ETA 1: Stephen Fry has posted an apology for his remarks about abuse.

TW for references to rape/incest.

A friend on Facebook linked to this article: Stephen Fry hits out at ‘infantile’ culture of trigger words and safe spaces.

There’s just too much ignorance for me to address it all in one blog post, so I want to focus on triggers, trigger words, and trigger warnings: what they are, what they aren’t, and what Fry seems to think they are.

“There are many great plays which contain rapes, and the word rape now is even considered a rape. They’re terrible things and they have to be thought about, clearly, but if you say you can’t watch this play, you can’t watch Titus Andronicus, you can’t read it in an English class, or you can’t watch Macbeth because it’s got children being killed in it, it might trigger something when you were young that upset you once, because uncle touched you in a nasty place, well I’m sorry.”

First of all — and I say this as someone who’s written multiple books that deal with rape — fuck you. Fuck you for belittling people’s trauma with that last line.

Second, to your claim that the word rape is considered a rape? Yeah, I’m gonna just take this screenshot from xkcd and leave it right here.

(If you don’t get it, that’s basically a more polite way of calling you on your bullshit.)

Tumblr user Marija095 used Wreck-It Ralph as a way of demonstrating what people mean by the word “Trigger.” If you’ve seen the movie, do you remember Sergeant Calhoun’s reaction when Felix called her “a dynamite gal”? The phrase triggered a visceral reaction of grief and horror, a flashback to seeing her fiance killed in front of her.

Felix never uses that phrase in front of her again. Not because he’s coddling Calhoun’s “infantile self-pity,” but out of basic human decency, the desire to avoid twisting a knife in an open wound.

We don’t always know what might be a trigger for a trauma survivor. It could be a phrase, a smell, a sound… Many veterans have pushed for regulation and restriction of when fireworks can be set off, because the explosions trigger their PTSD.

Go ahead, Fry. Stand up and tell those combat vets they’re being infantile. I’ll be over here selling tickets and popcorn.

Getting back on track, what’s the point of trigger warnings if we can’t know everyone’s individual triggers.

It’s true, we can’t. But we have more than enough information and research to know about common traumas in our society. PTSD in combat vets is one. Rape is another. Child abuse. Domestic violence. All are obscenely common. If you’re speaking to a group of more than a handful of people, you can pretty much guarantee you’ll have survivors of rape or abuse.

“But that doesn’t mean we should censor everything!”

I agree. Fortunately — now listen closely, please — trigger warnings have nothing to do with censorship!

A trigger warning is a way of telling people about the content so they can make their own informed choice about what to do. They might choose to walk out. They might choose to stay. That warning might be all they need to brace themselves.

We do this all the time! We put content warnings and ratings on movies. We write summaries on the backs of our books so people know what they’re getting. Convention programs note “Adult only” programming.

None of this is censorship. It’s just giving people a heads-up about what to expect.

Fanfiction tends to be very good about this, tagging stories to warn readers what they’re getting without spoiling or ruining the story.

But what if people who aren’t personally traumatized use trigger warnings to decide what to watch or read?

So what? How does that hurt anyone or anything? Heck, I’ve read so many poorly-written stories dealing with rape, I might take advantage of a trigger warning to reconsider whether this is a book I want to read.

Why the hell are people up in arms about giving others more information so they can decide what to read, what to watch, and so on?

There’s a lot more I want to talk about from that article, but I’ll end up with a 3000-word blog post if I do, so I’m going to keep the focus on trigger warnings for now, post this as is, and go get dinner.

Comments welcome, as always. (And as always, don’t be a dick.)

ETA 2: Follow-up post, talking about the idea that trigger warnings interfere with mental health, and if you really want to help someone who’s been traumatized, you have to expose them to the source of that trauma.

Right around April Fool’s Day, I realized I’d spent the past two months writing the wrong book.

That whole plan to get the first draft done during the month of March? Yeah, not so much. The house came down with the plague, I spent three days at a convention, and oh yes, I was writing the wrong book!

That’s a hard call to make. Every time I write a book, there are parts where I feel frustrated and stuck. I wonder whether I’ve gone off the rails. Am I going to reach the end of this manuscript and realize I’ve finally lost whatever writing ability I once had? Etc., and so on. It’s normal. Unpleasant, but normal.

This was different. This was the gradual realization that the setup I’d created would not work for the kind of story I wanted to tell. Both the characters and the plot were wrong for the humor and tone I wanted.

So I scrapped it.

Yeah, it hurt.

I’m trying to tell myself I haven’t wasted two months of work. I can reuse some parts and pieces from those two months: worldbuilding, character ideas, bits of description, and so on. And I did check a couple of other things off my To Do list, like an essay for FenCon, or adding a Speaking Engagements page to my website. That’s gotta count for something, right?

Ah well. So I’m back to square one. Again. But I think I’m getting closer to what this book needs to be. Hopefully it will all pay off late next year when it comes out.

In the meantime, I’ve got a chapter to finish…

Like most working writers I’ve met, I’m not too excited about the idea of writing for exposure…

…he wrote, on his blog, which pays a total of nothing.

Let me try that again. I’m not too excited about the idea of writing for other people for exposure. If you want me to write something — if you want me to work for you — it seems reasonable to expect to be paid.

There are exceptions, of course. I’ve written free content for projects I believe in, for friends and people I like, and for the pure fun of it. But if all you’re offering is exposure, I get plenty of that here on the blog. And to be blunt, my time is valuable, and I only have a limited amount. Writing for you takes time that could otherwise go to other projects, or to hanging out with my family, or even to raking up the leaves and sticks in the back yard.

I’m pretty comfortable at this point with the idea that as a writer, I deserve to be paid. (Though I still struggle with interviews sometimes, depending on where the interview is supposed to appear and how much time will be involved.)

ETA: My apologies. That parenthetical was unclear. I wouldn’t dream of charging for a newspaper or TV or radio interview. On the other hand, if you’re asking me to answer 30 questions for a small, personal blog? At that point, it can start to feel more like I’m writing content for your site, which tips more toward the “pay me” side of things.

But what about non-writing stuff? I’m sometimes asked to speak at schools, or to present at libraries, or do talk about writing at a workshop. What about a half-hour Skype chat with a book club? Or speaking at the local NaNoWriMo kickoff event?

Often these invitations come with the understanding that I’ll be able to sell books. And I do love it when people buy my stuff. But the royalties from those sales almost certainly won’t cover the cost in time and travel.

On the other hand, I love libraries. I love talking to students about this stuff. I believe in paying it forward and helping new writers.

So what’s fair? In general, it depends on a number of things.

• What kind of budget does the group in question have? I look at an all-volunteer thing like NaNoWriMo differently than I’d look at a dues-charging writing organization, for example.
• How much time will be involved in the talk/presentation, including planning, travel, and the event itself.
• How much open time do I have on my schedule?
• How much fun will I have doing the event?
• Do I know the people involved?

I still have a hard time saying no. Some of it is probably a midwestern thing. A lot of it likely comes from being a struggling writer and having so many editors say no to me, to the point where I was desperate for any sort of opportunity.

It’s harder still to say, “Maybe. How much will you pay me?”

But as writers, I believe we have a right to ask to be paid for our work, and that’s not limited just to writing. Some places have a budget for speakers, and are happy to pay. Sometimes they offer up front, which is nice, and much less awkward.

But regardless, it’s okay to ask. It’s okay to say, “This is what my time is worth.” Some people might not be willing to pay what you want, and that’s okay too. This is business, and as long you’re not a jerk about it, there shouldn’t be any hard feelings.

It’s also okay to make exceptions. My daughter’s fourth grade teacher was a wonderful person, and I ended up doing presentations to her class for several years in a row, because I liked her and I had a lot of fun. (Plus, they did things like make me cakes.) But there’s a distinction between doing something for free because you want to, and doing it because you feel uncomfortable saying no or asking to be paid.

Your knowledge and experience and time are all valuable. So are mine.

(As you may have guessed, I wrote this as much for myself as for the rest of you…)

Raymond Bolton of The Write Stuff posted an interview with me, talking about Revisionary and writing and cats and stuff.

For the record, since it’s an ongoing source of frustration for me and a lot of other people, I have zero patience for anyone trying to gatekeep whether or not someone is a Real Fan.

So I’m reposting my own personal decision tree on Real Fandom.

Please note the lack of anything like:

• Whether I like your politics
• Whether I personally like the thing you like
• Whether I think you’re an asshole
• Whether I know more about the thing you like than you do
• Whether I’ve been a fan of the thing longer than you have
• Whether you’ve ever been to a convention
• Whether you prefer the movie or the book
• Your gender
• Your age
• Your race
• Your sexual preference

If you and I both like the thing, then guess what – we’re both fans. Yay, us!

And if anyone gives you crap about not being a Real Fan, feel free to show them this Real Fan Certificate, signed by a Real Fan who also happens to be a Real Author. (The “Real Author” argument is another, similar rant, but I’ll save that for another time.)

ETA: Updated with a higher-resolution certificate, for anyone who really wants to print it out 🙂

So, is that clear enough? Can we stop arguing about who gets to be a Real Fan now?