Today I spent too much time worried about a damn Twitter Troll. This woman was so determined to put me in my place that she ranted for four posts! Her problem.
I used first person pronouns way too much and she didn’t like it.
America. Readers. Fellow writers. Don’t you EVER fix your cursor or your mouth to criticize a work with “I don’t like it.” It is:
- Not constuctive
- And not actionable.
You tell me that something in my writing stinks and you “don’t like it” then how is that going to help me as a writer? You gave no specific rule broken or even a fix. Dafuq, man.
Furthermore, what good did those words do by being spoken? Help you feel better? Well thats selfish because you are not rhe writer and you have no stake in the story. So try again, why did you even have to speak those words? The answer is, you don’t.
By coming into my space where my words are and typing “I don’t like it” you are pissing all over my product for your own satisfaction. Whatever problem you have with me or my work is your own and has nothing to do with me.
So, before you go and type some form of “I don’t like it” as a critique of someone’s writing, ask yourself:
- Are your words helpful?
- Do they offer a solution?
- Do they even point to a problem?
- Do you even have a stake in this writings existence?
If you cant answer yes to more than one of these questions, then your problem is not with the writing. Your problem is in your own damn head and you almost trolled a writer.
Know better. Do better.
“When PTSD Came Calling” @SurviTeensNtots https://medium.com/@SurviTeensNtots/when-ptsd-came-calling-7cfa90794e05
This is the first essay that I am publishing on Medium. I get ideas for essays all the time, but some are so random that I don’t have a place for them. Now, Medium is that answer. Soon, you will be able to find more Jonita Davis creative nonfiction and fiction there.
I’ll try to keep you updated here of course.
Here are some new pieces that I have published!
Go on over, take a read, leave a comment. Make a sandwich while you’re there. Whatever.
I have been on a major pitching spree lately. The craziness that is current politics, along with my crazy-ass life as a mom of teens and toddlers, have been a wellspring of pitch ideas.
So I’m just pitchin’ and hopin’ and prayin’ and…you know how that song goes.
I started today as I do most Sundays since my teen years, with breakfast and then a good book. I lay curled under a blanket my mom made, completely engrossed in the pages of Kindred by Octavia Butler. The book is an amazing mix of historical fiction and sci fi, something that I can’t believe took me so long to pick up.
Needless to say, as I travelled down the rabbit hole of words spun by Butler, I was completely unaware that there was a football game today. Nevermind that it was the #SuperBowl.
Oh well its #firstworldproblems #bookwormstruggle .
Who was right there with me today???
Today, I finally tackled my home office space. I had to get rid of all the clutter, take my crap out of boxes, and just make the space feel like a productive one. It took me all damn day. I didn’t get a chance to write a word.
My first mistake was trying to arrange and unpack with toddlers in the area. My one year old daughtee and three year old son had to touch, see, and inspect every item I removed from the box. When unpacking was doomed, I pulled out the paper shredder and triex to purge sone expired files. Well that led to a fight over who gets to “feed the monster,” and I had to quit until hubs came back.
The second problem was a furniture pickup that I thought would be 10 minutes of fresh air. It ended up being 90 minutes of driving in Children of the Corn territory. That $10 office chair also cost me a half tank of gas in addition to my time.
The next thing that prolonged my cleaning wasnt related to cleaning at all. Not even as close as the chair either. My 16 year old had a painting in a gallery show tonight. So hubs made dinner and tackled one toddler. I took the other to the show, which was quite good.
So I get home, answer a few emails, do some more straightening, only to find thst bedtime comes too fast.
And, I had gone a day without writing a word.
This post is to rectify that, but I still feel as twitchy as a crackhead in need of fix. My addiction is sated for now. I hsve a writing session planned for the morning. Better not miss it.
After some failed adventures in teaching 9th grade, I have come back to freelance writing. On this page, you will find clips of my past work, drafts of new stuff, and the mad midnight rantings of a writer trying to create while parenting. We will weave in and out of the realms of popular culture, beyond the boundaries of fandoms, and through the backyards of the things that are important to a person of color, raising a biracial family, in this often bleak but never boring America.
Come join me.