How to Deal with Compliments in a Dignified Fashion

If a writer you admire pays you the highest compliment you can imagine, what is one supposed to do? Vaunt like a pagan? Be humble like a Christian? Giggle like a schoolgirl at a slumber party eating an entire tub of rocky road ice cream with her giggling friends? Raise an eyebrow like Spock and display no emotion?

It matters not. I am gratified to find my opinion carries such weight among my fellow Evil Legionnaires of Evil.

Mr. Larry Correia describes on his blog his desire to retire from the Sad Puppies tempest in a thimble, but that certain evil forces dragged him back in.

Then the ELoE told me tough luck, and that if I dropped out, my fans (who make up the back bone of the growing Sad Puppies contingent) would get mad at me. Plus, John Wright said that MHN was my best book, and his vote for best book of 2014. And you really can’t argue with somebody who writes like John.

Imagine him as Tony in WEST SIDE STORY, and me as Riff, him trying to go straight and work a real job, and me luring back into the rumble, where we sing jazz music together and one of use gets knifed…

Tony-and-Riff-west-side-story-31067950-414-334Hmmm. On second thought, that photo has certain homoerotic overtones I find mildly disturbing. Better yet, imagine the two of us as novice superheroes, hearing our first positive notice on the news, sharing the aforementioned ice cream and cheering.

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Demon dogs! That is an even more disturbing mental image. (Also, would Mr Correia want to be Supergirl or Batgirl?)

No, no, get the memory eraser helmet and set it to INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH BRILLO SCRUB to get those two  images out of your mind.

Mnemo HelmetNow, if I imagine using the imagination eraser helmet to stop imagining what I imagine, is that too meta-narrative-ish? (I cannot find the memory eraser helmet anyway, because I cannot remember where I put it last.)

Okay, trying one last time. Imagine Larry Correia as goodnatured but moose-sized hulking science fiction writer carrying a Japanese spiked club bashing the brains out of Santy Claus, whom he mistakes for a burglar. MERRY FREAKING CHRISTMAS, POOSER!

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And then he has to fill the role of Devilhunter Kringle, and carry out Santa’s unexpectedly dark and difficult demon-fighting duties! Because that would be awesome!

north

And meanwhile imagine me as a calm, stoical, unemotional, inexpressive Vulcan, my ice-cold and soulless mind ruled only by the inexorable dictates of logic…

Rinkitink02

Oh, here comes the army of King Rinkitink! It isn’t a big one, perhaps you may think, But it scattered the warriors quicker than wink— Rink-i-tink, tink-i-tink, tink!

… just as much as the mind of King Rinkitink of Oz. And in the same way. And with the same belt size.

Or, better yet, do not imagine me or Larry Correia, lest it upset your digestion.

Instead, imagine Ajor from Edgar Rice Burrough’s PEOPLE TIME FORGOT getting ready to knife the next peevish story-hating fun-killing Social Justice Whiner promising you a story and giving you a spoonful of liver oil. Because it is good for you.

cavegirl with knife

Ajor angry! Ajor slay and eat HEART if your book too preachy and dull!

Do not disappoint lovely Ajor of the Galu!

One last thought:

Do the Social Justice Warriors admire and compliment each other, or not? I am under the impression that they treat each other like Uncle Screwtape and his nephew Wormwood, that is, all petting and flattery until, without warning, one accuses the other of some thoughtcrime, and then the knives and forks and thumbscrews come out, the eye-spoons and disemboweling hooks.