The "Life of a Showgirl" Backlash is Making Me Nauseous

 

This essay is not an analysis of Life Of A Showgirl. Not exactly.

Is it even a coherent analysis, or is it just a messy, confused vent about what happens when a woman is famous? Well, dear reader, we’re going to find out together.

First, a disclaimer on my own biases, my own little standpoint theory discursion.

I have a Swiftie in my life who’s very important to me, and that definitely prejudices my perspective on this. I started out as a pretty thoughtless Taylor Swift hater myself. She was tall, blonde, and pretty, and I’m none of those things, depending on who you ask about the last one; it was easy to project the cruelty I’d suffered at other people’s hands onto her as an aggressor.

Commentators I like, like Todd in the Shadows, also were very happy to make fun of her. Did I unpack this at the time? No, that had to come later, with some maturity.

Still, nobody is ever neutral about these things, and anyone who thinks they’re an objective critic is being fooled by the very concept of objectivity.

So, let’s start with the album itself. What did I think?

Source.

The Album

Life of a Showgirl is fine. It’s pretty mid, but it’s not the worst album I’ve ever heard by a female artist – that dubious honour belongs to 0304 by Jewel, which failed so spectacularly at its concept of mixing Big Band music with showtunes that my teenage heart was broken.

Still – it has some clunky lyrics, yes, and the songs aren’t as catchy as on some albums. Is it one of her best albums ever? Absolutely not. But it’s also not the artistic massacre that some people seem to think it is.

Between this and The Tortured Poets Department, my personal analysis of the last two releases is that Swift has started putting out music for herself, rather than with her career and her fans in mind. It’s also entirely possible that she’s going through what I’ve seen happen with many authors; namely, she’s too big to critique properly, and people who should be her creative aides are yes-manning rather than editing her.

The thing about the album that I personally appreciated, though, was that she seems happy.

The internet, however, has lost its goddamn mind over this album.

Mass Hysteria

By and large, this album has been succeeding financially, but failing with fans and critics. A bunch of people I know have absolutely loathed this album, and there’s a huge backlash among both Swifties and Swift-haters alike.

The thing is, though, the backlash isn’t just a matter of dunking on clunky lyrics. There’s an aura of self-righteous triumph among critics, and a sort of woeful, “Whoa, was she really Bad all along?!” response from a lot of fans, that’s seriously skeeving me out.

Now, this backlash comes in multiple parts; let’s start with arguably the most damning and justified part.

The Woobification of Charlie XCX

The song “Actually Romantic” is apparently a riposte to “Sympathy is a Knife” by Charlie XCX. Now, podcasts I like (such as ICYMI) went into detail on this, but not quite *enough* detail.

As this essay put it, ghere’s no getting past the aggressive element and tone-deafness of writing a song called “Sweetheart” about other women picking on you, then writing “Actually Romantic” and what could be read as biphobia/homophobia. I’m not going to defend that perspective, because at best, it’s a bad look, and shortsighted.

The interesting thing is, people are mostly going from the context of the song “Sympathy is a Knife” and this song – but that’s just not the whole story about whatever has gone on between Charlie XCX and Swift.

For one thing, as the Swiftie in my life pointed out, Charlie didn’t *just* write the song. She made tweets and other cagey references to Swift online. And there was also this photoshoot, which totally is just symbolic of Charlie’s struggles with fame and definitely, absolutely, not a reference in any way shape or form to the friendship bracelets that are a huuuuuuge thing among Taylor Swift fans.

 

Source.

Add to that, the fact that Charlie XCX – who is not a tiny, up-and-coming indie artist, even though she’s obviously not Taylor Swift – was previously opening for Swift on the Eras tour, and that she’s married to a bandmate of one of Swift’s exes, Matty Healy…and it all just turns into something a little less cut-and-dried. My personal read is that they’ve probably bickered in private, and stuff has happened that the general public doesn’t know about.

But to read and hear about the internet’s reaction, you’d think Taylor Swift had football-kicked a puppy.

To summarize, then: is it homophobic? Kinda. Petty? Definitely. But is there more going on here than meets the eye? We have no way of knowing, but the internet sure isn’t pausing to consider that.

A History of Misogyny and Victimhood

The reactions I’ve seen to this album’s release have been, to put it mildly, fucking unhinged – particularly because the album itself is being read in the absolute worst faith possible, and being used as an indictment of Swift as a person. I’ve seen comments that included, but weren’t limited to, the idea that Swift is “lowering herself” with Kelce and that she “could do better” with a partner; the idea that she’s now signalling herself as a tradwife and is secretly MAGA, to the idea that her opalite necklace is a coded white supremacist nod. (On the necklace, there are 8 lightning bolt charms and 14 links between them, which some people think is a dogwhistle about the Nazi meme “1488” – recently referenced by Pete Hegseth in an infamous military address with top generals. 1488 references the fourteen words, a white supremacist pledge, and 88 references the eighth letter of the alphabet, H, and stands for “HH”, meaning “Heil Hitler”. It’s a whole thing, because fascists used to have to hide their shit, and couldn’t just say things the way they seemingly can nowadays.)

Source.

So, is Swift drifting rightward?

The problem is, it’s almost impossible to extricate the conjecture about Taylor Swift from both normal press misogyny and the problems she’s created for herself. Swift has built a career as a confessional songwriter, coding in little hints and references to past relationships in her songs, and the press and fans have been delighted to hunt for these Easter Eggs. The problem is, hunting for patterns that sometimes exist is ripe ground for conspiracy theorists. Now, Taylor Swift isn’t the right kind of chronically online politics nerd who’d understand the danger of this, but it’s somewhat directly fed into the problem of the Gaylors, chronically online queer conspiracy nerds who’ve concocted increasingly elaborate explanations for how Taylor Swift is secretly in a relationship with Karlie Kloss, a former best friend. (And of course, “Actually Romantic” isn’t exactly going to help these allegations.)

But, back to the subheading. Is Swift a victim or a perpetrator?

God, that’s a stupid setup, and yet it’s the one we’re all being offered, twenty-four-seven right now. The shine is off the apple! This will sink her career! Never mind the fact that this kind of background radiation has been in the air since, I don’t know, Reputation? Or Lover? I understand that not every news story can be a serious piece about, say, the rise of fascism or the ongoing climate crisis that I guess we’re all just fucking ignoring now. Still, the way international press and media are crowding around to join in on the Serious Speculation about whether Swift has *finally* lost her touch is, frankly, terrifying.

From the whole reference entrapment with Kanye West – where she agreed to be referenced in a song, though not in the way he portrayed her (as a naked wax doll in bed with him, in the context of sexual conquest and saying he “made that bitch famous”) – to whichever jeering article has come out about her dating history, it seems like the media is genuinely trying to knock Swift off a balance beam at every opportunity.

The White Woman Conundrum

There’s a queasy problem at the heart of criticizing Taylor Swift. Let’s talk about white women.

Now, I don’t really identify as a “woman” anymore; that particular word has always stuck in my throat. But as a “political woman”, i.e., someone perceived as a woman who experiences misogyny and etcetera? Yeah, for sure. For the purposes of this essay, I’m going to lump myself in with womanhood, because that’s how I’m perceived and how a lot of my experiences fit.

There’s this weird, uncomfortable thing where white women are simultaneously protected from our possible failures in a certain way, and also the most delicious, juicy, easy target for certain kinds of misogyny. As usual, I’m going to talk about a Canadian and American context, because that’s what I know best, but your personal cultural context may include more than what I’m talking about. Whereas Black women, Latina women, and Asian women are highly sexualised and fetishized, white women are weirdly both de-sexualised and the object of desire. Everyone is supposed to be like “us”, but we’re supposed to collect traits and clothes from other cultures, trophy-like. We mete out discrimination against other women and often hand down violence, but also end up being really, really comfortable targets for hatred.

White women are both allowed to express ourselves sexually, yet also seen as virginal and weirdly de-sexed. The standard for beauty and success, but also an extremely easy target for criticism, both on the left and the right. White women are also the figureheads and standard-bearers for what is deemed to be cringey.

Now apply these thorny contradictions and nuances to Taylor Swift. As a conventionally beautiful white woman who’s suffered from disordered eating and anorexia in the past, she’s both defined beauty standards and suffered from them. As someone who’s also suffered from disordered eating, there’s something that breaks my heart about this. Even someone who defines the beauty standard both didn’t feel like she was enough.

Swift has definitely lashed out and been petty in public and private, and she doesn’t seem to see her own role in conflicts very well. The song “Karma” from Midnights, which is my favourite of her albums, exemplifies this perfectly well. She has a tendency to re-open old wounds and dig up past conflicts and relationships. She puts her foot in her mouth. She can’t leave well enough alone – and sometimes she recognizes these traits, and sometimes she doesn’t.

The Morality Trap

The thing that makes me, personally, deeply uncomfortable with the backlash to Life of a Showgirl is that people seem to be addressing Taylor Swift without an iota of self-awareness that a) she’s never going to see their thoughts, and b) most of the people who will…are just her fans.

Now, it’s really fucking tricky to criticize something that people like. Angry clicks get attention. Hell, there’s something deeply uncomfortable to me about even writing this essay, because in a way, I’m still participating in the same attention economy around Swift that I’m criticizing. There’s an ouroboros of criticism on the left in particular that really worries me; an endless well of critique and self-critique that sometimes verges on the political equivalent of self-harming your movement. Self-reflection and accountability are important, but do we really think Taylor Swift is going to experience either of those from our critiques?

What’s more likely is that a) Swifties in your life are going to see you mocking her work, and feel kind of vaguely shitty and uncomfortable, or b) feel that peer pressure to join in. Or, in my case, c) wonder just how many of these invisible and extreme standards are actually in the back of people’s minds, and being applied to other women.

Because here’s the thing that’s eating a hole in my brain, and has been since I started seeing articles about how Swift getting engaged to her football boyfriend was “a disappointment”.

How many of the standards being applied to Taylor Swift are actually representative of people’s background thoughts about the women in their lives?

White women like Swift tend to get a lot of criticism, but also a lot more forgiveness for our fuckups. We have a lot more chances to come back from disappointments and rebuild our reputations – so many nonwhite women, particularly if they’re Black, get absolutely fucking wiped out and persecuted for far, far smaller and much more dubious offenses than Swift has committed. 

So the question is, who are all these thinkpieces *for*?

Talking to Ourselves

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with trying to process your feelings out in the open, but I do think there’s something really interesting and possibly rather bad about the way that sometimes, criticism influxes from the right and left create a confluence. Swift has been getting a fresh backlash of hate ever since she started showing up at her boyfriend’s games. Meanwhile, people on my side of the street are very earnestly criticizing her for what we certainly think are more meritorious reasons, with actual grounding.

But when does criticism just become a kind of misogynistic blur of background hate and radiation? It’s awfully hard to make a good point when you’re just part of a crowd, and if there’s one thing I’ve noticed on the internet, it’s that people are absolutely shit at contextualizing their perspectives with those of others.

One person hating something is an observation; two dozen hating something is a clamour; two hundred thousand is a sort of oceanic roar, for which all the details blend together.

So, then, what do we do? Does that mean we can’t hold public figures accountable?

The thing is, I’m not so fucking sure that all this critique is really about accountability. I also don’t know if people who are talking about accountability see how they’re pretty much just playing out games of punishment and shame, just with updated language and internal self-justifications that this time, the hate is justified, and the target is big enough that really, it’s harmless.

Who’s Fair Game?

And now we come to the part of the essay that has been keeping me up at night. Who are we allowed to hate? I’m certainly not innocent of despising some famous women and people, or mocking them – preferably in private or semi-private, rather than adding my voice to the cosmic radiation static of hate and jeering that tends to blare from every portal to the internet.

For those who don’t know, I’ve been running as a public school board trustee in a local election. That will be over by the time this post is up, although results won’t be in yet. Recently, I was at a Pink Tea celebrating the Famous Five who brought voting rights to Canadian women (vote rights for white women, that is, because the five were also anti-immigrant eugenicists).

The topic of misogyny came up among some city council and public school board trustee candidates. We talked about our local member of parliament, Rachel Thomas, whose policies I strongly dislike (to put it somewhat mildly). She’s advocated against safe injection sites, voted against abortion, and voted against trans rights. While yes, she’s experienced misogyny, as older candidates pointed out, she’s also voted only in favour of certain women. The thing is, the more centrist people there were keen to protect and shelter her reputation and save her a seat at the table, figuratively speaking.

It comes back to the concept of white feminism. Can we trust those who don’t advocate for us? The question I would ask is, maybe we should focus on those who are not just failing to advocate, but directly advocating against us. But even then – how often do we let ourselves slide into the guilty secret pleasure of misogyny when we deem a woman to be safely hateable? I don’t have an answer for this one, but I’m going to be looking into the mirror about it for a long time to come.

But Taylor Swift is also not a goddamn activist, despite what people would like her to be; she’s a pop star, and an extremely normal person. I have been developing a terrible, creeping suspicion that all these billionaires and people in power are, in some regards, terribly normal and petty, and utterly unprepared for and unable to understand the power they wield.

That does not mean we should not hold them accountable – but it does mean that we should, amongst ourselves, fucking interrogate both our priorities and the meaning of accountability itself.

What we need are nuanced discussions. What we have is a trend cycle being doused in the gasoline of AI slop and propaganda.

And at the end of the day, I wonder – has all this cultural criticism of creative works amounted to a hill of beans?

Kurt Vonnegut dryly commented, “During the Vietnam War... every respectable artist in this country was against the war. It was like a laser beam. We were all aimed in the same direction. The power of this weapon turns out to be that of a custard pie dropped from a stepladder six feet high.”

I guess what I’m saying is, treating Taylor Swift’s marriage and parental dreams as a failure of her feminism is extremely stupid bullshit in the context of vicious backlashes against queer rights.

Pick your fucking priorities, people, and think more carefully about the standards you apply to women and femmes in your lives. It’s just a mid album, but there’s something fundamentally gross about being this excited for a woman’s downfall.

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A writer and artist, Michelle Browne lives in southern AB with xer family and their cats. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people’s manuscripts, knitting, jewelry-making, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Find xer all over the internet: *Website * Amazon * Substack * Patreon * Ko-fi * Instagram * Bluesky * Mastodon * Tumblr * Medium * OG Blog * Facebook

September Ended, I Overslept

I’ll get an essay or a poem out every Tuesday, I said. Can’t be that hard, I said. Well, at least I haven’t missed any days with the serialised release of Chinook Phase, the first book of the Prairie Weather trilogy. That’s going up for free on Substack and Patreon, and you can find the first chapters here and here! The most recent chapters are here and here.

This whole parenthood and life thing kind of kneecapped me, so here’s a quick rundown of where I’ve been.

• About 3 weeks ago, my kid got RSV, an upper respiratory infection, and was extremely sick.

• Only a few days later, my beloved cat Chester died.

• I’m also running for office for the first time, as a public school board trustee!

• I’ve been running my booth for Rainbow Bazaar Art Collective at markets.

• This weekend, my period slammed into me with the force of a semitrailer. I haven’t had one this bad in *years*.

So, all of that plus normal household shit, like cleaning and chores. If it sounds like a lot, it has been. But my brain also doesn’t have an off switch, so I do, in fact, have some essays planned! Next Tuesday is going to be about the release of Life of a Showgirl and some thoughts I’m mulling about internet cultural norms. It’s going to be uncomfortable, so strap in.

I might write a post about all the gothic horror I was reading (at least, until The Horrors slammed into me IRL) and how much I enjoyed my Gothic Girl Summer.

I also might write a tribute post about Chester, with some talk about grief, memories, and of course, plenty of cat photos.

What would you like to hear about most, readers? Drop me a line and let me know!

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A writer and artist, Michelle Browne lives in southern AB with xer family and their cats. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people’s manuscripts, knitting, jewelry-making, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Find xer all over the internet: *Website * Amazon * Substack * Patreon * Ko-fi * Instagram * Bluesky * Mastodon * Tumblr * Medium * OG Blog * Facebook

What We Owe Our Fans: The Emotional Contract of Storytelling

 

[Warning: This essay contains spoilers for The Last of Us and Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, as well as Mass Effect. I’m talking about endings here, so if you see a thing, just kind of assume spoilers are on the table. Also, yes this is late, but it’s also like twice as long as my usual posts, and I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, so them’s the breaks.]

Ending a story is hard. Hell, getting a series off the ground is hard. Of the three series I’ve started – The Nightmare Cycle, The Memory Bearers, and The Meaning Wars – only one is complete.

(I still have plans to finish the first two, but quite frankly, book 2 for The Nightmare Cycle took ten years to write…and when I was finished last year, I decided I wasn’t happy with it, and that it needs a complete rewrite. The good news is, I’m a much faster writer than I used to be, so that’s part of my plan for 2026 and 2027; to finish The Nightmare Cycle. The Memory Bearers takes place in the same world, and will involve consequences from The Nightmare Cycle, so that’s why I haven’t been able to continue and finish that series yet, either!

That and, you know, the whole “adjusting to parenthood and scheduling” thing. And the hyperfixation committee decreeing exactly what I’m allowed to focus on, and when. Wheee. But I digress severely.)

Series are hard, yo

I’m going to focus mostly on books, because that’s my primary artistic storytelling medium, but I will reference other narratives to reinforce my point, which I think is broadly applicable to most narrative mediums, including a lot of nonfiction.

There are a lot of authors out there with series that have been started, get one book deep, and then – either due to personal reasons or publishing company-imposed limitations – don’t get to finish. (I’m looking at you, company that won’t let Seanan McGuire/Mira Grant release the sequel to Into the Drowning Deep!)

However, when some authors get big enough, like George R R Martin or Patrick Rothfuss, they can set their own schedules.

Now, I wrote an analysis of A Song of Ice and Fire’s failure to launch some years ago, but the example has certainly stuck in my mind.

The thing that led to my disgruntlement, touched on there, is the issue of the Red Wedding. Now, at the start of the book series, we get a rather hamfisted foreshadowing that Ned Stark is gonna bite it. His death felt entirely fair and unsurprising. Again, intense foreshadowing.

Book 1 starts with a family sundered, and emotionally, that should mean that the end of the series brings all of the family members back together, damaged but surviving, to recuperate together. That is the emotional core of the story of Game of Thrones that holds the first couple of books together.

This is a powerful storytelling concept, and it’s also the reason the series fell the fuck apart. In book 3, when Caitlin and Rob Stark are horribly and brutally murdered, Martin threw a subversive curveball in the equation.

 However, killing family members means that the reunion is impossible before it happens. By killing off his probable king, instead of, you know, badly disabling him or injuring him in some way, Martin effectively slew the emotional core of his own story.

It’s easy to see the evidence; without the emotional anchoring of their protagonist family for us to cling to, books 4 and 5 are a rambling mess. Now that so many years have passed since book 6’s expected due date, it’s pretty obvious that Martin is hopelessly stuck.

 I’m not going to say he should pass the writing on to some other author because he might die soon. (In fact, you should never say that to an author; I can’t express how phenomenally rude and inconsiderate it is.) What I do think is that any remaining fans with a lingering sense of hope…need to mourn the series and move on.

By waiting too long to publish, and by destroying the emotional anchor point of the story, Martin broke the emotional contract.

What’s an emotional contract?

I hasten to add that I’m sympathetic to other authors who get partway through a series and get completely stuck, or who start a series and don’t finish it. After all, I have my own context with that.

In the current romance writing world, there’s a publishing norm that’s become so hard and fast, it’s getting ossified: genre romance novels must end happily, with the couple/people in relationships together. It wasn’t always like this, and I personally think that less predictable love stories are due for a comeback. However, it’s important to signal to people that a story may be tragic, or at least that it’s meant to be less predictable. Otherwise, readers will respond VERY poorly to a broken emotional contract.

There’s that phrase again! An emotional contract is an implicit agreement with readers to finish a story in a satisfying manner.

The thing is, this concept transcends narrative medium and genre. Whether it’s a twenty-five-part story time on Tiktok, a prestige TV drama, or a niche genre book series – the audience expects a satisfying ending.

The blowup around Mass Effect is a pretty great example of the ball getting dropped. Now, the writing was very complex there, so it was going to be hard to make everyone happy with the myriad different relationships – but by promising a happy ending with some characters’ romances, and showing the importance of teamwork and the hope of survival in previous games, the third game’s ending was in conflict with itself. Killing off Shepard might have been okay in a vacuum, but given the themes of previous games, a lot of people felt betrayed. People would even have been willing to sacrifice Shepard…if they felt more autonomy over the ending’s decisions. The backlash was so famous and so bad that the gaming company was bombarded with three-colour cupcake orders, among other forms of trolling, and eventually had to go back and remaster the ending.

Completely unrelated illustration, but it’s progress in my attempt at a year-long drawing-a-day effort.

What’s satisfying?

People tend to get hung up on specific details and what they think they’ve been promised, which is a huge issue – the amount of entitlement people have towards creative media is pretty frustrating, and that entitlement also transcends genre, unfortunately.

An emotional contract is formed in stages. You’ll all have to forgive me for referencing the Hero’s Journey structurally a bit – but I’m commenting primarily on what I’ve seen of stories that are either written or translated into English, and mostly, published within the cultural milieu of North America and Europe.

The first part is the setup, where the status quo is explained and demonstrated. Then we get a disruption, where the desire/goal is established. In, say, the game Mass Effect, which I’ve also spilled a lot of digital ink thinking about, the fundamental goal is “handle the Reaper threat”. In like 99% of romance novels, the fundamental goal is connection and union with one or more love interests. In a mystery novel, it might be the setup of the fundamental question – you know, “Who killed Roger Akroyd” or whatnot. Fantasy and science fiction can have a whole range of situations, including any of the previous questions, or others, but there’s still usually some sort of question being asked at the start of the book. (I mean, that’s why it’s called speculative fiction, really.) In a horror novel, the desire or goal is usually just survival, but horror has different expectations, and as long as the ending is satisfying, audiences are pretty tolerant of a range between happy, bittersweet, tragic, and deeply upsetting endings.

Through the plot arc or arcs, we see the establishment of stakes (i.e. the risk versus reward for a character pursuing their desire). We see hints of the consequences of not having the goal or desire fulfilled, as well as hints of what attainment will lead to. Different stories and formats have different stakes, structures, and interruptions; for instance, video games have a very different structure than a TV series, even though they’re usually both visually-focused mediums. Regardless of medium, the end of a story usually comes from either the attainment of the desire/goal, or the fallout and results of its attainment.

The problems come into play when either a) a series simply never finishes, leaving its question unanswered, or b) audiences are unhappy with the attainment.

The delicate dance of audience dissatisfaction

 A lot of authors claim to be writing for themselves, but while this is fundamentally true to an extent, writing is also a form of communication. It is possible to write entirely for yourself – if you don’t publish or share your work with anyone, ever. Communicating with yourself is still a valuable and worthwhile pursuit, but writing always represents an act of communication.

Writing is also the absolute cheapest medium in terms of raw production, which is probably why it’s so popular; it also underpins many other art forms and narratives. No matter how a story is produced, whether that’s a video game or a podcast or a grand movie, it starts with being written down.

However, the more expensive the production, the greater the weight of the audience expectations. Authors can often afford to piss off their audiences a bit more – in theory – but the greater one’s prestige or recognition, the more audiences will develop expectations based on previous works. This is unavoidable, since humans are pattern-seeking creatures, just like many other animals. And that’s fine! The existence of patterns is morally neutral, but much less so once we get into the specifics of those patterns.

For instance, in true crime narratives, there’s a common emphasis on the heroism of law enforcement. Given that I’ve gone on the record many times as being against the concept of policing, especially as it currently exists, myself and other people find this quite objectionable. Still, even true crime and other non-fiction narratives follow narrative structures that parallel those in fiction. “Reality” TV still uses a degree of scripting, and often presents unpleasant characters who eventually suffer downfalls and other inconveniences, in the morality plays of our time.

In The Last of Us’s TV show adaptation, audiences have been incredibly pissed off about the death of Pedro Pascal’s character, Joel. While shifting the focus to Ellie’s character is fine, killing Joel off broke the emotional contract of a found family. It’s okay to kill some members of a found family in a situation with multiple characters – after all, look at D’Argo’s heroic sacrifice in the big finale of Farscape, which also has a pretty satisfying ending. But when there’s only two people in the found family, killing one off…destroys the found family. Emotional contract, broken. Result? Not just a few grumbles, but an internet full of fans lashing out.

Why is satisfaction important?

Life is unpredictable, chaotic, and unorganized. Humans impose structural narratives to keep ourselves from going fucking insane and to make sense of the world. Narratives also help us articulate our desires or goals, or relay values. Stories mean a lot, blah blah blah, power of story is significant. (I’ll be dissecting the whole “power of story” fetishization in a future article, by the way.)

Basically, we crave stories so we can get something that real life seldom offers. Abusers go unpunished, loved ones leave us and don’t forgive our trespasses, and sometimes love falls apart. On the other hand, sometimes we can only make sense of our triumphs and achievements with the benefit of hindsight. Not everything in our lives is a story of perpetual loss, attrition, and entropy. Or, you can look at it that way, but you might go insane, and even the nihilists and existentialists agree that in a world without divinely ordered meaning, we have to make and find our own.

Enter the narrative.

The practical upshot of all this is simple: life is fundamentally dissatisfying, and to avoid getting lost in it, we want our stories to make sense. Having a story take a sharp left turn – for example, a conventionally plotted romance novel having a shocking twist ending that leaves the main couple forever sundered – breaks the emotional contract. Like a hull breach in a space craft, it exposes us to the deeply dissatisfying chaos outside.

Now, don’t get it twisted – it’s okay to have unpredictable endings, as long as you set the audience up for an expectation of unpredictability. To put it mildly, storytelling and its conventions have changed a lot over the centuries, as values and audience desires have changed, too. In mythology, whether that’s the Bible or the Bhagavad Gita or The Journey to the West, narratives served to organize and teach morality and apply structure from a divinely ordained perspective. Wealthy aristocrats and royalty ruled by divine right, but could be toppled if a particularly clever and righteous beggar or lower-class person proved to be their better. In this way, mythology tends to be fundamentally conservative. It’s okay for Zeus to assault beautiful women, because that’s how heroes are born, after all. (PLEASE NOTE THAT I AM NOT ENDORSING THIS REASONING; I’M JUST EXPLAINING MY BEST UNDERSTANDING OF ANCIENT LOGIC.)

The line between instructive and entertaining fiction and narratives gets more and more blurry the farther back you go. The modern era clearly distinguishes between these categories, but it wasn’t always so. Still, every story in every format sets up a promise, and has to deliver.

Promises, promises

Partly to organize the chaos of the world, both humans and social animals have come up with concepts of agreement and promises. A pack of wolves might not sit down and hash out a contract to share and divide up their kills evenly, but they have an implicit agreement to work together and share food. Domesticated dogs, cats, and other animals understand that doing a trick or obeying a command leads to some sort of reward.

A promise is inherently transactional; it means giving something to get something. The thing given in return might just be trust, but that emotional and social capital has a very real value. Audiences give us their attention and money; we give them entertainment, instruction, or a mixture of both. Again, I have to emphasize that even non-fiction follows this structure; you wouldn’t still be reading this essay, two thousand words deep, if not for the implicit promise that I’m going to explain something of interest or value.

So let’s circle back, at long last, to the beginning thesis: emotional contracts underpin all narratives, fiction or non-fiction, and creatives break those contracts at their own peril. An example of deeply satisfying emotional contract fulfillment would be, say, the ending of Return of the Jedi or Return of the King, just to choose the absolute simplest examples I can think of. In Jedi, Luke is at peace with his father’s legacy, the insurgent communal anarchist rebel Ewoks survive and escape, the Death Star is destroyed, and Han and Leia are together. It’s everything we’re told to hope for through the original trilogy. Return of the King foreshadows the bittersweet twist of Frodo’s parting throughout the narrative by showing how the Ring damages its keepers, even the most stalwart and resistant. But even so, we’re still promised that eventually, Sam and Frodo will be reunited some day in the West, aka Elf Heaven.

What do writers need to know?

Emotional contracts might be very specific (“This couple will get together”) or very broad (“This story will be completed”) but failing to fulfill them introduces discomfort and chaos. A little discomfort and chaos is absolutely a good thing, because a completely predictable narrative is boring. It doesn’t satisfy the fundamental need to create meaning and order out of our chaotic lives. Too much chaos, however, and too many arbitrary changes, result in something like season 8 of Game of Thrones, which was so widely reviled that it retroactively pretty much killed the fandom.

Metanarrative actions can also destroy an emotional contract. JK Rowling, for instance, made a big point in the Harry Potter books of standing up for marginalized and bullied people. (How well she succeeded at that is a matter of some debate, but the broad strokes were there in the original work). When she turned on trans people and revealed virulent hate in her heart, she broke the emotional contract implied by the values of her series.

I’m not saying writers have to be as heroic as their characters, but if your work conveys broad-strokes values, it’s probably a good idea to try and follow those values in your professional life. Everyone makes mistakes, and the internet can be unforgiving, but if you develop a fanbase, it’s also like, worth having a personal ethos and trying to be consistent with it.

The slippery bits and caveats

Obviously, there’s a giant “But…” in my conception of emotional contracts, and that is – some audience members are going to misinterpret the specifics for the broad strokes. That is, there are going to be people angry that their particular ship wasn’t rewarded. Now, again, this is slippery, because we’re touching on the concept of queerbaiting just by implicating ships. It’s not 2009 or 2011 anymore, and the representation of queer relationships has definitely increased in the last ten to fifteen years, but I would caution my fellow authors in particular about watching out for queerbaiting. In my experience, the people who see a few minutes of contact and get excited about a potential ship are pretty self-aware and reasonably self-deprecating. It’s mostly when a relationship spans the long term, has a lot of focus, and is heavily built up that authors get into trouble for not fulfilling reader expectations.

Now, you’re just not going to make everyone happy. That’s human nature. But it’s very important to go over a particular project and make sure that the biggest promises that were set up actually get fulfilled.

(And that, among other reasons, is why I wasn’t happy enough with my first draft of Monsters and Fools, the sequel to Underlighters, and why I’m rewriting the whole damn thing.)

If there’s a particular couple that you’ve spent a lot of ink and time on, get them together OR have a damned good reason for them to not end up together. If there’s an underlying philosophical point in your work, even if you’ve outgrown it, just fulfill it and write something more mature in the next book or series, instead of trying to retcon the story to fit your new ideals. (ASK ME HOW I KNOW.) Villains don’t always have to die, but the fundamental questions asked by a work do need to be answered.

So get out there, and answer some questions!

I’m pretty happy with how this one turned out.

Meanwhile, I’m going to make progress on wrapping up the enormous private online tabletop roleplay game I’ve been working on. After that, I feel mortally compelled to work on the gothic horror rewrite of my first novel ever, a standalone that’s going to feature themes of gender dysphoria, colonization, and a tech oligarch villain. I’ve been struggling with Synchronicity (different title coming; I’m thinking “The Violent Ones”) since a former friend figuratively ripped its original draft to shreds and convinced me it was unsalvageably bad, in need of wholesale rewrites.

I kind of wish I’d just published that messy baby as my first novel anyway, buuuuuuuut I also know that my ideas for this complete rewrite are going to be a banger, and I’m going to do my best to do justice to it, on behalf of my shy, petrified teenage self, who hoped so dearly to release her first novel ever to the wide world, and to be a child prodigy.

Anyway, happy writing to all of us!

If you liked this article, and boy I hope you did, please do give me a subscribe, or take a peek at my Patreon and Substack. I’m trying to keep my stuff accessible and not paywalled, and your support helps me with that goal.

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A writer and artist, Michelle Browne lives in southern AB with xer family and their cats. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, knitting, jewelry-making, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Find xer all over the internet: Website  Amazon  Substack Patreon Ko-fi  Instagram  Bluesky  Mastodon  Tumblr  Medium  OG Blog  Facebook

Creative People Aren’t Good (Part 2)

Last week, I had a few things to disentangle about the commonly-held societal more that being able to make stuff means you’re holistically smart. This week, I need to continue that train of thought to explain the cycle of sabotage plaguing online fandom communities.

As before, I’m talking about English-speaking communities in cultures I can access. I truly don’t know if other communities and other language-speakers are doing the same toxic shit that we are. If you know the answer, please reach out! I’m very curious, and I love thinking and talking about the ways that our culture and language shape us and feed into themselves.

I’m also obsessed with trying to understand exactly how things got so fucked up, why they’re staying that way, and how we can fix it.

Cultural self-sabotage: a case study

Let’s talk about Neil Gaiman.

People who’ve followed my career for a long time, or who know me personally, are aware that I used to really admire Neil Gaiman. I described his prose as feeling like a friend telling a whispered secret story to you in a dark room. Loved the atmosphere of his writing, his mystery-shrouded worlds and complicated characters.

 I’ve reconsidered an awful lot about whether he’s actually as good as I thought he was, but I’m not ready to reread his work more critically yet. (If you’re interested in seeing some critical essays, let me know.)

Obviously, a number of potent allegations about his predatory behaviour have emerged. Some authors and people in the writing world have quietly mentioned that his name was a sour one among the whisper networks. Long before the viscerally upsetting details came out in courageous articles last year, at least some people in the BDSM scene in Australia and in fan convention and expensive professional writing class scenes knew that Gaiman wasn’t to be trusted.

But Tumblr didn’t, and for a while, he was the internet’s beloved English teacher. All of the affection for queer or queer-affirming teaching professionals who saved so many of us from peers’ rejection and cruelty was projected onto Gaiman. He didn’t deserve it, but we didn’t know that.

And how could we? After all, there’s a persistent, clanging notion that to be a creative person is to be a good person. That’s not true, but how did we get here?

Gifts from god

Hang on tight here, because I need to contextualise this shit with cultural Christianity. I don’t think North Americans, especially ex-believers and non-believers and pagans and whatnots, really grasp the power of the background radiation of Christianity. Little turns of phrase represent the way our thoughts and feelings are shaped by this background.

Now, the idea of sainthood is particularly linked to Catholicism, which also happens to be part of my background, but it’s certainly spread beyond that. Like mildew and algae blooming in one corner of a pond, the idea that creativity is a divine gift is casually accepted – and pernicious. (I’m not getting into the Roman roots and how all of that affected the way Christianity developed ideologically because frankly, I don’t know enough about it, and I’m also not sure that it’s really relevant to the discussion.)

“Talent” is considered a gift from god. A blessing. An arbitrary state of being bestowed by deities or fate. Even secular people tend to talk about artistic skills as though they just happened overnight, as though someone simply woke up with them one day, a divine act of reward or caprice.

Creativity is a blessing, so the corollary of that is: creative people are blessed, and blessed people are sanctified, and sanctified people are better than others.

This simple assumption manages to hold firm against every single disproof imaginable. Simply put, we expect famous creative people to be saints, and then we get pissed off, shocked, and disappointed when – surprise! They’re just people. Even the goddamn saints weren’t saints, as any hagiographer will tell you. (I’m not a biographer of the saints myself, but I have a few scraps of passing knowledge.) St Jerome was famously cranky. Don’t even get me started on the Apocrypha, the fig tree incident with Jesus, or any of that.

There was a time when we saw the imperfections of saints and gods as inspiring and relatable, but in the current era, all of those flaws have been sanded away. Some mistakes have a degree of acceptability, but others are too deep to bear. The measures for which sort is which tend to be painfully arbitrary. (Trust me, I have a lot more to say about our internet cultural standards and how fucked up they are, so stay tuned for that in the future.)

What is talent?

Here’s the goddamn problem. Because we see creative skill as a Thing, an inherent quality rather than a gradually developed one, our culture has a very toxic relationship with it. We don’t want to talk about the hours upon hours of skill grinding required to improve at something, and we certainly don’t want to admit that sometimes, people will just not get very good at something they practice. We don’t understand why some people are good at a thing and others aren’t. Some level of enjoyment or satisfaction, plus the willingness to spend time and outlast frustration plateaus, are the only concrete metrics we really have.

But those aren’t sexy and mysterious, unlike the concepts of talent and inspiration. Can anyone grind their way to looking talented? Can everyone do everything if they work hard enough at it? The first one is a maybe, and the second one is too expansive a claim to earn an honest “yes”. That whole Malcolm Gladwell “ten thousand hours” thing has been debunked by a bunch of people more patient and possibly more spiteful than I am. (As usual, misinterpreting and overapplying a scientific study was to blame. Who’s surprised?)

And anyway, repetitive work and practice means embracing failure. Failure is stigmatized here, in the English-speaking Western world, and is thought to indicate a moral weakness or faltering of some sort, so who the fuck wants to embrace failure? No, better to sigh wistfully over the idea that talent or inspiration simply passed us by. Never mind that creativity works the same way as other muscles, including the need for rest days.

Above: my own slow, patient, grinding efforts to improve my drawing skills. Drawing gems is really damn hard.

Who should we be?

The thing is, as I talked about last week, just making stuff well doesn’t indicate anything about the quality of a person.

Let that sink in. None of the artists or creative people you like are guaranteed or even likely to be good, kind, or otherwise lovely by mere dint of their creative skill.

However, that means something rather nice – anyone who’s kind, patient, or otherwise lovely got that way by choosing to be so. Anyone can develop patience and kindness for others. It’s not a god-given talent; it’s a skill that’s trained.

Artists are not better people than the rest of the world – and we ought to forgive them for it, and the rest of us artists need to forgive ourselves for being messy, complicated, mistake-making creatures. We don’t owe the world goodness because we happen to be skilled at something. Kindness and generosity are their own rewards, not the side effects of a skill. Learning to give yourself and others grace, benefit of the doubt, kindness, and help? We can all earn those skills, regardless of whether we can paint a good sunset or write a brilliant string of code.

If you believe in God, maybe this is God telling you to give yourself some damn credit. If you don’t, then hey! Take it from me and my multiple therapists; recognizing your own achievements is a requirement for survival. It’s very hard to be nice to others when you’re busy being shitty to yourself, and not having been “blessed” with a “talent” tends to make people beat themselves up. It’s not easy to stop hating yourself, but just fighting the ideas about what makes people good, important, or generally better than you is a vitally critical start.

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A writer and artist, Michelle Browne lives in southern AB with xer family and their cats. Xe is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, knitting, jewelry-making, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Find xer all over the internet: *Website * Amazon * Substack * Patreon * Ko-fi * Instagram * Bluesky * Mastodon * Tumblr * Medium * OG Blog * Facebook

Creative People Aren’t Smart (Part 1)

 

Another day, another discussion about media where I find myself mildly dismayed by the creative implications of someone’s choices, or lack of thought about said choices. Now, it’s always easy to Monday Morning quarterback things, and god knows there’s no need for the literary equivalent of Cinema Sins. We had that in the early 2010s, it was on blogs and Goodreads, and frankly, I’d rather leave the trend of gleeful dunking and fake outrage in its grave, where it belongs.

But that said, once in a while, I stumble across a piece of information so hard to comprehend that I’m staggered by it. Often, it’s related to a particularly stupid bit of worldbuilding that, say, a world-famous billionaire author who wrote children’s books did. Just as an example.

As I was discussing some particularly nonsensical creative decisions with some friends and colleagues, however, I had an absolutely staggering realisation about JK Rowling – one that applies more broadly, in fact.

Being creative, and good at creating things, can coexist with absolute stupidity.

A defining of terms

Some people are going to read the title of this and fire off an angry post anyway, but lend me a few moments’ indulgence before that happens.

I should probably explain what the hell I mean. I’m not talking about the fake, racist metrics of IQ tests. Developmental delays and birth differences are entirely unrelated to these skills, although they sometimes have an impact on their development.

Stupidity and smartness are actually rather nebulous concepts in English, but here, stupidity refers to a mixture of willful ignorance and stubbornness leading to overlooking things.

In contrast, the particular type of smartness people expect from artists is critical thought, both analytical and creative; in particular, the ability to contextualise fiction and reality.

What’s that mean?

The ability to contextualise fiction and reality can keep you from, say, writing a cozy, sweet book about a magic school with elements based on real-life cultural genocide, for instance.

Stupidity can make you say “but mine’s different!” even when thousands of people are begging you to understand that no, your portrayal of a particular character type isn’t different or subversive enough to avoid ableist harms.

At least in the English-speaking parts of the internet I’ve seen – there’s a cultural idea that being able to make stuff automatically bestows other forms of intelligence. (I blame European colonizers for this.)

But…doesn’t artistic skill make you a genius?

Things like the Masterclass program and TED Talks are particularly pernicious for spreading the idea that people who can make stuff are superior in some way. We often use the term “gifted” for creatives. The problem is, this leads people to the idea that skills in one or two areas indicate skills in all areas or most areas. Sure, people *say* “you can’t be good at everything”, but we sure as shit act surprised when someone famously talented turns out to be skilled at one thing and terrible at another.

The truth is, the ability to create something isn’t the same as the ability to understand either the act of creation itself or the context of that creation. Analysing your own work is a pain in the ass, as anyone who’s ever had to write either a grant or an artist’s statement will tell you. Part of the problem is that it’s really hard to have perspective on your own work, but the other part is, a lot of people have a drive to create that they struggle to explain.

Now, I need to underline that I don’t want to demean people who struggle with the analysis and critical thinking part of creation. Everyone can’t be good at everything, and as the world of media critics shows, there are plenty of people who can analyse things brilliantly and can’t make things worth shit.  There are others still who can teach and relay skills very well, even when they struggle to apply their own skills. And still others are brilliant at applying creative skills, but can’t communicate their methods to others.

Why bring this up now?

As I look around and try to cope with the rising tide of fascism, I see a lot of people, myself included, searching for leadership and hope. One of the first places we turn to tends to be those we admire. A lot of people we admire tend to be skilled in multiple areas of creation and the arts – say, Brennan Lee Mulligan, who’s a very good performer, storyteller, and roleplayer, among other things; and who is something of an online darling right now.

Don’t get me wrong; I think he’s great, but I’ve also seen the rise and fall of creative figures before, and it’s really getting to me. Lin Manuel Miranda and Hank and John Green were similarly lionized in the 2010s, and when they made even the mildest of human missteps, or even just did things that a few people disliked, it was enough to dislodge them from their pedestals.

So what’s going on there? Next week, I’m going to talk about the painfully human nature of people we admire – and why we, the English-speaking internet citizens, need to absolutely chill the fuck out with our standards.

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A writer and artist, Michelle Browne lives in southern AB with xer family and their cats. Xe is currently working on the next books in her series, knitting, jewelry-making, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Find xer all over the internet: *Website * Amazon * Substack * Patreon * Ko-fi * Instagram * Bluesky * Mastodon * Tumblr * Medium * OG Blog * Facebook