I had the unique experience last night of reading a complicated urban fantasy story to a group of old people last night, and have them critique it. I can summarize their response: I don't understand. Pretty, but I don't understand. They said there were two man characters. There were four, though I had one confused critiquer list for me all the characters, and she found six. They were confused because the protagonist had a woman's name, but clearly wasn't a woman since she wasn't doing womanly things. Like what, mooning over children and wondering if these pants make her ass look fat? Women don't talk like this, they said. Oh dearie dear, the women I know do.
Anyway. It was frustrating. The three people under the age of forty *loved* it, but everyone else was wondering why I couldn't write something nice, about bunnies, with characters who do the things they're supposed to do, based on gender and race. My.
Anyway. It was frustrating. The three people under the age of forty *loved* it, but everyone else was wondering why I couldn't write something nice, about bunnies, with characters who do the things they're supposed to do, based on gender and race. My.
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sadieblackeyes:
That must have been interesting. It's so strange how much things like age and generation can affect the way people interpret things.
velocity:
I haven't felt like that in years. I've begun to think I might be too old to feel that hungry. Then again, if I think back to the last time I felt it, I was unemployed and really had nothing better to do.