A peanut gallery, according to Webster, is a group of people who criticize someone, often by focusing on insignificant details. In other words, a pack of miserable fuckers who never learned, if you can’t say something nice, then shut the fuck up.
You didn’t have to attend boarding school to get that one.
A friend of mine, who I’m happy to report has resumed writing, was down for the count because a bunch of idiotic naysayers after reading her blog, criticized something personal she bravely shared.
First let me say, candor is one of the hardest parts of writing. The fact that an author can spill their guts on the page is cause for awe and celebration. This woman leads the charge with her honesty that humbles someone like me who still struggles with openness.
She was hurt, as anyone would be, but here’s the rub.
It doesn’t matter what anyone says. The important thing is the love of writing, and my friend thrives on it, and it shows, in her frankness and unfailing humor.
We are both big David Sedaris fans, and to our bewilderment, many people don’t cotton too well to his prose.
He’s the only man in person or print, who has ever made me laugh on the New York subway.
There are people who actually hate Hemingway and Stephen King, Jane Austen and Dashiell Hammett, and even Aaron Sorkin and Anne Lamott.
I have one luscious phrase for all those seated so smugly in that pitiful peanut gallery…
Fuck-off…especially if you can’t take a joke.