Pro Tip for Self-Pubs

Actually, this lil tip is not for all self-pubs. This one is just for subliterate Dunning-Krugerand fiction writers with delusions of competence. Here ya go, guys n dolls:

Always be sure that your “brilliant, genius” characters reflect your own brilliance and genius by having them be completely unaware of the significant differences between in/out, come/go, take/bring, number/amount, less/fewer, and be ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN to sprinkle their dialogue with non-words common to the vocabularies of pinheaded morons, like “anyways.”

I hope this helps.

Ah! From the File, “Book Blurbs That Make You Say ‘NO!'”

“If you like Hitchhikers guide [sic] to the Galaxy and the Starship Troopers movie, you’ll love this book!”

Firstly, the movie adaptation of Starship Troopers sucked swamp gas. Secondly, The two VERY different stories had almost nothing in common whatsoever, apart from the fact that the books they were based on were a couple of the best works of two very different masters of the science fiction field.

If the execrably written and edited excerpt from a book blurb that went downhill from there is at all representative of the book, then the best thing to do is flip on by with a curt, “No.”


Aside–and having nothing to do with the comment above–I dislike “dramatis personae” lists in the front of a book. Sure, I imagine it might help folks keep characters straight, but I think a writer is better served (and better serves his readers) by organically introducing his characters within the narrative, as different characters meet, and, although if a book is in a series and I have read 1,000-1,100 books–not all fiction, of course–in the six months between episodes (and that’s roughly a six month reading list for me), I still prefer to exercise my lil grey cells and recall the characters that were introduced previously w/o reading down a list of ’em.

*whew!* Saved from Two Books I’ll Never Read

Why will I not read two books, one of which had a blurb that mentioned a child “in the backseat,” and the other of which was titled “Appaloosa Summer” but featured a picture of a horse on the cover that was PLAINLY NOT an Appaloosa? I think you may have a clue. *smh* “Backseat” is properly an ADJECTIVE, though more and more illiterates are forcing its use as a noun (instead of using “back seat” as they ought to), and someone writing a book with the title featuring Appaloosas surely ought to have at least used an Appaloosa on the cover instead of some vague breed with a bay coloration.

It’s Not Always Enough By Itself, But. . .

Yeh, sometimes it’s enough to put me off a writer: misuse of the reflexive pronoun “myself” when “me” is correct. Some subliterates think it sounds classy or something, I guess, when all it really does is shout, “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Here: a tip for beginners with English, or those English majors who skipped taking Remedial English, and managed to graduate nearly illiterate.

BTW, the same morons tend to misuse the objective case “I” where a subjective case pronoun is called for. (Yeh, again: they probably think it sounds “classy.” It doesn’t.)

Filed Under “Literacy: That Word Does Not Mean What You Think It Means”

Apropos of nothing in particular *cough* not *cough* I cringe every time I read “quotes” from historical figures whose literacy and fluency in English far surpassed that of those who misquote them, inserting grammar and usage errors that do not exist in the original material. Even worse? Fictional accounts of historical figures that put (sometimes credible, though still fictional) words in a historical figure’s mouth that are then mistranscribed by subliterates, mangling them into gibberish.

Words: They Do Not Mean What You Think They Mean. . .

. . .IF you are a lazy, subliterate “Dunning-Krugerand.”

Read a book where a lazy, subliterate “Dunning-Krugerand” writer committed a LOT (No, more than what you think of as “a lot,” MUCH more) of usage errors, on top of other basic grammar and orthography errors, including using “squib” (yes, with a “b”) to refer to a couple of retired Navy characters. No. I tired of typing,

“#GAGAMAGGOT!!!! SQUID, you subliterate “Dunning-Krugerand” moron, SQUID!” and so intend to include something like this in an Amazon review (though I’ll include other examples of evidence that no literate eye gave a glance at the book before it was published):

“squib:
noun

a small firework consisting of a tube filled with powder that makes a hissing noise when it is lit”

https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/squib

Also, re: firearms:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Squib_load

“A squib load, also known as a squib round, pop and no kick, or just a squib, is a firearm malfunction in which a fired projectile does not have enough force behind it to exit the barrel, and thus becomes stuck.”

SQUID, OTOH,

What Is A Navy Squid? 11 Slang Nicknames For Navy Sailors

“A term used in the old Navy (not the store), Squid is what other branches
(especially Marines) generally called sailors.”

Writers who do not care enough about their craft and who have no respect whatsoever for those they expect to pay for their “work,” and who therefore see no need to become literate are just wannabe thieves, seeking to steal $$ from readers for NOT doing their work, and to steal time better used to read or do other things. Note to wannabe writers: unless you can at least pass an “English as a second language” course, just write in your native tongue (for those who grew up in an English speaking milieu, that might well be gibberish. Very well, write your gibberish openly so that literate folks can more easily avoid it. Thankfully, many subliterate self-pubs write their own book blurbs. . . ).


I don’t want to be mean, but. . . “He MADE me do it!” *heh*

Another example, this one a whole sentence, illustrates a different frustration I experience with “Dunnig-Krugerite” writers.

“The palace is more than a thousand years old, [and was] once a stop for traders from the Silk Road.”

So, it was once a caravansaral (caravanari, caravanserai, caravansary). Would have been easier to just use the right word, viz., “. . .once a caravansaral on the Silk Road.” Oh, but wait. That would assume that both the writer and his intended audience had a working vocabulary larger than the typical fifth grader.