It was a hit.

A really big hit.

It became pretty hard to keep up, and then, after one reader misinterpreted my thoughts regarding the use of fire while giving a reading, I decided to step back to spend more time with my family. Regardless, the letters kept coming, and so I feel I owe it to my loyal fans to resurrect the column, which is what I’m doing right now.

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Dear Bitter Writer:

You’re likely aware of the Twitter Challenge in which women were asked to, “Describe yourself like a male author would.” The point of this, of course, was to illustrate how men objectified women, but what I would find really interesting with you– as an impossibly mediocre white man in possession of a level of confidence that outstrips your very modest competencies by an incalculable magnitude– is to have you describe yourself. I have included a photograph in case you should need a reference point.

Lynn from Montreal

Dear Lynn:

In Havana he was known as “ La muerte incómoda.”

It was a term of respect, of great respect, in fact, and more than a little fear. What had Michael Murray done to earn such a nickname from the gentle people of Cuba?

Well, that’s a long and complicated story that will reveal itself in time, but for now we should just imagine the man as he sat there, commandingly, in the barber’s chair. His face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, and his most striking feature was his opaline green eyes, which could be both alluring or intimidating, as the situation required. A part of his barber’s apron fell open from the cooling breeze of the fan and revealed the shirt he was wearing. There were little baseball players on it. He looked up, his eyes clear and even as he wiped some sweat off his upper lip, “ ¿Cómo está mi calva haciendo allí?” he asked the trembling barber. And in that moment Murray’s beauty was revealed the edge of a very sharp knife.

Dear Bitter Writer:

It recently came to my attention that an author at a major publishing house threatened to slap a reviewer who didn’t like his moronic, insulting book, and I was wondering if the publishing house was going to punish him for it, or if white male authors can do literally anything?

Karen in Toronto

Dear Karen:

Have you seen White Male Author: Infinity War, yet?

Easily the best of the franchise. Just fantastic.

At any rate, this movie goes a long way to answer your question. In it, Thanos

attempts to destroy Planet Earth, and after incapacitating both The Avengers and The X-Men it seemed that victory was certain. Right at this despairing point in the movie, White Male Author showed up and blasted him with his laser pulses.

He then flew around Thanos so quickly that the wind currents kept him pinned to the ground while the other superheroes freed themselves from the Polaris Fog that Thanos had used to trap them, and then all together were able to cast Thanos back into the Canyons of Zorg. So it’s clear that although White Male Author is VERY powerful, certainly superior to Spiderman, he might not be as invincible as The Hulk or The Thing.

At any rate, even though White Male Author is very, very powerful, I don’t think he can do literally anything.

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Dear Bitter Writer:

I think that having the capacity to feel a broad array of emotions is a big component of being a great, great writer, like you are, and with that in mind I was wondering what the first book that made you cry was?

Igor

Igor:

This one is very easy.

The first book that made me cry was Horton Hears a Who!

Completely fucking terrifying.

Dr. Seuss was one messed-up guy, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he turned out to some sort of unknown serial killer. He’s like a Stephen King for children. You should fear him.

Anyway, I was probably about four when this book was first read to me, and I immediately understood that our world was no different than the speck of dust Horton was holding. Our lives– even those of Mommy and Daddy– were incredibly precarious and vulnerable, subject to forces we know nothing about and couldn’t even begin to imagine. At any second, all we knew and loved could just vanish into an unknowable abyss. I did not sleep for two weeks after the babysitter (Summer) read this stupid book to me, and ever since, I’ve been cursed by a deeply penetrating existential terror, one that continues to govern my days.

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Dear Bitter Writer:

You’re such an interesting and charismatic person, I was wondering if you’d share with us any literary pilgrimages you might have gone on?

Oscar winning actress Jennifer Lawrence

Jennifer:

Ha, so great to hear from you!

As far as your question goes, I’ve never been on a, “this is the cafeteria where Kafka ate,” or, “ this is the dungeon where Dr. Seuss used to torture his victims,” kind of pilgrimage. Instead, I think of each day as a literary pilgrimage. I go out with the conscious intent of finding a moment of beauty in the world, of discovering something holy, and then I try to recreate it using words. And so each day is a journey, a pilgrimage toward something sacred that must be worshipped. 

PS: Have you been getting my postcards? I have not heard back and was wondering if I was given the wrong super-yacht address for you?

PPS: I think you’re something sacred that must be worshipped!

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Dear Bitter Writer:

I just want to say how much I LOVED your brilliant book A VAN FULL OF GIRLS.

It is, and I hope this doesn’t embarrass you, the work of a true genius. Obviously, writing just pours out of you, but if for some reason you couldn’t be a genius writer, what do you think you’d do for work?

Taylor

Taylor:

Thank you for the kind, extremely perceptive words!

It’s hard to imagine a life where I’m not a writer, but if I were forced to live one by some alien over-lord or something, I think I would probably be a model. I think I could bring a lot to that job.

Why are writers all so ugly?

Simon

Simon:

It’s true, most writers are pretty ugly.

They were just born that way, and no matter how their parents dressed them, they remained ugly.

A consequence of this ugliness is that they were almost always excluded as children, forced to watch from the sidelines as their more attractive peers lived their happy, little lives. It’s unlikely that any of their glittering peers were mocked, called “Grosslord” and then turned away from the Manor Park Mayfair Kissing Booth, amidst a cacophony of kids pretending to barf, even though the Grosslord in question, who yes, needed dental work at the time, had the money, just like everybody else, that it cost to get a peck from grade eight goddess Mary Appelton. Injustice makes a writer, and ugliness is a great injustice. So the writer, by circumstance rather than by instinct, becomes an observer, hovering darkly on the periphery, always plotting, plotting, plotting, always devising schemes of seduction, conquest and personal elevation, all of which, of course, are doomed to fail.

It’s why so many writers are alcoholic as well as being ugly.

Eventually, the writer will become destitute and bitter, unable to do much beyond engage in Twitter wars about Canadian poetry.

However, I would be remiss if I were to say that all writers are ugly, for this is not true. Tyra Banks, the author of Modelland, is world-renowned beauty.

And of course, Samuel Beckett: 

Dear Bitter Writer:

Like most people, I was disgusted and heartbroken when I heard about the mass murder in Orlando. I wrote down some of my feelings on the matter, and I was wondering if you could tell me where the best place might be to publish my Think Piece? I was considering Medium, any advice?

Brad

Brad:

The best advice I can give you is to never, ever publish anything that is referred to as a Think Piece. Think Pieces are the equivalent of drunken phone messages left for an Ex. Lost, wandering and self-absorbed, they exist only to make the author look enlightened rather than to actually share some sort of enlightenment. Truth be told, I can’t read the words Think Piece without wanting to punch whomever coined the phrase in the face. It sounds remdial, like something you’d do in kindergarten.

“And what’s this a drawing of, Bobby?”

“It Think Piece.”

“Well, it’s lovely, I like what you’ve done with the raging green!”

So no, Brad, just no.

Don’t do it.

And Brad, if you’re straight, that cry of no becomes even louder. I don’t care if you’d fuck Tom Hardy

and are a true ally of the LGBT community, the world still doesn’t need another straight voice added to the storm of voices attempting to deconstruct the shooting. Whether you think people from the LGBT community were specifically targeted or not doesn’t matter. The LGBT community is one that has always been subject to violence, hatred and bigotry, and this, the largest mass shooting in America’s rich history, conducted at a specifically gay venue, suggests that those directly within the community might have a deeper understanding of what the shooting “means,” so I suggest that all straight voices just park it for a little, and listen rather than tell. Just switch your profile pic to rainbow and call it a day, okay?

I’m just starting out as a freelance writer and I’m not “connected” in any way to the decision makers in publishing. Do you have any tips on how to write a successful query letter to an editor?

Lost in the big city

Dear Lost in the big city:

A “friend” I know, after reading a really brilliant and funny and smart query letter I had written to an editor, asked me this: “Did you write that while you were in your bathrobe?”

Well, of course. The bathrobe is like the writer’s uniform.

This jealous guy, whom I will call Wilson and who doesn’t have a tenth of the talent I do, went on about how my 800-word e-mail was “doomed from the first exclamation point–laden paragraph.” He wasn’t finished, “You can smell the desperation. It’s obvious you have all the time in the world in which to splash words about the page,“ he said, “and editors are busy people, they don’t have time for juvenile charm offensives. They just want good writing delivered swiftly.” And then he paused to chuckle and say, “You didn’t really send that, did you?” Later, he posted it on his well-attended blog as a piece of “found fiction.”

Wilson and I have not spoken in years.

The point that the talentless Wilson was making was that if you write like you don’t have a job— like you have no compelling reason to put clothes on each day, you won’t get a job.

Because the industry is clogged with unimaginative nobs that are all sleeping together, they have little time for outsiders. The best thing to do is to keep your query letter short and sweet. Briefly flatter them, pitch your idea with some graceful economy, link to a few of the finer examples of your writing, and remember your job isn’t to be the “next big thing,” it’s to make your editor’s job easier. They don’t want to be scrolling through some windy pitch, they want to be out having drinks with somebody they want to sleep with, or at the very least, somebody who might want to sleep with them.

Bitter Writer

PS: Have you considered veterinary technician as an alternate career?  Writing sucks.

PPS: Do not add, “I am poor and almost 50. Everything around me crumbles,” to your query.

Please send any questions to mm@michaelmurray.ca or just post them to the comments page here.

I have a pet peeve to air out. I’m always irked when people complain about something not being “proper English.” I maintain that there’s really no such thing; that English is only ever “proper” in a particular context, be it formal, academic, conversational, etc. What’s your proper take?

Tony Martins

Dear Mr. Martins:

I’m glad that you asked this particular question. The absolute worst thing that anybody could ever do to their life is get a master’s degree in English literature. (King Joffrey from “Game of Thrones” has a master’s in literature.)

This flimsy credential will give the holder an inappropriate amount of external confidence and entitlement but actually fill them with a crippling sense of insufficiency and self-loathing because they failed to advance any further in the world of academia. These “masters” think they’re better and more gifted than their less-certified peers but will have realized, deep, deep down in the burning pit of their anger hole that in failing to summit Mt. PhD they’re really not exceptional, just pitifully bound to the notion of external validation. Inevitably, they will take refuge in small, cruel pedantry, rattling on about things like “proper English” in the midst of the most benign, innocuous social encounters. They’re all a bunch of fuckers. There’s no such thing as proper English. We practically communicate through hieroglyphs now, okay? Get over it, fuckers. Whenever somebody says that you’re not using “proper English,” what that person is actually telling you is “I hate my life.”

Please send all letters for Bitter Writer to mm@michaelmurray.ca or post in the comments section of this page.