my cold dead, keyboard. There’s always something else in the text I could be fiddling with.