On Making Things Up

     That’s what writers do.

     As my Gentle Readers know, I write in the speculative genres. (Yes, considering how romances are conducted these days, I consider romance a speculative genre.) Those who read my novels know it going in; Amazon makes it perfectly plain, as do the covers and the promotional blurbs. So the reader should be prepared for a little speculation: i.e., imaginative depiction of how things might be in a different reality, or in the future.

     Some aren’t. At least, that’s the way they express themselves in their reviews.

     Of course, the misguided-review problem isn’t mine alone:

I would love to correct the factual record on one of my reviews on Goodreads, but I won't.

My favorite one-star review was on Monster Hunter Files. The header was "This is a collection of short stories." And the review was simply "I don't like collections of short stories."

On… https://t.co/tGUUoVFMon

— Julie Frost--That Werewolf Writer🐺🦉 (@JulieCFrost) August 30, 2026

     That unnamed reviewer simply had to express himself or explode. Tragic, eh? I hope he headed off the crisis before detonation. But enough of that.

     Speculative-fiction writers must speculate. They’re required to change something about contemporary / real-world / this universe reality. The specifics of the writer’s speculation are what determine the genre – the “marketing category” (Steven Brust) – into which his book will be thrust, there to beckon silently yet importunately to Amazon doomscrollers forever more.

     It hardly need be said, though in my inimitable fashion I’ll say it anyway, that a reader who dislikes speculation in fiction should browse among the non-speculative genres, and leave the speculative ones for persons of different tastes. But things are as they are. This aspect thereof cannot be easily changed.

     The tweet embedded above caused me to remember an event that brought me some perplexing thoughts. It was early in my auctorial career: the Year of Our Lord 2000, if memory serves. Two persons of whom I had (and have) a high opinion had started a small press. They declared themselves dedicated to the speculative genres. They’d fulsomely complimented two short stories I’d sent them, so I decided to try one of my novels on them: a Christian-speculative tale over which I’d labored hard and of which I was proud.

     (A digression: Those Gentle Readers who casually end sentences with prepositions can’t imagine my agony over the previous sentence. De gustibus non est disputandum, and all that. Digression ends.)

     Well, to cut to the chase, they didn’t like it. “Not orthodox,” came the reply. Their objections focused on the speculative elements in the novel. They bore on matters Catholic doctrine does not address: the possibility of magic and the exact nature of the afterlife.

     Hm. Well, you can’t please everyone, and only a fool would try. But it was a disappointment as well as a surprise. The implication was that the Church has told us everything, and that to go beyond Church doctrine to any extent is unworthy, even if the author takes great care not to contradict an explicit Church teaching.

     That wasn’t the first time a reviewer objected to a speculation in a speculative novel or mine. While I shrug it off when it occurs, it always puzzles me. It makes me want to ask the reviewer: What are you here for?

     But I’m not here to grump about a couple of misguided reviews, nor about the rejection of a novel. This is more of a reflection about accepting things for what they are.

     In The Vision of the Anointed, Thomas Sowell makes a piercing point about the application of standards:

     Many have argued that capitalism does not offer a satisfactory moral message. But that is like saying that calculus does not contain carbohydrates, amino acids, or other essential nutrients. Everything fails by irrelevant standards.

     To judge a thing relevantly, one must judge it by the relevant standard. To apply an irrelevant standard guarantees that it will “fail.” After all, the creator didn’t have that standard in mind when he labored on his creation. Its prescriptions and proscriptions were not on his mind. No reasonable person expects that his shower stall will be equipped to allow him to check his Facebook status as he scrubs.

     And now, having written the last sentence above with glee, I am once more in mind of the “No True Scotsman” fallacy. Have we entered an age in which everything we own is expected to do everything we ever want? Has that become “reasonable?” Must our refrigerator remind us that it’s time to change the oil in our car? Must our lawnmower remember that we need bread, milk, and to schedule a chat with our financial planner?

     I feel a headache coming on. Perhaps it’s time to lie down for a while. Do have a nice day.