What a timely topic, in light of Robin Williams' tragic passing and the chaos in Ferguson and more awful news in the world which I'm sure are happening but I refuse to even go and look, because they are likely to lock me in depression. Depression. The dingy surly greyness sullied by black smudges of an almost irresistible desire to quit it. Quit it all together. Why live? The world is such an awful cruel place. We all seem to be shouting on every corner how we want to be loved and to love, and at the same time carry guns and find every bit of an excuse to use them "to protect our freedom" or whatever the mantra is. "I"m protecting my manicured lawn." "Don't fucking trespass on my property." Don't do this, don't do that. Why does this concern artists so much? Why do we get so wound up seeing things like this happening? You know why? I'll explain.

Artists are extremely sensitive people. You might call us crazy, or ADD, or bipolar, or whatever psychological disorder is in fashion in the media currently. Why? Why do we appear this way? We are normal, except for one thing.

WE HAVE NO SKIN.

Amazing how life sometimes unexpectedly turns on its head and throws you in for a loop. Just because. Because it can, the stinking canaille. The thing is, one little question on Twitter threw me into a big vat of gore, mainly the current (and not so current, because I suspect this has been going on for ages) talk about literature. To be more specific. Genres in literature. To be even more specific, what the fuck people read and why the fuck do they read it, because how dare they read something that is clearly not literature. How do we love to be outraged. Hey, it's easier to be angry and rip off your shirt and bang on your chest, than stop and think and try to understand. How dare people read YA, how dare they somehow extract value from books that are aimed at teenagers. I mean, how dare adults read YA (Young Adult books, if I dare to assume you didn't know this already). Oh, well, let's go a little further. How dare people read FIFTY SHADES OF GREY. It's not literature! It's...it's... <insert a smart-ass comment fueled by indignation at the quality of writing in said book> How come THE FAULT IN OUR STARS is so popular? And what is wrong with all those TWILIGHT people? Ewwww. Yeah. And more. And more. And more.

I don't read publishing industry news, period.

For this. Very. Reason.

Writers and depression

On reading and shaming