Online, anyway. On social media. Buncha fuckin’ self-important claptrap.
I’ll have someone like my Facebook page and comment like “Hey, I liked your page! Like mine back!”
I don’t know you. Maybe you suck. Congratulations, you’re all following each other and sharing each other’s posts. Now what? Readers don’t know you exist. You’re just proclaiming to each other how much you love the smell of your own farts, and dispensing advice on how to “stand out” by being just like everybody else. You’re shouting into a vacuum. Your thinking is one-dimensional. You demonstrate a lack of empathy by failing to understand that what works for you and your writing might not work for someone else. You can’t see past the end of your own nose and that leads me to believe that all of your characters are just like you. How boring.
I’d rather share and promote people’s work that I actually like and respect. Planet Pailly, for example. Or River Dixon, among many others I’ve discovered here on WordPress. Those are two writers I’d like to see stand out. I don’t want to contribute to the proliferation of mediocrity by sharing bullshit. If you write bullshit, I want your readers. The money they’d spend on your book? I want it. I want to profit off of your failure. You’re cluttering up the market and I plan to poach your readers. I don’t feel any inherent sense of kinship with “fellow writers.” Why should I? What do I have in common with them? I started down that road, but it’s a dead end. I’m turning back and taking an alternate route. Y’all keep forging ahead, cruising down circle jerk highway.
Everybody wants to be a literary hero. I’ll be the villain. Reach for the sky.