Linda and I spent New Years with my two 'little' sisters, Betsy and Susie, and spouses, Micheal and Klaus, and Sue's sons, Nic and Carl, and for a short time, before he went off to party, Todd.
Found myself getting defensive later in the evening over fantasy in general, and a book about wild pigs in specific. Fueled by maybe one or two too many glasses of champagne. I think they were teasing me. I know that all of them read fiction and most of them enjoy fantasy and/or S.F.
They even cooked a pork dinner in my honor -- a little roast with two tusks and oreo cookies for eyes, and a little curly tail.
So that was cool.
I get to be kind of an annoying proselytizer about writing fantastic fiction. Trying to convince everyone it's a valid art form, that it is metaphorical and analogous and has deeper meanings. And the more I try, the more they joked about it.
Funny thing is, I've been joking about Tuskers from the beginning. But, while I'm willing to tweak myself a little, I still take my writing seriously.
I had a friend in high school who told me, "Never be self-deprecating...people will take you at your word."
I've always preferred to believe he's wrong, but the evidence is often that he was right.
Like I said, I should have just smiled at their jokes, because I know they mean me well -- so it was just me getting all self-righteous and defensive about my taste for entertaining fiction.
Besides, it either stands or falls on its own, without any arguments by me. If you have to argue the point, you've already lost.
I mumbled in the car on the way home, "Either you get it or you don't." And Linda, being the kind and reasonable person she is, didn't quite agree.
But it isn't something to get all worked up about.
9 hours ago