Hello everyone! Welcome back to Am I the Literary Asshole?, an advice column that wants to be more than friends. I’m your host, Kristen Arnett, and I’m currently trying to figure out how to talk my wife into allowing me to fill a kiddie pool full of Miller Lite. It’s hot as hell outside, sure, but at least we have each other (and a slew of petty literary gossip).
You know what? Since it’s so goddamn toasty out, why don’t we crank the air conditioning, throw on a couple of sweaters, get cozy, and pour some peppermint schnapps into some piping hot chocolate. Bundle up while the world outside continues to cook and swelter.
Come on, let’s jump right on into today’s questions:
Hey Dad,
I’m writing a book that I know is sick, but I know I’m out over my skis in a lot of ways. The biggest one is that I don’t have any real training (other than reading a ton, writing in a different medium professionally, and writing a ton of highly gnarly fanfic as a teen) and that normally is just an ego concern, but the deeper into this I get, the rougher the awareness of my limits gets, too.
