Missing the Last Supper: Why Dedications Annoy Me
I have this weird dislike of dedications in slash. The whole, "Thanks to XYZ for their astounding mercy, their delirium-inducing support, their wet-tongued worship..." Automatic exclusion for me.
If you have this great, gorgeous coterie of devoted friends and supporters, like you're the fiction-writing Jesus, you don't need to hear from me, right, some chick you probably don't know, or very well, someone who wasn't invited in to the pre-posting Last Supper. It just doesn't sound like you need me.
Maybe I'm reading that wrong, but I don't think so. The people named are the people who matter, the ones whose opinion count. In a recent discussion on feedback, a number of writers said that they appreciated most from the people they respect as writers, and in that lavish naming and praising you let me see the top tier.
The only place for me in this schema is down at the bottom. I'm not even Judas in this little allegory of worth; I'm like Judas' skanky ex-girlfriend whose name wasn't even on the invitation because I dress too tackily and make dirty jokes at inopportune moments. ("God and Jesus are playing golf, see, and...")
I was so happy to see a good story that didn't have one of these things attached to it, the after-the-fact invitation, and was all geared up to write the feedback. Then I saw it, and now I'm not sure I'll bother.
Normally, I try to ignore them, although I've always been conscious of this low-grade irritation (and, yes, I'm much more angry and upset about children dying and terrorism and biological warfare), but when the dedications are really slavish, it seems like this pointed little reminder of the implicit hierarchy, the cliquishness, in fandom.
Feedback means taking a few hours out of my life and giving it to someone, but what's the point of showing up when the party's over?
Ed. note: I feel like I need this one, based on some of the responses I'm seeing. I'm not traumatized here, not crying into my pillow. I'm just saying that long, lavish thanks don't seem to create a welcoming space for readers beyond those who are named. Naming is creation; you name, you create an ideal community, whether or not that's what you intend. I realize that you're doing it to express gratitude, and I'm saying that, in doing that, you simultaneously construct a hierarchy of welcome respondents to your story.
If you have this great, gorgeous coterie of devoted friends and supporters, like you're the fiction-writing Jesus, you don't need to hear from me, right, some chick you probably don't know, or very well, someone who wasn't invited in to the pre-posting Last Supper. It just doesn't sound like you need me.
Maybe I'm reading that wrong, but I don't think so. The people named are the people who matter, the ones whose opinion count. In a recent discussion on feedback, a number of writers said that they appreciated most from the people they respect as writers, and in that lavish naming and praising you let me see the top tier.
The only place for me in this schema is down at the bottom. I'm not even Judas in this little allegory of worth; I'm like Judas' skanky ex-girlfriend whose name wasn't even on the invitation because I dress too tackily and make dirty jokes at inopportune moments. ("God and Jesus are playing golf, see, and...")
I was so happy to see a good story that didn't have one of these things attached to it, the after-the-fact invitation, and was all geared up to write the feedback. Then I saw it, and now I'm not sure I'll bother.
Normally, I try to ignore them, although I've always been conscious of this low-grade irritation (and, yes, I'm much more angry and upset about children dying and terrorism and biological warfare), but when the dedications are really slavish, it seems like this pointed little reminder of the implicit hierarchy, the cliquishness, in fandom.
Feedback means taking a few hours out of my life and giving it to someone, but what's the point of showing up when the party's over?
Ed. note: I feel like I need this one, based on some of the responses I'm seeing. I'm not traumatized here, not crying into my pillow. I'm just saying that long, lavish thanks don't seem to create a welcoming space for readers beyond those who are named. Naming is creation; you name, you create an ideal community, whether or not that's what you intend. I realize that you're doing it to express gratitude, and I'm saying that, in doing that, you simultaneously construct a hierarchy of welcome respondents to your story.