Hello again!
Welcome back to the finest (and drunkest) corner of the internet, home of the darling and daring sensation known as Am I the Literary Asshole? If you’re a first time reader, we’re a biweekly advice column that tackles all the literary gossip that’s fit to print (and let’s be honest, even some that isn’t). I’m the host here, and I’m certainly glad we’re all gathered together today. It’s always a pleasure to be among friends, isn’t it? It’s not just about the literary gossip, it’s about the companions we’ve made along the way.
And nothing signals friendship like passing a pitcher around! Let’s pour a few and dive into the reading material.
On to our opening question of the day, and it’s a doozy:
1) Hello,
I work in a field that churns out its fair share of ink. Think how-tos, memoirs, and scholarly niche volumes. A while back I joined (or thought I had) a writing circle pitched as being for people in this line of work. The advertisement described the group as follows: “Whether you are … newer or well established in your career, writing about (work) situations including your own feelings brings awareness and unseen possibilities to light. …this facilitated group includes opportunities to use prompts for in-group writing and sharing that writing with others.”
One phone chat with the group facilitator laid out the structure, price and cadence of the meetings. From that call I could sense the mix: seasoned professionals with far more years under their belts and who had undergone a certain expensive, lengthy, specialized training that I hadn’t. I did want to join, but I worried whether the others would want to spend time with someone less experienced and from a different background.
So in that same exchange I attempted to present myself honestly and clearly. I voiced my doubts about whether it would be a good fit. The facilitator dismissed my concerns, saying I’d be a perfect fit and giving me a warm welcome. Since there was a fee for the group I assumed that the facilitator held the power to decide. I also knew that some long-time members were leaving, and I imagined this might make the current members more receptive to newcomers. The group had a hiatus, so several months elapsed between that chat and the first meeting. I was genuinely looking forward to the group, marking time in my calendar and turning down other opportunities.
This could’ve been a story about seasoned voices inviting a fresh one to join their circle. But after the initial meeting I was told I wasn’t welcome to return. The supposed offense? The first session included a prompt for “in-group writing and sharing that writing with others.” In other writing circles with prompts I’ve encountered, I interpreted this as a free-writing exercise. Before I shared, I asked whether we would be sharing our raw, unedited drafts and was encouraged to proceed.
After the session I received an email from the facilitator asking for my thoughts on the group. I replied that I’d enjoyed it and was open to feedback or concerns about my place there. She then told me I wasn’t a good fit because my writing was described as “raw” and not “professional.” She added that I wouldn’t have to pay for this first session since it was a “trial.”
After this experience I can see the group was never going to be a supportive space for me, and it’s probably better to realize that sooner rather than later. Yet I can’t shake the feeling that I was set up. I feel worn down and discarded. There’s a particular sting in being rejected when you didn’t realize you were auditioning in the first place. If I’d known that my professionalism would be judged by a stream-of-consciousness first draft, I would have thought twice about sharing. Am I overreacting?
Signed, Raw and Unprofessional
Oh, friend. I’m sorry you’ve come away feeling so shabby.
Since I’m not fully certain what exact profession you’re in (and I’ll keep things anonymous for now), I can only offer broad reasons why people in such a group might have behaved this way. Still, I can speculate a bit about possible motivations behind their actions. Shall we explore?
First of all, I’m glad to hear there was no upfront payment required and that no money changed hands before that first session. If money had exchanged hands, this would be a different kettle of fish. As things stand, it seems this is a group that’s operating with some level of financial legitimacy, so at least you didn’t lose funds.
So, they aren’t scammers. The bigger question is what exactly happened. The underlying issue appears to be a breakdown in communication. You mentioned the organization has been through a shake-up—longtime members departing, and meetings spaced far apart. It’s entirely plausible that none of this relates to you personally.
Whoever organized things apparently did not communicate clearly with the people running the in-person sessions, and at some point they had to handle your rejection. It’s quite possible the person you spoke with on the phone and the person currently steering the meetings have some kind of friction. It’s also quite plausible that the exodus of longtime members has prompted the remaining participants to rewrite the group’s structure and values. Again, these are things you couldn’t know and aren’t your fault.
I get why you’d feel hurt, and I truly feel for you. But you’re not unprofessional, I promise. In fact, it seems more like the people in charge lack clarity and communication. That rarely bodes well for professional growth. Be grateful you only endured one session and redirect your energy toward finding a better fit for you and your work—work that isn’t rough around the edges in the way that you described.
More beer for you? More beer for me! Onward to the next question.
2) Is it a-hole behavior to preorder a book from an indie and then not pick up the book? Or when you finally pick up the book, one of the booksellers has already had to call and leave several messages, not to mention sending an email or three?
I’m honestly unsure what the proper etiquette is, so I hope some of our veteran booksellers will chime in with guidance, whether via email or the anonymous question link below.
But my instinct says: it’s probably a bit rude.
I know that when I worked at the circulation desk, I often had to call holds repeatedly to coax people to come in and collect their items, and many times those individuals never arrived. Those titles often had waitlists, too. We operated on a “three-call rule,” meaning I phoned these folks more often than I spoke to close friends on the phone.
Yet library holds differ from bookstore holds. In a bookstore, not everyone is waiting for a single copy. And ideally these pre-orders have already been paid for, so the store’s revenue is secured regardless. Still, there’s the matter of storing the items and the ongoing outreach to those who don’t claim them. That’s a job in itself.
So, to sum up: if a practice creates extra work for others, it’s not cool.
That’s my take! Booksellers, feel free to weigh in with your own perspective.
Okay, let’s share the last bit of this beer. Cheers to another fine day! Our final question:
3) Please answer this question for my writing group: what’s the best literary beverage of choice (coffee or tea)?
Oh, how charming! For me, it’s always beer.
And that’s all the time we’ve got for today, folks! Tune in next time when we tackle more of your spicy, tasty questions and I’ll have that pitcher refilled so the party can continue.
Yours in friendship,
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Are you worried you’re the literary asshole? Ask the show via email at AskKristen@lithub.com, or anonymously here.
