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A review by cassieyorke
Runaways: A Writer’s Dilemma by Michael J. Seidlinger
5.0
It hurts because it's real. It hurts because there's no real fix for it, no way out.
This is my first Seidlinger book, and I'm an instant fan. And if he's lucky, my saying that won't affect his craft one way or the other. That's the note the book ends on - learning to write authentically despite our need to be *read*. The social media platforms that we rely on to be noticed at all, they kill what makes us writers in the first place. The way they're designed makes it so the parts of our brains that get hooked on affirmation totally override the ones that create the thing we want affirmation about. It's toxic and it's shitty and there's absolutely no way out.
And Seidlinger manages to put it into language, how it feels to chase these things that are just out of reach, these things we see others have - recognition, inspiration. Being noticed at all. This swirl of poisonous forces is what it means to be a writer in the early 21st century.
The whole time I was reading this, I got as angry and resentful as the writer in the book. In centuries past, being talented was enough to get you noticed and get you read. The information age brought this devil's promise of getting noticed more easily, and now it's never been so difficult - not only to be noticed, but to get anyone to read your work in the first fucking place. Every new passage in Seidlinger's novella ached more and more - internal grudges against writers that have no idea who I am, hidden shit lists in my head against everyone who's ever wronged me (in my own personal life and online), the desperate, driving need for vindication.
Vindication, the lack thereof. Little tidbits of affirmation - in the form of likes and retweets - instead of vindication, like artificial sweetener instead of cane sugar.
And the whole time, we're suffocating inside.
And for what it's worth, the poor frustrated writer in the book has one thing I don't - they have a social media following. People notice their posts. Realizing that I don't even have that made me laugh and want to cry at the same time.
An author of less talent than Michael Seidlinger couldn't have explained this twisted paradox writers struggle with in our age. I definitely don't think I could have. That's what makes authors like Seidlinger necessary - because otherwise, all this interconnectedness makes us feel more alone than ever, especially when we're suffering from afflictions that don't seem to bother anyone else.
This is my first Seidlinger book, and I'm an instant fan. And if he's lucky, my saying that won't affect his craft one way or the other. That's the note the book ends on - learning to write authentically despite our need to be *read*. The social media platforms that we rely on to be noticed at all, they kill what makes us writers in the first place. The way they're designed makes it so the parts of our brains that get hooked on affirmation totally override the ones that create the thing we want affirmation about. It's toxic and it's shitty and there's absolutely no way out.
And Seidlinger manages to put it into language, how it feels to chase these things that are just out of reach, these things we see others have - recognition, inspiration. Being noticed at all. This swirl of poisonous forces is what it means to be a writer in the early 21st century.
The whole time I was reading this, I got as angry and resentful as the writer in the book. In centuries past, being talented was enough to get you noticed and get you read. The information age brought this devil's promise of getting noticed more easily, and now it's never been so difficult - not only to be noticed, but to get anyone to read your work in the first fucking place. Every new passage in Seidlinger's novella ached more and more - internal grudges against writers that have no idea who I am, hidden shit lists in my head against everyone who's ever wronged me (in my own personal life and online), the desperate, driving need for vindication.
Vindication, the lack thereof. Little tidbits of affirmation - in the form of likes and retweets - instead of vindication, like artificial sweetener instead of cane sugar.
And the whole time, we're suffocating inside.
And for what it's worth, the poor frustrated writer in the book has one thing I don't - they have a social media following. People notice their posts. Realizing that I don't even have that made me laugh and want to cry at the same time.
An author of less talent than Michael Seidlinger couldn't have explained this twisted paradox writers struggle with in our age. I definitely don't think I could have. That's what makes authors like Seidlinger necessary - because otherwise, all this interconnectedness makes us feel more alone than ever, especially when we're suffering from afflictions that don't seem to bother anyone else.