Most-Hated Books

A thread in a Facebook group I belong to begins with one writer’s most-hated book: The Fountainhead. I immediately feel a chime of agreement. Though I’ve never read The Fountainhead, I did force myself to finish Atlas Shrugged after a friend said it was her favorite book. There’s no way I would subject myself to another Ayn Rand screed posing as a story.

Some love it, some don't.

Some love it, some don’t.

But further down the thread, other members of the group express different ideas. Their most-hated books and authors include some of my favorites: The Princess Bride, by William Goldman; J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books as well as The Casual Vacancy; anything by Barbara Kingsolver; something else by Stephen King. There were also the usual suspects: Hemingway, Faulkner, Austen, and Moby Dick on the “literature” side, Fifty Shades and Twilight among the commercially successful. One that surprised me was how many hate Holden Caulfield.

I didn’t bother to raise my voice in agreement with the Ayn Rand haters, but I read every post until my Internet connection clicked off. If anything, it should make writers very, very happy to know that such famous and popular authors are also thoroughly hated by a few. You can’t please everybody, so you might as well write what pleases you. A few rejections might just mean that you haven’t yet reached the readers who love your work.

The social-media introvert

An application introvert, that’s what I am. I’ve been on Facebook for years—I love connecting with friends and colleagues there. It’s comfortable and informal, and I’ve learned how to interact without stepping on too many toes or getting my own stepped on. LinkedIn is a place I go to update my resume (but not very often, and I should really add a portfolio). I regularly use apps that help me keep track of time (Toggl), manage my projects (Scrivener), and remind me of things I need to do (Todoist). But when it comes to interacting with the wild world of Web at large, I get a scary feeling inside. Twitter and Google+, I’m looking at you.

Today I recommended that a self-publishing client take a look at Google+. His book is nearly ready to be released to the world, and it is so good. It deserves a solid fan base—it’s the kind of book some readers have been wanting to read forever. I’ve heard that Google+ works well for book promotion because it integrates with Google search so easily. Then I click on over to it myself, because I haven’t been there in forever. Oops. There he is, my client, with not one but two beautifully done pages, one for himself and one for his pen name. Uh, hi! Let me add you to my circles!

I also was reminded that Google+ has a good Scrivener users’ group, and I popped by there. Sure enough, there were some posts that proved to be useful, some answers to questions I’d been wrestling with. But I still felt odd posting a request, not quite understanding who was watching, not quite knowing what I was getting into. I don’t want to stumble into some place and irritate the regulars, you know?

Worse, I don’t know how to use it well. I am fine being stuck with accepting whatever comes at you in Facebook—at least it’s all coming from your friends—but in Google+ I want to see only a little bit of what the world has to offer. It overwhelms me every time I go there, as if I’m at a huge party with brilliant people and a scrumptious buffet and I can only huddle in my corner.

Pearl, a fluffy white Malti-poo, looking sad.

Everyone looks like they’re having so much fun!

Resolved: I will try to visit Google+ at least once a week for the next month. I’ve put it on my Todoist. Maybe someday I’ll also get over my Twitter trauma, caused when someone or something called Bruno Jaquet hacked into my account and broadcast about a thousand ugly tweets.