Trigger Warnings

Recently on my Facebook page someone took me to task who was triggered by a political cartoon I shared.

The cartoon showed the symbol of Justice being held down and muffled by the arms of a male figure. 

Before we go further, let me state there is no judgment to be passed on the person who was triggered.

They have a personal history that explains why the image would trigger them.  Their reaction is not to be evaluated:  It happened, and it needs to be acknowledged.

And while I don’t think the image crossed the line and serves a greater good as a warning against an onrushing authoritarian mindset (elsewise I wouldn’t have shared it), to the person in question my motives and rationales don’t matter.

They saw something that reminded them of trauma in their past and it hurt them.

To have caused that hurt, even unintentionally, is something I regret and apologize for.

. . .

I belong to a writers’ group that meets once a week at a local bookstore.

It’s a good group, although last year it was an even better group.

I’ll explain.

While no one is compelled to participate, those who bring something to share with the group typically read it aloud at the table.

Mind you, we’re literally in the middle of the bookstore as we do this.  They’re open for business and customers of all ages are coming and going until the store closes and the writers’ group ends at 8pm.

While the group’s membership has always been elastic, with new members joining and old ones leaving for whatever reason, our core group numbered around ten, divided roughly evenly among those who identified as female, those who identified as male, and those who identified as non-binary.

[SIDEBAR:
At this point I have lost those who read the first block above and decided I was an unrepentant sexist because I didn’t retract what I posted even though I expressed regret for causing hurt, and now those who assumed I was going to stand up to what they consider “political correctness”.  

So be it.

I am a writer, and a writer faces two primary charges:  Know thyself and To thine own self be true.

To know one’s self means to constantly be questioning and re-examining one’s presumptions, weighing them against new knowledge and experience.

To be true to one’s self means not to compromise that self-knowledge in a desire to please others.

I write for an audience of one, and if I am not satisfied with what I write, of what value is your opinion?

You may very well challenge what I write after the fact and you may indeed convince me to change my mind -- it has happened -- but unless I believe in the veracity of what I write when I write it, it’s all bullshit.]

The group was very diverse in opinion / style / skill / politics.

We tacitly agreed that politics in any work read aloud would not be commented on.  

We would assess the style and technique, but never challenge a writer’s personal beliefs directly.  (See above “to thine own self be true”)

We carefully and respectfully critique style and technique.  No one ever says “Your story is stupid” though they might say “It was hard to follow the characters’ motivations”.

We support other writer’s efforts even when not in our wheelhouse, and seat writers who specialize in sci-fi of a libertarian bent, old school horror, gender-bender romances, and my own off the wall material.

(The other writers are unfailingly polite and never once say, “What the hell were you thinking, Buzz?”)

And we respect of the fact not all of us write at the same skill level or the same stage of our careers; no matter, if you’re there to hone and improve your craft, we’re there to help.

But while we set no preconditions on what can / can not be read at the table, we realize a few practical real world concerns need to be addressed.

First, as mentioned we meet in a working bookstore during business hours.  Everybody from elderly retirees to grade schoolers could come in at any hour.  Being aware of our venue, if one’s material might be considered edgy, we wait until the store seems less crowded to read it or skip over the more adult / violent / gruesome parts.

(Here’s where style and technique come into play.  A traditional monster story can get away with fantasy carnage that would redline a contemporary crime story.  A non-binary romance written by someone from that background is more palatable than a similar tale written by a heterosexual for titillation.  A skillful writer can describe something in a manner that creates a vivid impression in their audience without using any explicit language.)

Second, among the table itself sit those not comfortable with certain types of stories or scenes.  We consider it good manners to offer a heads up before reading a story -- “This one is a little risqué” or “This is a crime story with some gruesome details” -- so that those who might be triggered by such material can either prepare themselves for it or, if they know they would respond poorly, leave the table while it’s read.

(Acceptable table etiquette states if one feels triggered by a story one may leave the table until it’s finished.  We view this not as a reflection on the story or writer but simply an acknowledgment of the effect of the story on the one who heard it.)

As I said, as good as the group is now, a year ago it was even better.

But then the Turdmonger showed up.

. . .

I’m going to refrain from describing the Turdmonger.  I will limit my comments on their writing to this saying it was a contemporary crime thriller.

No, I’m lying, I’ll comment further:
While there certainly are real life parallels to the story being read, I personally found the style and technique laughable, sounding much more like something a 12 year old boy would write than a person my age or older.

And by this I don’t mean that the sentence structure and story flow felt awkward (though that argument certainly could be made) but that the crimes were described at a 12 year old’s level of sophistication and titillation, not the way a mature adult would be expected to approach the material.

Soon-ok watches murder mysteries and crime documentaries and shows like Forensic Files all the time and I know there are myriad means of conveying brutal / explicit information without raising a typical audience’s “ick!’ factor, much less actually triggering someone susceptible.

The Turdmonger triggered quite a few people their first time reading at the table, but despite being upset those writers felt willing to count it as simply the Turdmonger’s ignorance of the table guidelines.

We clued the Turdmonger in and asked for warnings in the future; the Turdmonger agreed to do so.

Next time the Turdmonger read, same problem.  No warning, then =boom!= -- really rough stuff.

People looked visibly distressed when the Turdmonger did this.  Again, we requested the Turdmonger give a warning or better yet, bring copies for those of us willing to read their work and provide feedback.  (IIRC, mostly the male readers volunteered to expose ourselves to this, though one or two female or non-binary writers may have done so as well.)

So, problem solved, yes?

No.

The next time the Turdmonger appeared, back to their old tricks.  Now people looked more than a little upset.

They saw this not as a simple mistake, but a deliberate pattern.

The Turdmonger got cautioned yet again on appropriate for table read etiquette.

Despite that, the Turdmonger seemed unable to grasp female and non-binary writers writing about their own traumatic experiences could do so with far greater authority than the Turdmonger.

First off, they always prefaced their reading with a trigger warning, and they always kept an eye on the venue, careful not to continue reading when children or people who might be offended came within earshot.

Second, they wrote from the point of view of someone who actually suffered significant trauma in their past, and wrote not so much to titillate or entertain as to exorcise demons of their own.

Because of my personal schedule, I’m frequently the first person to bolt out of the bookstore when the table ends at 8pm.

As a result I wasn’t privy to discussions some table members had after the store closed.

While I knew the Turdmonger’s readings upset many of them, I wasn’t aware how deep and how painful their trauma went.

Events conspired against me and I missed a couple of meetings.  When I returned, the table felt on edge.  

The Turdmonger returned the previous week and read a new story, one that by all accounts sounded deliberately crafted to spit in the face of those who asked for trigger warnings.

The Turdmonger appears to have gotten their jollies out of tormenting those who felt triggered.

That’s why the Turdmonger never brought more copies for volunteers to read; by and large we were somewhat older, somewhat more seasoned, certainly less likely to be triggered by their clumsy attempts at provocation.

(I mean, geeze, I was an editor at Penthouse Comix and wrote for The Little Clowns Of Happy Town; there are no horrors left to make me blanch.)

I’ll spare the he / she / they said of that meeting, mostly because it would not be fair for me to try to summarize the various divergent opinions, but also because it serves no purpose in this narrative.

The Turdmonger achieved their desired result.  The writers’ group split up, with roughly a third staying with the original group, and the bulk of the rest -- mostly female and non-binary writers -- forming a new group.

Which is a pity, because several of them were among the best and most insightful writers in the group.

. . . 

The bookstore writers’ group still meets, and we’re slowing rebuilding our ranks.

We lost many of our best members, and I’m saddened by that:  They truly contributed great insights to the table.

The Turdmonger, achievement unlocked, never came back.

I would love to have the Turdmonger return…just once.

At the table and at other venues such as conventions, etc., I am very judicious in my feedback.

Not everybody operates at the same level, and while I might point out areas where a writer or artist can work to improve their craft, I will never be cruel or dismissive.

But if I am being paid as an editor and you are being paid as a writer and you turn in a sub-par piece of crap, I will rip out your heart and shit in the hole.

Promise.

That’s what you get for disrespecting my craft.

And oh, dear Turdmonger, how I hope you come back just one time.

One time is all that I will need.

. . . 

Last week a writer who is a mom came to our table for the first time with her 14 year old daughter in tow (I’m guessing 14; definitely under 16).

The story I planned to read that night featured a 14 year old schoolgirl getting comeuppance on an obnoxious boy her age.

Some might call it risqué’ but I carefully avoided anything explicit and kept the style and tone down to a PG-13 level.

But still…the daughter’s first visit to the table, and she’s subjected to a story she might find (a) embarrassing if not (b) creepy?

So I said I would shelve the story until a later time.

Fortunately, that later time turned out to be just two hours when mom and daughter needed to leave early.

Once they left I read the story to the rest of the group.

They laughed.  They found it entertaining.  They agreed I didn’t cross any lines.

But they also thought I made a damn good choice in not reading it in front of the girl and her mom.

Now it’s not impossible that after I sell the story and it’s published, the girl may find it and read it herself, and in the privacy of that read (as opposed to being trapped at a table with a bunch of adults) find it cute and funny and get a kick out of it.

Or she might ask,
“What the hell were
you thinking?”

To which I would say:  
“Child, get in line…”

. . .

So back to my Facebook post, the one that unfortunately triggered a person through no fault of their own.

A few days ago I posted on colonialism, and how it affected our storytelling over the last five centuries.

I approached the topic from the angle of old pulp magazines, citing with deliberate vagueness how they frequently featured damsels in distress and / or the evil “Other” on their covers.

When I wanted to find art to highlight the post, I realized I couldn’t use any actual pulp covers.

Doing so would undermine the very argument I was making.

Instead I posted a Carl Barks’ Scrooge McDuck painting that spoofed the old style pulp covers.

It’s anthropomorphic ducks and pigs parodying the tropes of old adventure pulps.

You can’t successfully argue that it carries the same meaning as the original pulp covers because it displays those tropes and ridicules the reasons for them.

I mean, how seriously can you take a dance hall dame when she’s a DUCK?

(From my tenure at Penthouse, I know some people out there most certainly do get off on anthropomorphic ducks; nonetheless, they remain outliers, not the standard.)

The point of art in whatever form is to get the audience to look at something afresh, to see connections and meanings previously hidden.

I can’t fault and certainly would never blame the persons who felt triggered by the image I shared for what they felt.

That’s a wholly legitimate reaction.

It’s unlikely I’ll post something that might produce this particular trigger in the future; it’s just too specific to the political comment in question.

If I do think an image might trigger this person, I’ll make an effort to see that it doesn’t pop up on their Facebook feed.

As a writer, I keep a lot of references handy.

I’ve got a large number of medical photos that would upset a great many people.

Those will never be shared with the public at large.

I’ve got a few crime and war photos I will never share.

But you will see some old comic book and pulp covers I use for fictoids (i.e., add captions and dialog to), as well as old time magazine ads and illustrations from less enlightened eras.

You’ll also see almost everything I post along those lines either deconstructs or ironically comments on the image depicted.

I never present it as is.

So while I will take care in the future, I make no promise never to post or say things that may trigger people without warning.

What I find acceptable and appropriate clearly is not what everybody finds acceptable and appropriate.

I will promise to listen to responses, and try to learn from them.

That’s the only way I can be true to myself.

© Buzz Dixon