I kid you not.
I was out and about last week when I ran into the infamous Harpy. You remember her. I wrote a whole post about her comment that I wasn’t a real writer because I write romance.
Well, guess what? She read the post and she was upset that I painted her in such an unfavorable light. When I saw her she said, “I can’t believe you were so angry because I expressed my opinion.”
Excuse me?
Yup. She was offended and she wanted an apology. It was all I could do not to laugh. Truly. I walked away. (FYI: Her name has never been mentioned and never will be.)
So now, knowing she reads this blog, I’ll explain.
Dear Harpy,
I wasn’t angry because you aren’t a romance reader. You can read whatever you like. I was angry, and lampooned you in my blog, because you are a closed-minded snob who doesn’t respect anyone who isn’t like you. Get over yourself and before you even think about casting aspersions on what I do, I dare you to write a book–hell, write a usable first chapter–then talk to me about writing.
Love, Me.
I’m a fairly open-minded individual, and when someone tells me that romance is just not her cup of tea, I respect that. It’s not like we all have to love the same thing, but most people, even if they are not romance readers, respect what I like and what I write. No one, except her, has ever asked me when I was “going to write a real book.” The majority appreciate the hard work and dedication it takes to be a writer, but I suppose there are a few who will never get it.
The Harpy didn’t understand that my problem with what she said had nothing to do with her taste in literature, but her obvious disdain for me and what I care about. I’m guessing she understands now.
So whatever you’re passionate about, realize someone out there doesn’t “get it” and will disparage you when the chance arises. Don’t let it discourage you. Remember the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
I did not give my consent. What would you have told her?
