“@” attacks

It’s been a while since I’ve been personally attacked for something I’ve written. No, I’ve not missed it, so please, don’t feel obliged to do so in response to this piece.

But if you do, in the comments box below, I can’t really say I haven’t asked for it here, can I?

Criticism of creative works, whether they are writings, cartoons, comedy, music, or any creative endeavour, comes with the package. If you’re not prepared to be criticised for your opinions and works, then don’t offer them to the world. There will always be those who agree with what you’ve created (no matter how good or bad the work) and always be those who dislike “it”, whatever “it” is.

I’ve written previously about the personal and misogynistic attacks Laurie Penny has faced over some of her pieces, and I’ve been sickened at those and other attacks at friends whose sole offence seems to be to provoke a reaction of “we don’t like you.”

However, notwithstanding my earlier comment that all creators invite criticism (good and bad) of their works, there’s a current unpleasant practice on Twitter that I think is worthy of comment.

Now if you write a column, or a blog, there is usually an opportunity at the venue of publication to comment upon that piece of writing. The very fact that opportunity exists invites people to do so. And, while the advice of “never read the comments” is always given, it’s a fact that precious few creators have the ability and willpower not to at least glance at them.

“Never read the comments” is perhaps the best advice for the Internet, apart from Wil Wheaton’s advice of “Don’t be a dick.” Sadly, it’s equally ignored by many.

But, if I can use an analogy, many people complain about a television programme offending them. The usual response is “don’t watch it then”, and it’s a fair response at that. Despite the oft-quoted counter of “I didn’t ask for this to be in my living room’, I’m sorry, but you did precisely that, by selecting that television programme to watch.

In the same way, if you go looking for criticism of your work, in some (but not all) ways, you forfeit the moral right to complain at what’s been written about the work. You don’t, however, ever forfeit the right to complain about personal attacks.

However – back to the tv example for a moment – so far, at least, my television has never switched channel mid-way through an episode of House MD to show, say, Keith Olbermann attacking me in full “rampaging bull elephant on heat” mode.

Neither, to take another example, has my internet browser suddenly alerted me with a pop up window showing me details of an Internet commenter ripping me, or something I’ve written, apart.

And then we have Twitter. Twitter is almost unique (Facebook has tags, but they’re somewhat different) in that anyone on Twitter, anyone at all, can attach an ‘@’ to your Twitter ID in a tweet and it will be brought to your attention. You can’t avoid it. It’s the way Twitter works.

So, let’s say Joe Oik from Cityville, Nebraska doesn’t like something I’ve written.

Fair enough, it happens.

He tweets the following:

Just read the latest column by Lee Barnett. God, the guy’s a dick. He should give up foisting this crap on the world. He’s fucking useless.

Fair enough, it’s unpleasant, and I would – I’d imagine – disagree with the broad sentiments of his views. And yes, if I or friends saw it, I or they might respond. We’d be idiots to, but hey, we’re entitled to be idiots just as much as anyone else online.

But I am, and they are, unlikely to see the tweet unless I or they undertake a vanity search on Twitter, or on Google, since Google have started showing tweets in their search results.

Contrast that with the following tweet:

Just read the latest column by @budgie. God, the guy’s a dick. He should give up foisting this crap on the world. He’s fucking useless.

Now, I’m going to see that tweet. I’m definitely going to see that tweet.

It’s going to be notified to me next time I go on Twitter. Depending upon how I access Twitter, I might even get a little icon lighting up highlighting the fact that someone has mentioned me. And, since I’m like everyone else, I’m kind of curious when someone mentions me.

So I’ll read the tweet.

Make no mistake, this doesn’t fall within “don’t read the comments.” This is the actual “I didn’t want this in my living room” as opposed to the falsity of that being applied to television.

Of course I’m going to read it. Because that was what was intended by the tweeter when he or she wrote it.

I was trying to think of any “innocent” reasons for including someone’s Twitter name, suitably @’d, in a nasty, criticising, tweet, and, with a couple of friends, I think I’ve identified two:

(1) the tweeter is new to Twitter, and doesn’t realise that every ‘@’ is notified to the subject.
(2) the tweeter is a fucking idiot.

(1) is possible. It is. People new to any form of communication make errors in etiquette, format, etc. Just think of how many people over the years have had to be told that writing in capitals denotes shouting. Or just who has has to be informed that “LOL” doesn’t mean “Lots of Love”.

So, (1) is possible. But I think it’s difficult to argue ignorance or naïveté when you’ve got 500+ tweets under your belt.

And (2) is more than possible. Paraphrasing the words of an old Labour MP when accused of being a stupid cunt, there are lot of stupid cunts around and they deserve some representation. And there are even more online.

But I’d venture to suggest that of all the offending tweets with which this piece is concerned, i.e. nasty tweets with an ‘@’ in them, maybe, maybe, 1% fall into this ‘innocent’ category.

Now, there are various ways of dealing with these tweets once they’re in your view, in your view I repeat through no effort of your own, in your view because they’ve been put there quite deliberately by someone whose only motive is to offend or, if you’re both cynical and forgiving, to bolster follower count by offending someone.

There’s what I call The Cathartic Response: Retweet the offending tweet without comment. Get it out of your system and just slap it out there for the world to see. It can’t ‘hurt’ you any more and it has the side-effect of letting your followers and fans know that someone’s been nasty to you. Who knows? Someone may… remonstrate with the tweeter and let them know that their’s is a minority view.

(I’m reminded of the tale of George Bernard Shaw, upon taking his bows at a first night to thunderous applause, and detecting one person booing. GBS is reputed to have responded “Personally, sir, I agree, but what are we two against the multitudes?” I don’t believe it. I think Shaw probably told him to fuck off.)

Then there’s the “I’ll show him” Response, where the creator point blank tells his followers to take on the tweeter. Though I have little sympathy for the tweeter, this is just plain stupid.

As is the Hit Back Just As Nastily Response, as exemplified by Giles Coren yesterday. Yes, it’s tempting, but it ends up with neither ‘side’ smelling of roses. I suspect that Coren’s tweet will become the new example of “tweet in haste, repent in leisure.”

The only sensible thing to do is… to do nothing. And that’s about as likely as no-one ever reading the comments on the Internet.

So you’re left with the not very sensible things to do.

Which is also unsatisfactory.

I don’t know the solution – I really don’t.

But here’s an idea. It’s novel, I know, and terribly old fashioned, but then in many ways, I’m a terribly old-fashioned bloke.

How about… just not doing it, people of Twitter? How about having the common courtesy not to ‘@’ someone if you’re taking a pop at them? How about just thinking a moment before hitting that “Send” button?

How about… just behaving like you’re not a dick?

Voting today? Why you should be…

There are local elections today in the UK, and a vote in London to decide who’ll be Mayor for the next four years.

And there are referenda in several cities about whether or not to have an elected Mayor, as opposed to just a council leader, the head of the party with the most councillors.

Here’s what Matthew Parris had to say in 2005. It was about the general election that month, but the arguments are essentially the same for every election, general or local. This was originally published in The Times, and yes, it’s now behind a pay wall. But it wasn’t then, and I think it’s important enough to reproduce in full.

---

Seven bad, lazy reasons to vote on May 5

There is one and only one supreme and luminous reason for exercising your right to vote. But the rotten ones are numerous. Here are seven bad reasons for voting on May 5:

It’s your civic duty.
Our ancestors fought and died for the right to vote.
Governments need a mandate from voters.
Evil triumphs when good men do nothing.
If you don’t vote, you can’t complain.
Unless you vote you are lazy/apathetic/feeble/dim.
Voting is easy these days. You can do it by post.

It’s your duty
No it isn’t. How preposterous to use the language of civic responsibility like this. To make voting sound like picking up litter or taking a pooper scooper when you walk your dog, misrepresents the act of casting a vote. Voting is a solemn, considered and voluntary thing to do: you can choose; there should be no pressure. That you don’t have to dignifies the action.

Your grandfather fought for your democratic liberties
Well thanks, granddad, but we should not be blackmailed like this. Lost causes as well as good ones have their heroes and martyrs. Earlier generations fought and died for the Empire but when the time came to quit our colonies, we quit.

A government needs your mandate
But you can turn that on its head: “Don’t vote: it only encourages them.” Unless you, the voter, are personally persuaded that government action is needed and you can identify a party or candidate that you trust to take it, why swell the turnout in the vague belief that a big turnout in itself is somehow “good for democracy”? We vote for MPs, for parties, for manifestos and for governments; we do not vote for democracy.

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men should do nothing
Lord Acton was right, but a British general election is not a fight against evil. It is a choice between different ideas for the betterment of society.

I know few men or women in politics whom I would call evil and it is silly to characterise our democratic process in these terms.

If you don’t vote, you can’t complain
Why not? Some might retort that those who did vote a party into government are the ones who cannot complain later. The truth is that we are each of us free to find fault with our political masters, whether or not we voted for them, or voted at all. It is our right.

It’s lazy, feeble, apathetic or stupid not to use your vote
It might be. But until politicians consider the other possibility, they will miss what makes politics tick.

There are millions in Britain who do have the time, the energy, the intelligence, the interest, the sense of responsibility. They want to vote. But they are unconvinced or unattracted by any of the parties or people on offer. They take a conscious decision to abstain.

It is time that our political class respected that decision and asked itself whether it might be the problem, rather than the voters.

Some MPs talk as though it were the electorate which needs chivvying up, not them.

It’s no sweat to vote by post
This is an insulting argument. That something takes no effort is the worst reason for doing it.

Politicians cut the ground from under their own feet when they try to make it effortless to vote, slashing the price, as it were, of stock that they are finding hard to shift. They devalue their calling and underestimate their electorate if they think special give-away offers – postal voting, text message voting, voting from your own sofa by pressing the red interactive button on your television set – are the way to stir us. You stir people by showing them something worthwhile, not by showing them something easy.

Our politicians need to take care that campaigns to increase turnout amount to more than a sneaky attempt to validate themselves, to boost their own sense of self-worth.

So much for the bad reasons for voting on May 5. Am I, you may ask, in danger of arguing myself out of my own opening statement: that democracy matters? By no means. There is only one good reason to vote but it is the best reason on earth.

Voting changes things.

Elections matter. For better or for worse, your life and mine in Britain have been shaped by the general elections since the Second World War. The changes in national mood and direction — huge changes in the country that we see around us — have been dictated by forces, some of which are beyond our control; but the ideological temper of the government of the day has been at the forefront of these forces, and this is within our control.

People sometimes talk as though social and economic change were like the weather; as though change happens to us. It does not. We, the electorate, choose change. There really are forks in history’s road.

And just as choosing a new road does not bring any immediate change in the countryside, so choosing a government seldom makes a sharp difference at first. Change is gradual, halting and slow, but in the end a new journey brings you to a new place.

Look at some of those key elections since the end of the Second World War. If, in 1945, Winston Churchill and another Conservative Government had been returned, we would not have had the National Health Service. Sooner or later, some sort of medical help for the poorest would have been brought in by any government, but not the NHS as we know it.

That was what the British people were voting for in 1945, and we got it. We got – we chose – the nationalisation of British industry too. If the Tories had not been elected in 1951, that nationalisation would have continued towards a full-blooded socialism which, in the event, Britain never tried. We changed our mind.

If Edward Heath had not been elected in 1970 it is unlikely that Britain would have entered the Common Market when we did, and uncertain that we would have ever done so. Entry did not just happen: it was brought about by the absolute determination of one man. We the voters put him there.

Does anybody – friend or foe of Thatcherism – really think that Britain in 2005 would be or feel anything like the country we recognise today if the general election of 1979 had not brought Margaret Thatcher to power? The sale of council houses, the privatisation of state industry, the Falklands conflict, the shackling of the trades unions — the list is formidable.

That election presented a brutal but simple choice, as the voters recognised. A quarter of a century later, the choice is more subtle but I think that voters on May 5 will understand it well enough. It is not really about bringing in a Conservative government, although that is what the Tories must pretend. It is about the raising up or the humbling of a Labour Prime Minister.

The country is being asked to give the thumbs up, or the thumbs down, to the most presidential PM we have had. If you think that whether Tony Blair walks out of May 6 and into May 7 with a limp or with a swagger, will make no difference to the years ahead, you will live to revise that opinion.

Elections swing things. There are some who recognise this, who have views on which way things should be swung – and who still stay home on polling day. “What difference is my vote alone likely to make?” they ask.

The honest answer in most constituencies is “probably none”. But most – almost all – collective human effort is the same. In how much that we do is our own effort the critical, the make-or-break contribution? Does this stop us singing in a choir, contributing to a charity, joining a demonstration or supporting a football club? A desert dune moves so slowly that motion is almost imperceptible at first. It moves by the windborne propulsion of a billion individual particles of sand, separately and one by one, flying from the windward to the leeward. No individual particle makes a discernible difference. Yet the movement of the whole can bury pyramids.

In a vast democracy like ours, each of us is no more than a single piece of grit. But when we move together, history moves. So if you feel the wind, fly. It’s called voting.

Matthew Parris is a Times writer and columnist of the year

Free ebooks of The Fast Fiction Challenge for 24 hours

This offer has now expired

Thanks to all who took part

To mark that it’s 30^th April 2012, I’ve decided to give you all a present.

For 24 hours, from noon today British Summer Time, I’m going to give away ebooks of The Fast Fiction Challenge to selected, ah, the hell with it anyone who emails me.

Of course, there are rules, terms and conditions. Here they are:

1. You email me by clicking on this link and tell me which book you’d like me to send you, and in which format (ePub, kindle, etc.)
2. You smile when sending the email. That’s ok, I don’t need to see you smiling – I trust you.

That’s it.

Seriously, that’s it.

What am I giving away? Well, here’s what Wil Wheaton said in the introduction to volume two:

“There are two hundred stories collected in this volume. They are funny, they are thoughtful, they are romantic, they are frightening. To me, though, they are more than entertaining. They are inspiring.”

This was the challenge I issued on my blog:

Reply with a title (maximum of four words)
about which you’d like me to write a fast
fiction of exactly 200 words, together with a
single word you want me to include in the text
of the tale.


Five hundred stories later, there are two volumes of 180 (vol 1) and another 200 (vol 2) of the best tales.

Stories with titles like Why I Chose Insanity, Three Shades Of Yesterday, and Why Is It Orange? and words such as saturnine, cylindrical and azimuth.

The books can be purchased in either print or ebook versions:

print
Click on this link to be taken to lulu.com. Volume 1 (180 stories) is £6.50, or equivalent in local currency; volume 2 (200 stories) is £7.99

e-books
Email me on budgie@hypotheticals.co.uk and I’ll supply the ebook in either .epub or .mobi version on request… Volume 1 (180 stories) is £4.00, or equivalent in local currency; volume 2 (200 stories) is £5.00 Nope, ignore that – for 24 hours, they’re free. Just email me as above.

Why am I doing this? Well, it’s 30^th April, why not?

Any other questions?

It’s Pesach, so it’s pizza…

It’s coming up to Passover, (it starts tomorrow night) so I repeat with pleasure the following, about the only thing that makes Pesach bearable for me, with thanks to Laura:

Laura’s Matzo Pizza
For a thin base 3-4 matzo broken into small pieces and soaked in water just long enough to soften. If you feel very hungry and want a deep base use up to 7 matzo.

In a large bowl place the matzo and beat in an egg (2 eggs for a deep base) together with salt and pepper to taste

Place a small amount of oil in a frying pan and put the matzo mixture in and cook until the mixture is firm and moves away from the sides easily.

Take off the heat and spread a thin layer of tomato paste (puree) over the pizza.

Now this is the time where you decide your filling. I usually use mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, green peppers or any vegetables that you like.

You can pre cook your vegetables if you like them soft or leave them raw and they will cook in the pizza.

Next place some grated cheese over the top of the vegetables and place under a hot grill until the cheese is melted.

Carefully remove the pizza from the pan add some salad if you want and be warned this is a very, very filling meal.

NB A while back, after I posted this, I was asked, “surely it makes more sense to use matzo meal rather than broken up matzo.” Bearing in mind that Laura’s the cook, not me, I asked her why she used broken up matzo and she said “…because I want a pizza, not a flan.“

“Yes, you sir…”

While I appreciate the need for any comedian to speedily feel comfortable with the audience they’re in front of, there’s a type of stand up routine I loathe.

If you’ve seen more than a couple of comedians live, you’ll probably recognise the setup: the comic comes out onto the stage, takes a quick look around the room, says some quick opening remarks, and then asks a member of the audience “Hey, you, where you from? What’s your job? Is that your girlfriend?”

And he mocks the place the audience member calls home. And/or the job. And/or the girlfriend. Not one joke, but several – he gets the audience to laugh at – not along with, but at – the poor shmuck who was unfortunate enough to reply.

And – and here’s what gets me – if the man or woman being picked on doesn’t laugh right along with it… it’s somehow their fault.

And now they’re part of the act.

It’s cruel, nasty humour of the cheapest kind.

And what’s more, if the comedian has pulled the audience into his act when he wants them there, I’m not sure he has any moral authority to complain at hecklers when the audience pushes themselves into his act when they want to be there.

I’ve seen comics go from audience member to audience member making one quick gag, and then moving on. That’s not what I’m talking about – it’s when there’s one, or maybe two, people in the audience that the comedian is picking on. Continually. Going back to refer to them during the act, or especially the compère.

And picking on them.

Because that’s what it is – picking on someone who can’t (either because of the situation, or simply because they’re too scared to) give back as good as they get.

And if they do respond… well, I’ve never seen it end prettily.

I enjoy stand up comedy, but I pay to see the comedian make me laugh. Picking on people doesn’t make me laugh, and given the number of comics who say that they were picked on at school, you’d think they’d know better.

A question from me. An answer from you?

I’ve mentioned before my huge enjoyment of the BBC Radio 4 programme Round Britain Quiz, particularly because of the questions that can at times be horribly obscure, but at other times wonderfully transparent… if you have the slightest inkling of the link.

So, I’m driving today and listening to an old RBQ from 2010 when I hear the following question… and, within about thirty seconds, know I know every part of the answer: six points, thank you very much.

And what’s more, so should most of you.

If you do get the answer, post something cryptic so I know you know, but others still have to guess it, ok?

OK, here’s the question

Who are these fellow travellers, and their friend? One of the most recent might provide a habitat for lilies; another, a few years ago, might come and do your bathroom for you; going back nearly four decades, another could make sure you had sufficient funds; and the very first of all would take charge of the gang.

The team, by the way, got four points out of six, and took several minutes to get there. I’m sure you can do better.

OK, go…

So, I’ve been doing some writing…

Have been neglecting this blog for about a month or so – had a few things to sort out, and some writing projects I was trying to get my head around.

But that was then, and this is now…

But before I return to full time blogging, some catchings-up for you all.

So, what have I been up to?

Well, leaving aside the rewrite of the novel I wrote, You’ll Never Believe A Man Can Fly, working on a second novel – provisionally entitled The Price of History, continuing with one graphic novel and researching another, writing a short screenplay, and a longer screenplay, and continuing to plug both volumes of The Fast Fiction Challenge, there’s…

The Art of Fast Fiction
A few months back, Si Spurrier and I had a chat about the Whitechapel message board, and specifically about getting me involved in it. One after another of potential ideas was thrown up in the air, looked at from various angles, and then allowed to fall to the ground, smashed into a lot of very small, quite unpleasantly smelling pieces. And then we came up with the concept of getting some of the very talented artists who frequent Whitechapel to draw some of the fast fiction stories I’d written. That seemed a good idea, but it didn’t seem fair that the artists would be the only people challenged. So although the first story was a reprint of a story from the fast fiction challenge, we’d choose one of the people who submitted an art piece in one round of the art challenge… to challenge me with a title and word for the next challenge.

And so it’s worked.

First challenge – Dancing To Silence

Second challenge – The Indecisive Backpacker

Current challenge – Our Lady of Artillery – This challenge is still open – closes 18th February.

Elephantwords
As mentioned in a previous post, I’ve returned for a weekly stint on elephantwords.

So far, I’ve written four stories, and you can click on the titles below each pic to see the story.

Empty chairs at empty tables

The appointment

Arrival and departure

Murder, they said

Paragraph Planet
Oh, yes, and I wrote a very, very short something for these folks…

I wanted to reach over, to hold her hand. But I didn’t. I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her. But I didn’t. Instead we uttered trivialities, both of us avoiding what we wanted to say. We spoke… carefully, memories and hopes underscoring every word. The bell rang; we exchanged a long look. Then she left the room, and I went back to my prison cell, both of us heading for home.

…

And I’ve agreed to write a short love story for Tiny Little Love Stories.

So… what have you been up to?

(Back tomorrow… with something.)