So, this is a short post because of physical pain. I fell up a cement (concrete? hard poured artificial stone of some kind) staircase yesterday leaving Kinkos with some good quality paper trimmed to 8×10 for resumes. That puts me out for a couple days, meaning my next audition is for a production of Rent next week versus Curtains tonight (meaning, I do not like beating myself silly over learning an upbeat 1950s showtune very quickly to not use it). The bigger issue is how this will affect my music/drama/dance teaching camp job that starts with a 7 hour (ugh) meeting on Friday to tour the sprawling camp estate and move equipment around. It was a damn hard fall and my leg is still throbbing.

RE: Geek Love by Katherine Dunn. I still love this book. I'm just amazed at how much detail I managed to blank out in four prior readings. My God…has the book always been this sick, twisted, and sadistic? I remember the amputations, I remember the Oly protecting/writing to Miranda framing device (sort-of), I even remember Mumbo and the shooting, but some of the content feels like it was magically printed in my copy over the past year. This book is messed up. And strangely filled with some not-quite-American idioms that stands out like a sore thumb in a book so based in our history of American entertainment. It's like I'm living in Memento or Eternal Sunshine… and one tiny word is setting me off on a deranged collage of memories and nightmares caused by this book.

Yet I keep reading. One day, I'll learn to stick to books that don't affect my sleeping habits. One day. I hope.

As a writer, you need to be prepared for other people to take a hard look at your work and say what they think. In today's media climate, the writer being examined seems to lose all right to defend himself when awful things are written. If they ignore the comments, the bad reviews, negative press, incorrect assumptions, or downright lies can become ubiquitous; if they respond, the writer is suddenly a pitiful, despicable, egomaniac who views herself as the second-coming of Geoffrey Chaucer and therefore must be treated like garbage for the foreseeable future.

Enter Alice Hoffman, stage Twitter. Hoffman is a notable author in the highly misunderstood genre known as magical realism. Much like urban fantasy, many non-authors rely on these two categories to provide a simple explanation for a book they don't understand. In the simplest way, much of Hoffman's novels, young adult, and child literature deals with unnatural (fantastic, or "magical") occurrences happening in an otherwise normal setting. Her best known work, solely because of the film adaptation, is most likely Practical Magic.

So what happened to make Gawker go a little nutty over an author?

Twitter happened. That's what. Alice Hoffman decided to respond to a negative review from her local newspaper. It wasn't just a negative review: it was the only negative review her new book received (allegedly, I'm not fact-checking that). So, she went on Twitter and criticized the critic, Roberta Silman.

Fine. That doesn't seem too bad.

Wait…there's more than one tweet. Oh, fuck.

The first tweet is the one that leads me to want to defend Hoffman here. If Silman really did publish basically the entire plot as a major portion of her review, that's stupidity. It's like when the back cover of the book (Breathers: A Zombie's Lament, por ejemplo) is the entire plot of the novel. That is a disservice to the reader, the writer, the publishing house, everyone who has a stake in the book, and just plain lazy writing. As many have already pointed out: summarizing the plot and saying "I don't like it" is a book report; focusing on analysis of the writing, who the book might interest, and what merit exists (among other things) is a review.

Of course, had Hoffman stopped there (the "moron" inclusion was probably uncalled for and would have sent sites like Gawker off anyway), there would most likely be no issue. But she didn't. Of course.

Hoffman then went on to criticize:

• The Boston Globe for not having a book review section
• Roberta Silman for not being a super-famous novelist reviewing her book
• Her "hometown" of Boston for publishing a secondary headline story about a dog over her review
• Someone responding to her on Twitter
• Men, for enforcing gender stereotypes
• The world, for mocking the validity of writers
• Favoritism/Non-Bias Dichotomy – for intentionally discouraging the efforts of a "hometown girl"
• Silence, for not getting into trouble by keeping your trap shut and your fingers mittened
• Editors, for not stopping reviewers from publishing reviews that give away the plot
• The public, for responding to her actions the same way she responded to a reviewer
• The public, for daring to criticize her for posting someone's phone number and e-mail to encourage them to call and complain about a review
• Gawker, for claiming the review said nice things about her as a writer even though it was not a favorable review

See, here's where I have the problem. I think writers put their work out to the public to begin a dialogue. Critics are the first ones who get a chance to respond back. At some point, writers lost the right to respond to the public and explain what they were doing. To me, if the work requires that much explanation, the fault lies with the writer. We can all laugh at William Faulkner refusing to change one of his novels at the request of an editor to be clearer because Faulkner himself didn't understand what, exactly, he wrote in the confusing passage, but it is a significant problem. If I can't understand a thing of what I'm reading, I'm probably not going to enjoy myself and probably won't even finish the book; I'm too much of a gentleman (perhaps even a paranoid pussy, if I go that far) to dare return the book to the store to get my money back in that circumstance.

As much as we would like everyone to love our work and respond in an enthusiastic way, it doesn't always happen. I've written horror stories, sent them off to publications, and received inflammatory letters accusing me of writing pornography with not a tense or scary moment to be seen; others see the same stories and are blown away. Am I flying off the handle and blasting the editor/intern at the publication for not getting my work? Criticizing them for having the courage to say what they believe? I'd rather receive a truthful, negative response than a form comment or kitten-gloves over my work. If I'm criticized, I learn to improve. If I'm told everything's coming up Robert and people should bow before my prosaic abilities, I have nothing to work off of and won't improve.

I completely understand where Alice Hoffman is coming from, but I cannot agree with her response. To me, saying "They don't like me, so you call up and say how much you don't like them" is no more valid than writing a plot summary and calling it a review. Both are beneath the capabilities of accomplished and talented writers.

Toni Basil was the guest judge on So You Think You Can Dance? last night and, unsurprisingly, she was the only person on the panel that could speak a full sentence about dance. Her presence was intelligent, almost stoic, in that she carefully chose her words, said at most 3-4 sentences on dancing, and shut her trap. My God, if every reality TV judge could be so thoughtful, honest, and helpful in critiques the genre would move up to the next level. Here’s an example of the idiocy, idiocy, Toni paradigm:

I’m aware that most people know her because of her infections hit single “Mickey”:

But this woman has been a dance powerhouse for years and years. For example, if you saw the show last night, you heard her give intelligent critiques of hip-hop routines. How could that cheerleader do that, you ask? She was one of the original Lockers, that’s how:

The fact is, Toni Basil has choreographed for pretty much every major lasting star in the music industry. She is an award winning performer, filmmaker, and choreographer, and has been consistently working since the 1960s. It would be fantastic to see her choreograph a routine for SYTYCD? because it would almost assuredly blow everyone else out of the water.

Miranda July had a collection of short fiction published in 2007. Perhaps you know her better from the film Me and You and Everyone We Know. Aside from an affinity for long titles, July's strength in writing is examining unique, unusual subject matter in a very approachable and honest way.

For my tastes, the collection is exciting right from the first story. July mostly compiled stories barely above the length of flash fiction, a classification near and dear to my heart. She does not choose the most monumental, earth-shattering epics to examine; instead, she writes complete accounts of moments.

In "The Shared Patio," a young woman decides to take advantage of the patio attached to her apartment, only to find herself having sexual fantasies about her neighbor who is having a seizure. "The Swim Team," my favorite of the collection, shows a young woman teaching a group of senior citizens how to swim on dry land. The first half of the collection is dry, quirky, shocking, and entertaining.

The longer stories, those exceeding 20 pages, tend to get a bit stagnant. In these, the new and unique ground explored in the almost-flash fiction begins to fall to the wayside in favor of slightly obscured cliches. "Something That Needs Nothing," about young lesbians coming of age through sexual exploration and a huge dive into the deep-end of independence, loses its charm very quickly in the face of unlikable characters. "Making Love in 2003" is an older story told through a new lens, though the lens never quite comes into focus on just why the main character is acting the way she does; there is a logical justification provided that rings false for this particular narrator.

There is one exception to the issue with the longer stories: "How to Tell Stories to Children" is masterful. I don't even want to hint at the surprises in the story, so I'll leave it at this: July leaves you with her best and most shocking story. It's awesome in the true sense of the word.

The collection is most certainly worth reading. Even if you don't like every story (how often does that happen, anyway? never?), July has managed to publish one with a great overriding arc and lots of movement and interest. With the exception of a few of the longer stories (and perhaps I'm just coming from a jaded perspective from reading far too much short fiction), No One Belongs Here More Than You is compelling. I highly recommend reading it. Then, go visit her fantastic website for the release of the book.