A little spleen venting

It's their loss, Sooz, not yours, but I can imagine how you feel after being ousted for no good reason. So far I don't think this site is nicey-nicey, it's just respectful, though I must say a lot of folk whose comments and advice you ache for humbly do not consider themselves qualified and/or good enough to dish out criticism of any sort, which is a shame. When you read one of my pieces, first of all you point out the typos (or possible typos, as I and no doubt others occasionally deliberately misspell words for various reasons) which I find a tremendous help as I often miss a couple even when I've checked, double checked and so on until my eyelids fall off. Then you tell me what you like and what you don't like about the piece, concisely and in plain English, and explain how you would have handled it. Some of your advice I agree with and act upon, some I deeply consider and maybe eventually agree with and some I politely ignore because we all have our pet ways of doing things that we are unlikely to change. And there's no problem - everything is hunky dory. What none of us need is a bunch of jumped up, holier than thou wankers proclaiming 'this is the only correct way to do this, and if you refuse to obey our demands you are a retard, a Phillistine and a nobody.' Those days are gone, baby. And personally I wouldn't be able to handle that approach, I'd just tell them to go fuck themselves. There are plenty of people on here that effortlessly outshine most of the authors whose books are shoved down the throats of the public by the artificial talent sieve known as the best sellers list, so do us all a favour and continue to focus your crackling hot energies here - do not stray again.....

And, furthermore, the overblown little shit calling himself 'The Messiah' says it all, doesn't it? "He's not The Messiah, he's a very naughty boy!"

Sooz, let me know where they live, I'll pop round and have a word!

Joking of course!. I haven't had the pleasure of this site, nor shall I but I think i know which one you mean. Their loss Sooz, big time. I say again. this is the best writing site around!

I take having my output criticised - for absolutely nowt and out of the sheer goodness of other writers' hearts, I might add - as a very great honour indeed. The way I look at it, if my work was complete dog pooh and totally without merit no one would bother commenting at all, and I wouldn't be able to register the embarrassed sniggers through the digital haze. I'm sure I've got enough between my ears to weigh and measure conflicting opinions and make my own mind up. I've spent too long having to threaten to break peoples' arms and legs to get them to flick through my stuff - my missus won't read a word I've written, because, she insists, she thinks it's way above her head, and the only feedback I've ever had is from my good friend Durand, who has recently joined this site.

Hi Sooz, 'The Messiah' don't know Jack! For me it is more nerve racking leaving comments than posting writing, especially when I haven't interacted with that person on the site yet. Sometimes I do see things that I would change, but if I don't know the person very well on the site then I might refrain from mentioning it. Does this sort of thing erode the goals of ABCTales? I'm not sure. I once had a very detailed and honest crit from Salman on one of my poems, which was very, very much appreciated - to me it was flattering that someone took what was clearly a fair bit of time to find out more about my work, and make me think about it more deeply, but I've never been published anywhere, and am not a purist (I don't know all the language rules, etc.) so it's harder to critique at length or with any confidence. Does anyone else find this or am I being a big jessie?

Not at all Steve, the best thing to be is "honest". if you like something you read then just say so, if it doesn't work for you then sure, be polite, but say so! Sometimes you might read something that doesn't make sense to you ( happens all the time to me, cos I'm thick!) so either i read it and move on with no comment or I ask the author about it like "why did you write this, or does it have another meaning?" all good points.

I was chucked off Twitter - beat that

I was kicked out of the Tufty club!

Hello to all ABCTalers---life is interesting, eh? I used that phrase, ending with the Canadianese Eh? AND one of my editor-publishers slapped my wrist for using what she thought was not acceptable colloquialism, and at first was quite hurt, since we Canucks use the phrase, Eh, frequently. Later I thought, huh, to bad for her, and I lost my respect for her so called objectivity. My poetry mentor, Raymond Souster--a Toronto poet who published 50 Poetry print books with well-known publishers, as of 2001---my last contact, gave good advice to me many years ago. He said, "Dick, I'll be glad to read your work and if I see something good, I'll comment on it, otherwise no comment. I don't want to discourage you, and besides my comments may reflect the way I approach a subject, and there is only room for one Raymond Souster on this planet. Develop your own niche." Excellent comments I have since learned to liv by when folks ask for advice, Eh? (rarely do I comment on changes to one's work, since there is only room on this planet for one Richard L. Provencher)

Hello to all ABCTalers---life is interesting, eh? I used that phrase, ending with the Canadianese Eh? AND one of my editor-publishers slapped my wrist for using what she thought was not acceptable colloquialism, and at first was quite hurt, since we Canucks use the phrase, Eh, frequently. Later I thought, huh, to bad for her, and I lost my respect for her so called objectivity. My poetry mentor, Raymond Souster--a Toronto poet who published 50 Poetry print books with well-known publishers, as of 2001---my last contact, gave good advice to me many years ago. He said, "Dick, I'll be glad to read your work and if I see something good, I'll comment on it, otherwise no comment. I don't want to discourage you, and besides my comments may reflect the way I approach a subject, and there is only room for one Raymond Souster on this planet. Develop your own niche." Excellent comments I have since learned to liv by when folks ask for advice, Eh? (rarely do I comment on changes to one's work, since there is only room on this planet for one Richard L. Provencher)

Sorry folks, I pressed the key twice. Richard LP

I know the site of which you speak Sooz (don't think I've ever used it though). Never mind gal, surely ABC and UKA meed all your needs (so to speak)? Writersdock is a decent site, too, with a lovely friendly bunch. http://www.ukauthors.com

Hi Sooz, I know this lot too(only too well!). I think you getting splatted is probably a mistake. If you look at the figures for the number of members it's dropped from 1300 and something to 590 something since Saturday. I think they were having a clear out of members who haven't posted in a long time, and there's a lot of 'em. (Hardly surprising really) Knowing what a bunch of w..., sorry I'll start again. Knowing what they are like (the moderators) I would not be surprised if they sliced off a bunch of active members too. B

Hi Sooz, Glad this spleen vent has worked. Walrus is right about Abc. It's not lovey dovey nicey; it's respectful, and that's what counts for me. I'm a loyal old fucker and when I choose a footy team, that's it. I support them (apart from Torquay United, who are so reliably useless that I like to follow them to see if they'll ever get out of div2, and because my best mate at school was mad about them). So, back to the main theme, I am so in awe of you, Sooz. You have an insatiable appetite for reading and commenting on work and always saying what you think in a respectful way. How you write so much is utterly baffling to me. I wish I had your will to write but I just don't. I'm so lazy now, maybe it's a writers block in disguise, that I only do poetry and even then it's only when something hits me firmly in the face that I actually try. I've been (not) trying to write my second children's book about Father Christmas but it won't come and I'm now hoping it'll come in a dream. I am constantly asked what's my next book but the pressure doesn't seem to suit me. I've got an artist who believes in my work and is waiting for another project to get his teeth into but it won't come. I do school readings and when the children ask what's my next book I tell them that it's about Father Christmas and their eyes light up, but even that's not enough to ignite my imagination. I know it'll come but time's ticking. If writing, or success in writing, is 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration, you have all it takes to make it big. You have an immense talent, which leads me to this tawdry little site of which you speak. It seems to me that delusion is in the mind of the beholder and the more wilful that person is the harder it is for them to break down and see that there's a rather large problem. Sometimes the problem is known, but perceived to be needed as the belief-system tells the person that it's the only alternative, which is probably the case in this scenario. You've entered a site that is so obviously stuck in its own delusion that anyone who speaks the truth in a courteous way is shown the door. You've threatened their idiocy and been erased quickly. Denial's a powerful force (look at the govt, police, courts, banking) which can only be broken from within. You've shown some great writing and The Messiah (how apt for one so delusional) has shot you down in a burst of flame. He/she/it no doubt was hoping you'd make a stern rebuttal and that you were even and respectful probably made him/her/it even more angry. These people need to find victims to keep their pitiful existence going, and you've helped that person by not being nasty back. It may not change them but it will help. The little lady that runs the horror show probably likes the slimelight and has manufactured the site to suit her own needs rather than those of an organic literary nature. People like this will always be around. There's a kid's site where kids can slag off other kids and it's caused some suicides. Panorama did a program on it but could not find out who owns the site. No one's accountable so the unaccountable thrive. That's how fucked up the net is. Just be grateful that you slipped theirs. When I encounter a person who works for a govt agency, who's kind, empathetic and willing to help, who goes out of her way to find out what's gone wrong and seeks resolution, I often wonder whether she'll be there for long because these types, who actually do what they're supposed to and are extremely good at it, are usually sacked or put in the backrooms. I mean everything I say about your work. I'm so crap at reading stories at the moment that I haven't looked in on most of it. Just got a few books (Brautigans no less) from the library for the first time in ages but still can't face reading. All I know for sure is that you're a fine writer with a very bright future.

Note to self:- Covertly pilfer the word 'slimelight' for personal use, 'cos it's well tasty. It's the best word I've stolen since 'cumdumpster' that I nicked from some American lady on Facebook commenting on a friend's post. My favourite made up/rehashed word of my own manufacture, which I frequently employ in my dastardly tales, is 'ginormous.'

Sooz, Not sure if you will get this, I am not familiar with the way ABC works yet. Anyway you may or may not be happy to know you were deleted in error on the 'other' site. They have re-connected you. If nothing else you can delete you stuff now. B

Sooz, you clearly weren't as happy with this other site as you are here, and notwithstanding your mysterious ejection, there was still something to be said about some of the pompous arses on that site - and you balanced it by saying a lot of them are good writers. At the end of the day, you've provided an entertaining thread, and we all need to vent!!! Now go and sit in your chair, but leave your eyeballs alone. Tea?

Sooz, I'm sorry to burden you with this, but I've suffered a grave personal disaster. It's utterly inexplicable, and I'm sitting here tearing my hair out (well, the little that's left of it). As far as I'm aware all of the doors and windows are secure and my trusty Dave dogs are on patrol, as always, but somehow someone has wandered into my humble abode and stolen my dribble bowl.....

Sorry Mr Walrus, that was me.....

No vodka Sooz but we can have a toke if you like. Might even have some Maxwell House in the cupboard...

Sooz can have the vodka, I'll have the toke!

It's settled jolono, and Sooz if you could get me about 6 packets of custard creams...

It's a fair cop, whenever i see a dribble bowl I just have to have it. It started years ago when i worked in a pet shop, I stole all the dogs drinking bowls, then i had a job in a very low life pub where I couldn't help myself, i just had to have the spittoon! There is a name for what i have of course. DBS. Dribble Bowl Syndrome! There is no known cure i'm afraid so just have to live with it. Nurse, Nurse.... my nappy needs changing! Sorry!

My dribble bowl has tremendous sentimental value as I inherited it from a long line of semi-aquatic fruitcake ancestors. We're all born with magnificent tusks and webbed hand and feet cum flippers - before the surgeons tidy us up, that is. Except of course for cousin Jody, who was ungraciously flung into a large tank by a bunch of burly psychiatric nurses to spend the rest of her miserable days with a collection of dumb fishes at the Sealife centre in Brum. That happened in 2010 shortly after her fifteenth birthday because, the NHS claimed, they couldn't do a fat lot for her. She spends most of her time with just her eyes sticking out of the crushed coral substrate, but occasionally she plays her face up, flaps around on the surface and screams out demands for choccie bars, egg and chips, her Iphone and her laptop (but not necessarily in that order). Mind you, she's quietened down a lot since she shacked up with Gordon, the hermit crab. The stuck-up side of the family have gills and tentacles and stuff as well as flippers, you see, the jammy sods. They covertly frown upon anyone who can't breathe underwater, and when you call on them unexpectedly there's a frantic clattering before they open the door as they hide their fancy china tea service and replace it with disposable plastic cups. We originate, I've been told to keep it quiet, in a village referred to in the Doomsday book as Milton Bear, which may or may not now be Milton Keynes. There's a huge intellectual battle concerning that controversy going on as we speak, and even I aren't fool enough to publicise the argument concerning whether our famous forebear, Sir Ted Grizzly, was a closet walrus/octopus/wobbegong/human hybrid (as opposed to a bear hybrid, which for some reason was deemed perfectly acceptable), because it's very embarrassing. Shit, too late. OK, so we probably have a dash of unusual blood coursing through our veins. What's wrong with that? Erm, pass me that bucket of bloaters, love, would you? No, I don't want you to gouge out their eyes first..... Apparently between the year 963 when the church found out that a particularly hot lady walrus called Brenda had bedded hundreds of rampant blokes (and an octopus called Simon) somewhere on the west coast and the mid fifteenth century when that transgression was finally whitewashed over there was a massive sea creatures who craftily have sex with humans pogrom in rural Britain, but they never mention it in the history books for fear of ridicule. Tony Robinson has been granted permission to exhume Sir Ted's remains next week to do a DNA test, so then, I guess, we'll know the horrible truth. He's already rooted around at the spot where, according to local tradition, Brenda was burned at the stake, but all he found was a few crushed coke cans, a fifty pence piece and a hundred and seventy eight used condoms. It's a Bronze Age relic, I believe, my dribble bowl, and rumour has it that it later became the Holy Grail. Naah, that's bullshit. Why do I find it necessarily to indulge in my supposedly cured lying fetish? It's only a cheapo white enamelled jobby with a tiny 'Walrus only' stamp and a number of rusty chips. It's practically unbreakable though, even when I've run out of chucking rattles, I'm in an awful tizzy and I have a flame grilled whopper of a cob on with sesame seeds, bitter gherkins, limp salad and about seven tiny fries - you know, a bit like the Burger King efforts. I wouldn't mind, but when I'm wearing my straitjacket and I'm in the rubber room I can't access it. Waah! I wants my mummy, I wants salt encrusted titty!