Slaying Gods

Last night I had the pleasure of meeting a man I've respected for many years, a man whom I've often thought of as a literary hero, as someone who has become greater than I might ever be. And yet, the moment he walked out on stage to greet the raptured and boisterous audience to discuss his epic work American Gods,* Neil Gaiman set up the downfall of his own godhood.

That sounds rather bizarre, I know, but give me a moment to explain.**

At one point during the evening, Neil told the story of how he'd created a goddess. She'd been lifted from the pages of his work and given life in the real world. While similar to two goddesses from Russian mythology, he'd added a third to American Gods because the story needed another. Since that time, many in the world have come to accept and verify this goddess, as if Neil had just referenced a deity from traditional stories. Wikipedia now cites this goddess as real, without mention of American Gods or Neil, her creator. In essence, he created a god.

We've done the same thing, but with real people, turning them into the gods of our own imagining. We have created our own mythology of fame, and we don't even realize what we've done.

We live in a world filled with movie stars and singers, writers and athletes. It is a world in which the internet facilitates our hero-worship. We are sometimes able to touch these Gods Among Men, even if only for a brief second. And so we've created the cult of celebrity, and we have a gigantic pantheon of gods we worship.

I've often derided this worldly religion of celebrity worship while secretly participating in it like everyone else. But as I experience more in life, as I meet these otherworldly creatures I admire to the point of adoration, I'm realizing they are not gods. They are men who may be great, but they are still very much human.

So last night as I sat in the audience, a man I've practically hero-worshipped for years walked onto the stage. Someone at the top of the literary world, a person who befriends others in the Olympus of celebrity and so doesn't need to fraternize with the unclean masses. Intellectually I knew different, but I still believed it.

Then two years and a half years ago, still very new to Twitter, I stumbled upon @neilhimself's feed. I eagerly followed and sent him an @reply expressing my delight. To my shock, a few minutes later I got an email saying that I was now being followed by none other than Neil Gaiman.

I can't remember exactly how I reacted, though skipping giddily around the room wouldn't be too far from how I felt. I knew that I was near to greatness, yet I feared saying or doing anything to alert Neil to the fact that he was probably following me by accident. Still, that little insignificant thing made me feel validated, like it had given me worth I wouldn't otherwise have. It was unconscious, yes, but it was there, and it influenced my interactions with him and others in this cult of celebrity.

Over the years I only sent him DMs on a few occasions, still fearful that I wasn't part of the celebrity club to which he belonged. Those times I did centered on a little bookstore I'd opened and which was in dire need of help. With 1.5 million followers, a simple RT from him could do more to bring needed attention to my little shop around the corner than anything I could do on my own.

And so the god reached down and helped me, even though it probably didn't mean much to him at the time. He was passing on a message, donating a signed book to an auction to help a bookstore, but the impact of those small actions made it possible for the store to struggle on a bit longer,*** and it gave me the chance to add more godliness to his character, at least in my eyes.

Then came last night, and he unknowingly slew the god in himself. I call it that, because for so long I've thought him more than a simple man. To see a man—albeit a humorous and charismatic one—joke around, discuss a book, talk about mistakes and challenges he's gone through . . . well, I realized that while he is great, he is not better than me. Not in the basic sense that I am human, that we both are.

I write this partly to explain to myself what I've been doing all these years, not just with him, but with so many other celebrities and geniuses who've become gods in my mind. While it may not seem bad to do so—we almost all do it—I never realized the inherent problem with such thoughts. When we turn men into gods, we are in danger of diminishing ourselves.

You see, humanity is flawed. We can be brilliant at times and downright stupid at others, but none of us possess the perfection required for godhood. To give that power of deity to a man implies that we are less than him, we are not worth as much as he is. And so we make ourselves mere humans, unworthy to touch their snot-riddled tissues. (Gross analogy, I know, but true.)

What I realized in that moment was that, though I am flawed in so many ways, so is he. He has more experience and has achieved a level of success I will most likely never know, but he is an equal in that he is human and I am human, as were the rest of the individuals in the building that night. Instead of being a subordinate, I'd become a peer.

And so I enjoyed the show, laughing at his and Patton Oswalt's rather hilarious jokes, smiling at the stories he shared, and generally having a good time. My hero had become human, and it made the experience all the more fun. You can't have a casual conversation with a god, can't laugh with them or joke about mistakes you've both made. But you can with another man. 

One great thing about social networking is the ability we have to slay these gods of our invention. We can see that these celebrities are just like us, with different lives but still very much human. We can interact with them and treat them like they are a friend. I've noticed a good share of comments from people on Twitter who noticed that I got a response from Neil or some other literary celeb. Much of the time, when an average someone gets a response or is retweeted by one of the celeb gods, you can see the flurry of "He actually responded to you! That's so cool!" comments flittering about the Twitterverse. At first it made me laugh, but thinking on it now, I can see just how much we've made these people into more than us. It makes me sad.

While he may no longer be a god, Neil Gaiman is still a man I respect and admire, and someone whose help I deeply appreciate. Last night I was able to give him a token of my thanks, though it had lost the edge of an offering it might have had earlier that day.

It's an advance reader copy of The Graveyard Book, which I've had for three years now and couldn't decide what to do with it. It is fairly worn from numerous readings by myself and others. It is one of my favorite books and as such had a special value to me. (I'm thinking this just added to the hero-worship that later developed.) Because of that I couldn't throw it away, nor was it in good enough condition that it would be valuable as a collectible. 

Then I realized I could turn it into a piece of altered book art. I've been long been fascinated with the concept, and so I finally had the impetus to try it out. I really like how it turned out, so I was happy that I could give it to Neil in person and thank him for those bits of help he gave me and my bookstore. I'm happy I was able to do that, because I'm a big believer in thanking men and women who offer me help, even if it seems small to them.****

And so I close this much-too-long post by saying I'm glad I went last night, not only for the entertainment or the chance to see someone I admire, but for the thought that struck me as Neil discussed the gods he'd created in American Gods: I much prefer respecting men to worshipping gods. That way, I retain my value while admiring theirs. I'm finally able to lay to rest the idea that I am inferior to anyone, whether a man or a god of my own creating.

*Disclaimer: I haven't yet had the pleasure to read American Gods, though it's something I will be fixing quite soon. So these thoughts are based on last night's discussion of the book and my thoughts in general.
**Erm, sorry. That was quite a few moments. I really need to work on brevity.
***The store has been gone for six months now.
****On that note, thanks, Cat, for helping me out last night. I'm glad you believed the Not-A-Pizza was also Not-A-Bomb.
General note: I use the masculine "man" as a gender neutral term. Don't hate me; it's the way our language works.

My Twitter (and online) policy

I posted this on Twitter, but I think it's worth repeating here.

I generally avoid religion/politics online for good reason: people get passionate while discussing them, which can lead to cruel things being said.

Something you should know: I, my family, and many of my friends are Mormon. I don’t care if you disagree with my religion, but attacking me and my loved ones is not okay. I will unfollow and block anyone who does. It doesn’t mean I hate you; I just choose to not surround myself with negative, unkind people. Anyone who can’t treat me and mine with respect—or thinks we don't deserve basic courtesy—feel free to unfollow me. 

You don’t have to agree with someone to be courteous and respectful.

And now I return you back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Writing Support Groups

Hi. I'm Michelle, and I'm a writer.

It's been five years since I started writing novels, and only a year since I confessed to my friends and family about it. I was, I don't know, worried what they'd think of me if they knew I was a writer. They'd expect me to become a best-seller immediately. Or maybe they'd hate what I wrote.

So, for a long time I kept it secret, writing in my bedroom with the door closed, never mentioning to anyone that I was clandestinely writing.

And then I stumbled upon a website for writers. Authonomy, it's called, and I found a virtual connection with hundreds, even thousands of people in the same situation I was in. They understood about my writing habit, and they even helped me become a better writer. There are plenty of writing support groups like that, both online and in local groups where people meet up and read each others' work.

After participating on Authonomy for a few months, it felt almost normal to be a writer. There were so many people doing it, I wasn't alone anymore. I established a connection with other writers who understood me and my struggles to write. Then I got up the courage to tell everyone that I was a writer. It was such a relief not to hide it, not to be worried that someone would find out.

Since then, I've finished writing my first book and have even completed another book. It's become part of who I am, and I'm not ashamed of it anymore. Plus, I've made friends with other writers who are amazing people and whose friendship I truly cherish, even if we've never met in person. They offer me support whenever I need it, even if it doesn't deal with writing.

So to all of you listening, I applaud you for taking the first step to coming out about your writing habit. Take the next step and connect with other writers and see how much more enriched your writing and your life will be.

Flashy fiction

Well, I got bored tonight, and as it often happens when I'm bored, I turned to the Internet to entertain me. This night it was Twitter that saved the evening with a fun little exercise in very, very flash fiction.

In essence, we told stories using 140 characters or less, per Twitter. I know it's not a new thing, but I find it a great skill to write succinctly.

The most famous of the succinct fiction would have to be Hemingway's six-word story:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

It is rather intriguing to put a story into so few words. Here are a few that we came up with tonight:

The plane landed, no one to greet her. Walking the tarmac, she knew what it was to be alone for the first time and for the rest of her life. —me

Cool, crisp and sweetly exotic. One satisfying bite and she had brought damnation upon the world. —me

You were just bitten by a laptop?" He asked.."I guess you'll have to go home and crash now." So I did, and lost my memory." —HECurtis_author

She threw the spatula, glaring as It quivered where it stuck in the wall. Tears dripped as she searched the empty cupboards —Cassidy_McKay

We held hands for the first time while staring into the abyss. You kissed my cheek whispering, “This is how the world ends.” —jimmyjacobson

What are your very short stories?


Edit: Our next very flash fiction day will be this Saturday, April 25. Sharpen your wits and join us at the #tinyfic hashtag on Twitter. Need help joining Twitter? Leave me a comment and I'll give you a tutorial.

Worlds collide

In our new-fangled, sparkly world of instant communication, lines tend to blur. I'm starting to notice that blurring in my own life as I participate in several forms of social networking.

During the daytime, I'm a nonfiction book editor. I like my job; it's fulfilling taking someone's words and polishing them up a little brighter and making beautiful books. I don't Twitter or Facebook during the day so I can focus on the work at hand. (With the minor exception of checking messages during lunch, and maybe responding to a few.)

At night, I write YA fiction books, and it's something I'm very passionate about. Often I spend my evening hours writing, editing, and networking with other writers and publishing professionals online.

But I also have a social life (sort of). I have friends, roommates, and family, all of whom I keep up with on Facebook because it's easy to see what people are doing and to send a quick note saying hi. (I also talk to them in real time, but for the purpose of this discussion, I do communicate with them frequently online.)

And now that it's known that I'm an editor on Twitter, I am starting to get a following interested in knowing about the publishing world as well.

My problem? I use the same social networking sites to communicate with these four different groups of people. This is where the blurring comes in. Because I want my friends and family to find me, I use my real name, and since co-workers and authors I edit know my name, they find me the same way.

For a time I used a pseudonym for my writing to keep these different aspects of my life separate. But now that I'm querying agents and seeking to have my writing published, I decided to use my real name for this as well. This is where the blurring becomes more of a tangled web.

This morning, another aspect of my lines crossed as a well-known querying website posted a list with my name and company on it. (I'm not upset, just rather surprised that they found that information.) I'd tried to keep where I worked private because I was worried about the additional blurring. Since it is now out of my control, I'll have to make sure that those lines don't compete with others.

In some ways it's fun to have all the aspects of my life in a few places that are easy for me to check, but it can be a big headache in other ways. When I tweet, I do so more about my personal life and my writing.

How do I juggle all these things without upsetting one group or another? I'm not sure. I'm testing these potentially tempestuous waters for the first time, as are many. There are some very vocal writers who don't like knowing anything personal about the agents or editors they follow on Twitter; they're following to get industry information and don't want to hear that they have personal lives as well.

Lines are crossing, blurring, and twisting with all these new social media. It can be tough making sure that everyone is pleased, but you're not going to be able to do it perfectly all the time. People will get upset. And if I've upset anyone with the blurring of my own lines, I do apologize. But at this point, I'm going to keep moving forward because I see a lot of benefit from participating in social media.

That said, I don't tweet specifics about work; I don't really tweet about work at all. If I do post anything related to editing, it will be knowledge I've learned without giving specific examples. My authors trust me not to divulge information about them or their work, and I'm not going to betray that trust. (And if any of the authors I work with are worried after reading this post, please call or email me and we can discuss.)

I will tweet about my personal life, though I try to keep the mundane out of it as much as possible. Knowing me, though, some of it is likely to slip in.

And my writing will be a good part of what I share, especially as I go through the same process of querying and writing and revising as so many other authors out there.

So this is my way of telling my Twitter followers and anyone I know personally that I don't share information that is not mine to share. You needn't worry. And if you ever feel like I've crossed one of these lines, let me know. I'd rather clear the air than let anything languish.

(And just so everyone knows, I'm writing this at home, sick. I was pondering it a lot since I've nothing else to do of at the moment, but I don't want anyone to think I'm neglecting work.)