A Writer's Tale (22 page)

Wordy, but
oh so impressive.
A person sounds so very intelligent when it’s “literally” this and “literally” that and “literally” everything under the sun “literally” including the kitchen sink.

And there we have the secret behind the current use and abuse of the poor word.

Saying it makes you sound smart.

At least if your audience isn’t.

Writers use and abuse the poor word, but the worst offenders are public speakers: attorneys, politicians, educators, news commentators and reporters, “community leaders” and activists promoting their questionable causes. Such people are often on the air, molding minds, influencing the public’s perception of our language.

These same impressive, supposedly highly educated folks (after all, most of them have passed the “bar” examination), not only toss around “literally” as if they’re being paid ten bucks every time it pops out of their mouths, but they seem to linger under the impression that the “t” in often is
not
supposed to be silent. It should be pronounced “off-‘n,” not “off-ton.” And they labor under the impression that “irregardless” is a word. It isn’t.

The word is “regardless.” No ir. The ir appears to be borrowed from the real word, “irrespective.” Apparently, the two words have similar meanings and get tangled in the heads of these highly intelligent people.

On the subject of the errant ir how often do you hear supposedly well-educated people say, “To err is human”? Only it sounds like, “To
air
is human.” As if they’re talking about farts. Properly pronounced, err rhymes with “fur,” not “fair.” I happen to know that because my old college roommate, Fred Castro, lost a public speaking contest when he erred in the pronunciation of err. (Plus, the dictionary provides corroborating evidence.) Bad enough that we are constantly being battered by poor language coming from people who
ought
to know better, but the mistakes are pretentious. Showoffy.

At the very moment that a person is trying to impress us with his erudition by flourishing his “literally,” his “often” and his “irregardless,” he’s erring in front of everyone who knows better.

The person is arguably a pretentious moron.

Arguably?

What’s that?

Another precious garbage word. Literally, it means that a person might conceivably argue in favor of the point that is being made.

But basically it means nothing.

I’ve just hit you with two more garbage words.

Conceivably. Basically.

They are most often used in such a way that they have little or no meaning at all. They are “smart-sounding” filler.

Garbage.

Arguably, conceivably, basically.

Such words mean virtually nothing.

Virtually!

More garbage. In current usage, it seems to be a synonym of literally.

But is there a viable alternative to the use of such language?

Viable?
If any alternative is
not
viable, should it be considered an alternative at all? No.

Of course not. If it’s inviable, why bother to mention it at all?

But people do.

Frequently.

Just read, just listen.

People are constantly using such garbage, stuffing their sentences with meaningless junk, making themselves sound really smart and in many cases cluttering the works so that the audience isn’t exactly sure
what
the hell they’re getting at.

Maybe obfuscation, as it were, is their intent.

As it were? More
garbage, if you will. Dumb filler thrown into sentences for no good reason. Like
if you will.

In many cases, people are obviously using such language in order to side-step the truth.

The same good folks will clutter their language with other junk such as “to be perfectly honest,” and “frankly,” and “in point of fact.”

Such words and phrases always precede an evasion.

A lie.

“In fact” comes before a falsehood.

As does, “Trust me.”

As does “absolutely.”

As in, “I’m absolutely, 100 percent not guilty.”

If you read or hear such language being used, you may be sure that its source is either: a. an innocent who has picked up his language skills by watching television, or b. a charlatan who is hoping to hoodwink you. More often the latter.

I now see that I’ve been too harsh in my condemnation of garbage language.

Three cheers for it!

God bless it!

Because without such language, we would have a much more difficult time identifying those who are trying to put something over on us.

Instead of being marked with an A like Hester Prynne, these people are branded by their use of the ABC’s.

A is for arrogant.

B is for bullshit.

C is for con.

They are not to be trusted.

ON CRITICS (AND FANGORIA)

BACK IN APRIL, 1993, AN ARTICLE THAT I WROTE ABOUT CRITICS appeared in
Afraid: The Newsletter for the Horror Professional.
Here it is.

THE LIZZIE BORDEN SYNDROME OR VICIOUS HACKS WITH A LUST FOR CHOPPING OTHER PEOPLE’S WOOD, FICTION, AND NECKS

Here is a little secret for you reviewers out there who get your jollies by applying forty whacks to our books.

We know who you are.

We know what you’re doing.

We’re pissed.

Usually, you hear nothing about it. The main reason is, we don’t want to waste our time.

You see, we understand.

We know that you’re taking your shots at us for any of countless petty reasons, not the least of which is envy. We know that you have your little axes to grind. We know that you get a lot of attention from your peers for penning your opinions about other people’s creations. Hey, and you get paid, too! On top of that, you look so grand when you dump on us, because it presupposes that you are our superiors. You see? We
do
understand. We also understand that you would probably be writing fiction, the same as us, if only you had what it takes.

You’re really just the same as us, you see.

Sort of like a tick is the same as a dog.

Say now, that’s quite an analogy! Not only do you subsist by crawling all over us and sucking our blood, but you’re also a fundamentally useless pest. You hide in our fur, bite us, get bloated, but do little real damage (unless you’re diseased, which I wouldn’t consider unlikely). You’re difficult to get rid of. But the folk remedy is lighter fluid on your butt.

Curtain.

Lights come up.

Applause from the writers among the readers of AFRAID, smirks from the subjects of this little piece. Oh, I can see them now. Sneering, muttering, thinking “I’m
really
gonna get that damn moronic pervert, Laymon, next time I get a chance to review one of his pitiful pieces of crap.”

To which I proudly exclaim, “Yawk yawk yawk, do your worst, you idjits.”

Now, before the more reasonable of you people out there decide I’ve gone off the beam, I want to explain something. I’ve kept quiet for YEARS while a small tribe of brainless assassins have been throwing hatchets at me. Their aim is bad and their hatchets are dull, but for just how long is someone supposed to
ignore
the attacks?

Also, these ambushers are disguised as book reviewers. At first glance, they appear to be performing a fairly legitimate task: writing book criticism.

I have no problem with the
real
book reviewers of our world.

Such people are doing writers and readers a service. They usually know good writing from bad, and they try to be objective and fair. Whether or not such reviewers may like my books, I can respect their opinions.

I asked Mike Baker (the publisher of
Afraid),
to print this article because
Afraid
has always seemed to print honest, unbiased reviews.
Mystery Scene
is also a fine magazine with a high standard of reviewing books.

I’m dealing here with
others.

The tribe of ambushers. The hacks with their axes to grind and the gleam in their eyes.

People like David Kuehls, Linda Marotta, Ellen Datlow, and Stefan Dziemianowicz.

Uh-oh, I just named names.

And boy, I bet these four little pundits are mighty surprised to find
themselves
the object of a review by a writer they’ve been so cheerfully smearing in public for so long.

These four are at the top of
my
list. But not just mine.

Some or all of these same assailants are roundly despised by other writers who have been targets of their snide, mindless bombast.

Here are a few reasons why my four made the list.

1. David Kuehls. In 1989, I received a letter from Kuehls inviting me to contribute a story to an anthology he had in the works. In his request, he was careful to point out that he is “a book reviewer for
Fangoria.”
I, for one, caught a whiff of threat from this invitation.

Nevertheless, I wrote to Kuehls and politely declined to contribute a story.

No doubt it’s a simple coincidence, but Kuehls subsequently wrote vicious diatribes against my novels for
Fangoria.
(Hey, if he thought my stuff was so lame, why did he ask me to contribute to his anthology?) I smell foul play.

A friend of mine, who shall go unnamed, received similar treatment at Kuehl’s hands. He had also declined to contribute a story to the reviewer’s anthology I must wonder do the publishers of
Fangoria
know that Kuehls is using their magazine to clobber writers who didn’t cough up stories for his book?

2. Linda Marotta. In
Fangoria
#104, this person whom I shall gently refer to as “a piece of work,” wrote about
The Stake,
“Just how many times can one use the word ‘retarded’ in one review? Reading a Richard Laymon novel is like watching a really dumb splatter flick.” And so on, in the same vein.

A few of my fellow writers happened onto the Marotta review during a signing, and started laughing. They asked me what I’d done to this gal to make her hate me. “Did you murder her children or something?”

The truth is, I don’t know her. I never even knew she existed until she started pulling her Lizzie Borden number on me.

Furthermore, I don’t want to know her.

Whatever else she might be a subject I don’t even wish to contemplate she is obviously a nasty and bitter…  woops, never mind!

By the way, if you think
The Stake
was retarded, you ought to read Marotta’s latest novel, entitled…

Woops, again!

Far as I know, there
ain’t no
such thing. My mistake, Linda. But what can you expect from a retard?

Anyway, with a couple of cases like Kuehls and Marotta doing the reviews for
Fangoria,
I quit buying the magazine.

I can’t take a magazine seriously when it publishes reviews by the likes of Kuehls and Marotta. I know firsthand the crap that this pair has spewn on me, so I don’t care what they say about anyone else.

3. Now, to Ellen Datlow. She appears to share Marotta’s view of my work, but she hasn’t attacked me as blatantly as her soul-sister. I suppose I should thank her for that. She mostly uses the snub. In her big annual summation of the year in horror a while back, one of my novels was banished from existence, not a word mentioned about it in spite of the fact that she seemed to list every horror novel published during the entire year. I mean
every
one of them. Except for mine. This nonexistent book was either
Funland
or
The Stake.

Maybe I’m paranoid for suspecting that the omission was intentional.

But I’m pretty sure it was.

Hey, it was
her
list.

And this is mine.

Some more on Ellen Datlow. She opened her big, important essay on “The Year in Horror” with a study of
American Psycho.
In the course of that, she wrote, “I don’t believe the violence is any worse than that in genre horror writers Richard Laymon and C. Dean Andersson or for that matter in the works of the Marquis deSade.”

That’s such a good remark that I could use it as a cover blurb, but she never intended it to be a compliment.

Somewhere along the line, she also dumped on my stuff in
Night Visions 7,
which was especially annoying because she had written to me and asked me to send her a free copy of the book and I’d done it! Marotta must be right! I’m retarded!

4. Stefan Dziemianowicz. His review of
Midnight’s Lair
in the Winter, 1993 issue of
Cemetery Dance
is what prompted me to write this counterattack. It wasn’t much of a review, but it was enough to push me too far. In
his
pithy assault, this chap wrote regarding my characters, “By the end of the story, we know more about their underwear than their personalities.” Bravo! Such wit! I am awestruck by his rapier pen.

The line, however, was a standout in a review that was otherwise stunning in its banality.

In other words, he pooped all over
Midnight’s Lair,
but did a half-assed job of it. I’m sure he’ll try harder on future occasions.

I’ve heard about Dziemainowicz, and frankly it doesn’t surprise me at all that he hates my books.

One question, though: if he’s such a highbrow hotshot, why doesn’t he stop crapping on writers and try to be one himself?

Woops! Maybe he already tried that!

My fellow writers! Maybe I went overboard in the above, but it was lots of fun.

Why should mean-spirited reviewers be allowed to attack us without any fear of retribution?

Most of us, most of the time, tend to laugh off vicious reviews. And many such reviews
are
funny, because they’re so idiotic. But the reviews do hurt. You know they do. We read them and we get a sick little feeling in the pits of our stomachs even when we know the review is trash and the reviewer is a dumb puke.