Life Rage: This Writer Is Going H.A.M.

Disclaimer: This post contains a heated rant of one extremely repressed writer. If you do not wish to join me on my angry rant, please refer to this adorable video of a Bengal cat playing fetch.

Let me start with the fact that I am naturally an angry person, but a happy angry person. Although that may seem like an oxymoron, it honestly isn’t. You can find me in most situations as an encouraging, optimistic person, who is always will to please others before pleasing herself. But when something angers me, it’s sometimes best to step aside and let the tornado run its course from a safe distance.

My boyfriend is, at times, on the receiving end of my anger, not for something he has done wrong, but by being a spectator in my path of destruction. Sometimes my only healthy source of relieving stress is writing, which leads us to my life rage. From annoying pests to driving in the car, my rage runs deep and true. I welcome any comments: agreeing with the few I’ve listed here, listing some of your own, and even your points for disagreement. All are welcome.

Ants- I want to assure the animal-conscious readers that I don’t willingly loathe any living creature, but ants make it difficult to be humanitarian about the whole “invading my home and bringing diseases onto every surface” situation. Besides the fact that there are 1.5 million ants for each human, a queen can make a million a day. I’m personally not worried about extinction when the below species have made themselves basically invincible.

The bulldog ant will follow you from a meter away, and they’re responsible for deaths every year in Australia. Or how about the Safu or killer ant, who causes elephants to flee before them in addition to having jaws that stay locked into your skin even after the ant is torn off.

These two pale in comparison to the sheer terror I felt last week when I had dozens of big, black carpenter ants swarming my kitchen over night. The physical danger is minimal, I’ll admit. However, the emotional and psychological trauma of finding your home overrun with these invaders is beyond the 1-10 pain scale can categorize.

How did they get in? Why did they chose my home to ransack? And how do I get rid of them? These questions raced through my mind as I ran from one end of the kitchen to the other to catch these greedy, fast-moving pests. The chaos following bordered on apocalyptic proportions. As the lady of the house, I failed miserably inside my head. If I can’t protect my kitchen from these invaders, then how will I make our home, a home? It seems silly to think of a few ants as an invasion, but it angered me to my core. Luckily, the magic of Pintrest allowed me to take back my thunder, restoring my kitchen to its pest-free glory.

Being called Mandy-This one is a simple issue. My name is Amanda. Not Mandy Not Mandie. Amanda. Please don’t call me Mandy because that’s not my name. You can call me Manda, Manders, Manda Panda, Amanda-kiss-n-hug, Manda-lin, etc. It’s less about particularities of my personality, and more about common courtesy. Why do people insist on addressing me by a different version of my name without knowing me or my preferences? It’s like calling someone Bill before they have a chance to tell you they prefer their given William. Just ask if someone has a preferred name before you rudely assume you are best friends and can call people whatever you want.

People who don’t say goodbye on the phone-Another courtesy issue (oh, there are so many) that I’m bothered by at work. As a customer service rep, it is a daily struggle to find common, American etiquette in other people. Please, please, please say good-bye before you hang up the phone. It is the courteous way to let the person on the other line know the conversation is over. Just do it, so I don’t have to wait on the line like a douchebag for another 5+ seconds hoping you’re going to hang up on me. Ugh!

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Writer Rage:

Writers against editors-My only coherent response is—STOP BEING SO PRETENTIOUS! My non-coherent response is rjsdjftjjfdjft.  Translation: I feel an extra special disappointment for all writers who choose to snub an editor. It makes no logical sense to discredit a tried and true aspect of the writing/publishing process. To disregard the input of an editor both in a professional situation and in general conversation is to cheat your characters from reaching their full potential.

Regardless of whether the editor is a friend, stranger, or world-famous, his/her opinions matter. The occupation of editor strives on bringing out the best in the story no matter the cost. It’s not about personal preference or what HAS to be in the book. The editor doesn’t care about the writer’s feelings because it’s not their job to make sure you’re happy. The editor worries about the characters, the overall story and of course, the reader.

Sure, as a writer you should begin every piece writing it for yourself. Yet, if you so choose to publish then it becomes a less selfish act of sharing your personal thoughts and experiences with others. By handing your precious composition off to a trusted source (the editor), you allow your story to be scrutinized and elevated to a level of completeness you couldn’t have imagined. In addition, it helps lend credibility to your work when you don’t have glaring grammatical mistakes, spelling errors, or giant plot holes. Editors are a writer’s friend. They give you the unbiased, critical support your story needs when you get too close. Gah!

So, there is my current life rage. There are many more, which I chose to save for another post, and instead I will show off my newly painted cell phone case, which happens to be modeled after my rather snazzy new domain/brand-The Spotted Writer. I feel like I am on my way towards success with a little piece of merch to go with my blog. Check it out!

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Happy Reading/Writing!

 

 

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2 Comments

June 21, 2014 · 1:23 am

2 responses to “Life Rage: This Writer Is Going H.A.M.

  1. I always sorta worry about those writers who think–truly, deeply, way down in the subcockles of their hearts–they can edit their own work and don’t need anyone else to look at it. Were they savaged by an editor as a child? Do they have horrid nightmares about red pens stalking them? That’s the only explanation I can find for foregoing such an important step in the whole publishing process.

    Also, I feel your pain with the ant thing. We’ve had last summer and finally got wise to leaving a bowl filled with borax and honey outside the door. It worked like a charm.

    • Finally! Someone who understands my rage about ants! And I know you tow the line between writer and editor pretty frequently, too. It’s just sad that other writers feel they are above the perfectly normal process of someone else editing their work. For some reason, they feel like they are forgoing their creative license when someone experienced tries to improve their work. So sad!

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