Critics and why I'm not a "real" writer...

And it has begun. As soon as a story I wrote about self-publishing appeared in the paper, so did the critics. Not about the book itself, but the nature of self-publishing. The story appeared on Quad-Cities Online where readers could comment about the story.

Immediately, I was told I wasn't a "real" writer. The terms "flash in the pan," "scam artist," "cheap" and "self-involved" came out in full force. My favorite critics were telling me (anonymously, mind you) that I somehow wouldn't be allowed into this seemingly illustrious writers clique.

Immediately, I think about a dark room in the back of an unknown writers' club where everyone smokes big cigars, drinks expensive Scotch and wine, talking in haughty English accents about prose, authors I've never heard of and the like. But, to be in the club, you have to pay your dues by getting published in literary journals. Basically, as I took one online comment, you have to write for writers.

Well, I say screw that. I can tell you many reasons why I write. The most basic one is that I love it. The second was that I had something to say. I wrote for my friends, a generation of people who don't keep bookshelves of leather bound books like Ron Burgundy.

As I like to put it, I write for people who don't read. My most influential author, Chuck Palahniuk, did that for me. The book Fight Club got me into reading. Now I can't stop.

But he didn't self-publish. I did. That's why I'm just some hack.

Online, I was defended by another anonymous person who said self-publishing was closest to the author's true voice. And then, my favorite ignoramus quote of all time: "An author this inexperienced doesn't need to have his 'true voice' heard."

In essence, if you're not a member of the club, shut up. Well, it's funny. I'm putting in my quote book to remind myself again why I write - to keep a voice out there.

But, I'm sure that's the least of the criticism to come my way. I'm not worried.

Just remember: The easiest way to avoid criticism is to not do anything. As soon as you do, people will attack you for any reason. I say bring it.

Long, long weekend

Let's just say it was interesting.

My mom and brother hung out Friday night and Saturday. Then the party with about 300 guests including my cousin Dan and Kelly, Dean and Emily from Winona, and a slew from the Q-C. As far as I could tell, everyone had fun -- some maybe too much. Then, after 3 a.m. rolled around, we headed to my apartment for good times until 7 a.m. with some of the Iowa rollerbladers.

Then breakfast, then a nap, then work, then sleep, then the bike races, then a lack of sleep and now work. Ouch.

And, it wouldn't be a three-day weekend without some very, very weird twists in my social life. I'd go into it further, but, hey, it's my life. Get your own.

And the Argus/Dispatch ran my version of how the book came together. Buy a copy of today's paper and check it out.

Also, a friend told me her cousin heard about my book from a psych professor in Des Moines. That's just weird. Cool, but weird.

All I know is that when I release my second novel, I'm not scheduling a party at the beginning of a three-day weekend. That's just brutal in ways I didn't think was possible.

And now back to the world of the working class.