Kristen Arnett writes an advice column called Am I the Literary Asshole?, and her latest installment is a cheerful rant about reader-centric writing advice and a plea for authors to set firmer boundaries with strangers who want free editing. The column opens with Arnett cracking open a Cutwaters canned cocktail that claims to taste like pumpkin spice white russian, at 13% alcohol per can.
The column’s two main questions come from readers who are tired of the same advice loop: don’t do X because readers don’t like it. Arnett answers each with a mix of sympathy and firmness, and the whole thing reads as a pep talk for writers who want to stop pleasing everyone.
Why Reader-Focused Advice Drives Her Crazy
The first question comes from someone who finds writing advice frustrating. They note that most advice reduces writing to consumer logic — what readers want, what readers dislike, what readers love. The questioner argues this flattens readers into a single group and turns the writer-reader relationship into a producer-consumer exchange.
Arnett agrees. She points out that the advice often assumes a marketing fiasco or a skill issue explains why readers dislike a book, rather than reader taste itself. She also pushes back on the common reply that “some of us want to make a living as a writer.” Her response is blunt: “Making a living” and making art are not the same thing.
She tells the reader to ignore the advice that centers reader experience to the exclusion of everything else. “Not everyone feels this way, and thank God for that!” she writes. She advises putting the annoyance aside and not wasting time on people who treat writing as a commodity.
The Coffee Date That Isn’t What It Sounds Like
The second question comes from someone who has published a book and now gets requests from strangers. A friend of a relative wants advice on publishers. A woman whose husband wrote a family history asks for an agent referral. Emails arrive with novel drafts attached. A coffee date turns into handing over a dozens-of-pages unedited essay and asking for feedback.
The requests are sincere, but they feel extravagant and detached from how writing actually works. The questioner taught themselves to write over years, did thorough online research, paid for classes, and traded work with friends at similar stages. Now they feel their time is being taken for granted.
Arnett’s advice is direct. She calls the writer a nice person who has made others feel included and helped, but she says the kindness has been taken advantage of. She urges the writer to be a little more of an asshole and give these aspiring writers a dose of reality without crushing their dreams.
Setting Boundaries Without Crushing Dreams
Arnett frames the problem as time management. We all have a finite amount of time on this planet, and you can’t spend it helping acquaintances and strangers who are looking for free advice. She encourages the writer to recognize their own worth and set boundaries.
She also reminds the reader that having a career and making a living aren’t the same as making art. Art exists to experience beauty, joy, and the full span of human experience. The faulty logic of reader-centered advice misses that point entirely.
- Ignore advice that flattens readers into a monolith
- Refuse to accept reader experience as the only measure
- Set boundaries with strangers who want free editing
| Perspective | Focus | Goal |
|---|---|---|
| Reader-focused advice | Consumer demand | Sell more books |
| Artist-focused practice | Personal curiosity | Create art for oneself |
Arnett’s own position is clear. She doesn’t take herself too seriously, but she takes her vodka-cran seriously enough to pair it with a 13% ABV canned syrup. She’s not interested in the producer-consumer model, and she wants readers to feel the same way.
Arnett’s Core Argument
Arnett’s comparison of reader-focused advice to a marketing fiasco or a skill issue is sharp. She points out that social media mindsets and pure capitalism drive people to think this way, but not everyone buys it. That’s the core of her argument: you can choose which voices to listen to, and you don’t owe anyone an explanation.
Arnett argues writing should start from genuine curiosity rather than consumption. She wants readers to feel the annoyance and put it aside, because the annoyance is a waste of time. She wants writers to stop apologizing for wanting to make art on their own terms.
She also wants readers to enjoy the fall weather, even if the temperature outside hasn’t gotten the memo. Wear the sweater indoors, she says, where there’s air conditioning. The advice holds whether you’re a published author or someone who just wants to drink a pumpkin spice cocktail without thinking about the ABV.
Arnett’s column is a small victory for writers who want to say no. It’s a reminder that you can be gracious and still set boundaries. You can be a literary asshole and still be nice. The two are not mutually exclusive, and the column proves it.
The takeaway is simple: you don’t owe anyone a coffee date, an essay edit, or a referral to an agent. You owe yourself the time to write what you want. Arnett’s column is a reminder that the season is for enjoying the moment, not worrying about what the market wants next.
Source material: “I’m Having a Hard Time Saying No: How Can I Be More of a Literary Asshole?,” Literary Hub.
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