The Humanization of Authors
First: there are many wonderful, lovely, vibrant, passionate, supportive readers in the book community, who are a part of the community because they clearly love books and stories and authentic voices, and I’m so grateful to those who have supported and shown me and my books and fellow authors’ books love, especially librarians and teachers who have given our books to the young readers who’ve needed them most. But, this love and support doesn’t take away from the fact that there is an unhealthy relationship between authors and many readers online in the book community. The first clue that I am not currently a member of an entirely healthy, safe community is that I’m afraid to even say something as simple as this: authors are human beings.
But there’s so much dehumanization of authors, and gaslighting of authors who try to speak about the bullying and dehumanization, that this is a dangerous thing to say for my career. There’s an idea that authors and novelists have power and platforms, but there’s a key narrative being overlooked in the relationship between novelist and reader: authors depend on readers to buy our books for our livelihoods. There’s immediately a power dynamic placed between author and reader where we depend on pleasing the reader, many times to the point of our dehumanization. There’s also the fact that readers, bloggers, and influencers can be white, cisgender, straight, able-bodied, or any other identity with privilege, and an author can have identities with no privilege. The idea that an author automatically has more power than a reader needs to be reexamined.
There’s a culture where many readers feel entitled to an author because they pay money in exchange for an author’s work. The culture implies that the reader is entitled not only to the author’s book, but to all of the author’s being. This unhealthy balance leads to situations where authors, for example, are not allowed to set healthy boundaries. Authors are vilified if they respond directly to a reader who has tagged them in a negative review, asking that they do not tag us. Authors are expected to respond to all messages. Authors are considered bad writers for not wanting to take a reader’s feedback or criticism into consideration.
I’ve decided to take one large, firm step away from social media. There’s certainly been a build up of many smaller moments, but one moment in particular was when I was punished for saying “if you don’t like what a writer has written, and you want to see something else, then write it yourself.”
There’s power in this statement: by saying “write what you want to see yourself,” I am claiming my autonomy as a writer. I don’t need to write what anyone else expects — I only have to write what I want to write, to create the book that I want to see. This idea is not new. Toni Morrison herself has a famous quote: “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it yourself.” This is the quote that pushed me to write my own novels when I was tired of seeing Black stereotypes in YA rather than full human beings. Granted, I assume Morrison meant this in particular for marginalized people who haven’t seen themselves fully in literature, but I do think the point still stands: if you don’t like a trope that has seemed to overtake romance novels, or don’t like the amount of fantasy in YA, don’t demand that authors begin to write something different; write what you want to see yourself.
Yet many in the community attacked me and this statement, saying that I wasn’t being a good writer for not taking the feedback of readers into consideration, among other things. Someone did importantly note that not everyone is able to write for themselves because of disability, and as someone who writes because I needed to see more identities reflected, I also understand that it’s an author’s responsibility to ensure that no reader is harmed in their writing by creating racist, misogynistic, etc. depictions of people. (So, for example, an author should not create a racist depiction of a Black person, and say, “If you want to see a non-racist character, then write it yourself.”) But in this particular example, readers were frustrated that authors often have their characters break up in the third act of romance novels. I broke down why characters often break up in the third act due to craft, told newer writers to ignore unhelpful, snarky comments from readers, and suggested that readers write what they’d like to see themselves if they weren’t happy with the stories they read.
I checked in with people from outside of the community, and was validated that this is a perfectly reasonable thing to say from the outside perspective — but from within the community, many readers expect writers to bend to their will, and to write what it is the reader wants to see, because they feel entitled to the work of an author. I assume that this entitlement exists because the reader has been willing to give money for books (in many cases), rather than considering the thought that the author has their own autonomy, and can write what they want to write, and that readers are not entitled to demand that writers show them only what they want to read. In response to “write what you want to see,” I was told by readers that I’m a bad writer for not taking constructive criticism, with the entitlement that they are in a position to give criticism that I want and need to hear, as if they are the white, cis, straight mansplainer in the comments that you wish you had not read.
And through it all, authors are expected to take unrequested criticism (both constructive and cruel) and the fact that we are not allowed to set healthy boundaries with grace. We aren’t allowed to have personalities. We aren’t allowed to respond with sarcasm when shown sarcasm. Because many readers feel entitled to an author’s entire selves, because of this exchange of money, authors are expected to be people pleasers — to shut up, to smile through the pain of hurtful comments, to say “yes, I’ll consider your feedback” (while internally we’re thinking no, the feedback is unhelpful). We’re expected to act like the reader is our boss in a day-to-day job, instead of see our relationship as an exchange: I have written a story that the reader has, perhaps, bought; the reader has a choice in buying my story, has a choice in sharing their opinion of the story with others, and has a choice in buying future stories that I’ve written. While I hope that readers will connect with and enjoy my story, I do not expect positive reviews and comments; these are given of freewill, and not in exchange for my autonomy. The reader buying my story, and sharing their thoughts (whether positive or not), doesn’t give the reader full control over my writing, career, or my being. Even most in-person jobs have an HR department where we should be able to go if there’s an unhealthy imbalance in power, and we are being attacked by our bosses. That we act like readers are our bosses, forcing us into positions of people pleasing, is an unhealthy psychological habit and cycle that so many authors are forced to pick up in our unhealthy online culture.
What has been most painful to see in my time online, however, was the reaction of other authors joining in this idea that authors are not allowed to set boundaries, and that readers are entitled to punishing us for not following their demands. I think it’s fair to say that the unhealthy relationship between many readers and authors is, at times, abusive — and so in this dynamic, the authors who join in the punishing of other authors have been groomed to do so, and are used as barriers and shields that abusive readers can use against the authors who try to speak up in their own defense. It was witnessing this abusive tactic that ultimately made me feel most unsafe online, and honestly a bit betrayed by some of the authors who joined in this attack, and why I’ve decided to take a step back from Twitter in particular.
Another piece to this unhealthy culture and relationship of author and reader is the widespread gaslighting. In no other community that I know of do we equate “stop dehumanizing me” to “I uphold racism and stalking.” We can’t speak for ourselves, because our culture immediately equates an author setting boundaries with a reader as an author who is willing to stalk or emotionally harm a reader, because of the actions of another author in the past, Kathleen Hale. An author is not allowed to call out the unhealthy culture, as I’m doing now, because if we do, then we are equated with being a Jesse Singal — someone who hates the YA book community in particular, and feels that the “cancel culture” against authors is out of control (when in fact the community is only asking for accountability of stories and characters that may harm young readers). This disallowance for nuance creates a confusion, fear, and silence in authors, making us feel that we are not allowed to speak up or out in our own defense without readers saying that we are potential stalkers or racists, or other groomed authors saying that we are not allowed to set boundaries because of the history of harmful authors acting against readers. Yet I am not the author who stalked a reader, and I don’t believe that the YA community has gone too far in examining potentially harmful content. Diminishing me to the history of one particular author, or saying that my call for examining unhealthy culture against authors means that I hate the entire community, is also an act of dehumanization.
It’s funny: I can already sense how many in the community will react to this post. With glee, with laughter, mocking the “poor author” — I know how people will react, because I’ve seen this before whenever an author has tried to speak in their own defense. Another sign, of course, of this unhealthy relationship and culture. However, I’ve been on a long journey for self-validation and self-love and self-respect, and I have a hard time witnessing this culture that I’m automatically a part of now, as an author, without saying anything — without pointing out that a lot needs to change. I’d in particular like to ask fellow authors to reconsider your own ideas of what is acceptable and what isn’t. Why are you not allowed the autonomy to set your boundaries — to ask that people don’t tag you in negative reviews, for example, or to say that, no, you aren’t interested in writing what others have demanded you write, and that you’d like to continue writing your own stories and ideas (if that’s how you feel)? Is it because you’re afraid of how readers will respond if you aren’t on the bandwagon, because you depend on the money of readers for your livelihood? If so, that’s an unhealthy relationship. Is it because of the history of an author who harmed a reader, or because you’re afraid of being equated with Jesse Singal or others who automatically attack the YA community? If so, you are dehumanizing yourself.
Authors are dehumanized in a slow, escalating burn, until finally we reach a place where we have all agreed is unacceptable: an author is forced to disclose their gender or sexual identities and/or forced to share their past traumas so that readers will stop demanding to know about their lives as proof that the author is allowed to tell a specific story. Authors are touched at conventions, or told that they’re “shipped with another author” as if we are the characters in our own books, to be paired up romantically with other human beings. Authors have to band together against the outlandish, asking that readers don’t create petitions to make an author “write faster.” But by the time we reach a place of agreement that the unacceptable has occurred, the isolation and ostracization has most likely caused the author — a real, human being — their own trauma. I would like to suggest that we work on the smaller cultural habits of dehumanization of authors before we get to the place where we all agree that the dehumanization has gone too far.
I am so incredibly grateful for the beautiful moments I’ve been able to share and connect with others in the community. I don’t say this, ironically, out of people pleasing or fear, but because I wouldn’t want someone who has been wonderful to read this post, and think that I’ve forgotten about their thoughtfulness, their support, their kindness. I know that there are many who have spoken up in support of authors, and who ask others in the community to examine their own privileges. Sometimes, I may see a transphobic or racist troll leaving hurtful comments, or someone who isn’t malicious but has still made an insensitive comment on one of my posts, and before I’ve even had a chance to think of a response, there are a number of allies who’ve replied so that I wouldn’t have to do real with it at all. I’ve had fun with other writers as we do our writing sprints and talk about craft, have enjoyed talking about cats (and getting great advice on my new-ish cat, Captain), have really loved going to Twitter in particular to talk about shows or music or… pretty much anything. But, I’ve realized that, for my own mental health (especially in such a turbulent time), I can’t be an active participant in a community that, at its basis, doesn’t approve of me or other authors setting boundaries, being full human beings and not people pleasers, or speaking on the dehumanization of authors without fear of retribution and gaslighting. I’d like to ask this community to consider how we can work on actively humanizing authors, instead of participating in our constant dehumanization, to make the online community safer.
