The Charlatan problem

I am going to talk about the most toxic person I have ever met in the writing community. I am going to start by saying that the name I am using is a pseudonym, and that I hope this person is in a better place than when I encountered them. But this case, and the responses I saw to the situation, revealed the underbelly of the writing community that many of us prefer not to look at.

Callum joined a feedback group where many of us were passionate about writing and were working hard to improve our craft. If people knew me then, they will know that I was a good friend of the moderation team, but I had no role of authority in the group. I was, simply, a respected member of the community. 

The biggest challenge with recognising a charlatan is what you do about it. Callum joined us not just as Callum, but as Callum H. Cawell. He told us about his book, his super-secret publisher, and his writing prowess. When he heard that I was a creative writing educator, this newcomer told me that he could give that a shot. Safe to say – Callum presented himself as a professional, a mentor, and a friend.

My community was not equipped to see Callum for what he was. See, even though it is not necessarily spoken, there is a respect and an attitude that seasoned writers have that permeates everything they say and do. However, those in our community who are less experienced might miss out on this, and might instead find the author-like name, the strong statements of legitimacy, and the bombastic confidence to be appealing.

I am sure I am not the only professional that has encountered more than one Callum in my time. But, without much evidence to contradict the narrative he was telling, I could only sit back and watch as he situated himself as a guru to others in the group. This was also a role I occupied – but not just me. The reason I was so fond of that group was because people understood why they were there and supported one another. That is one of the many beautiful parts of the writing community.

The first red flag I noticed was that Callum’s advice was compelling because it was easy. It fell into simply narratives that fed into new writers’ biases. And his feedback – oh heavens, his feedback – was pages long palisades of criticism with bombs of praise, all of which was surface-level. It really was just a reflection of his personal tastes.

Importantly, it did not encourage growth, and though some learners would be happy to get so much attention, the emotional damage he left in his wake is hard to fully describe. Then, as I raised my concerns with the group, Callum shared his work, and it all became crystal-clear to everyone who read it. Callum was an amateur. Not just an amateur – An amateur who vastly overestimated his own ability and refused to hear or absorb any critique.

I attempted to settle things privately with Callum. Callum then went to the leaders of the group – my clients and friends – in an effort to damage my name and sabotage my business, before being rightfully and forcefully removed from the community for good. Soon enough, all traces of Callum were lost and he was forgotten, save for a passing joke between friends.

So why have I talked about Callum?

Well, it’s because Callum was not some out-there case. And truthfully, I think the current state of the writing community is shaped by people like him. People want to be recognised, people want to be great, and that can often override the love of the art. It reminds of the tragic story of ‘AuthorTube’, in an era of online content in which online educational creative writing creators were rising, reaching their apex during covid.

In reflection, these people were Callums. I am sure that they started as earnest documentarians of their writing journey, but they soon evolved into factories of self-promotion and propped-up mentorship. These videos could get hundreds of thousands of views, as learning writers gobbled up the information they provided and anxiously awaited the time that these great educators would release their books.

I watched as people who really knew no more than a first-year creative writing student became the faces of writing online. And then, as their popularity swelled, they released their books, and…

Just like Callum, they were not experienced writers. Their books just weren’t good – A judgement I do not make lightly, but can only conclude in light of their claims to be knowledgeable and experienced enough to act as mentors.

They were amateurs playing guru, who had monetised not the teaching of good writing, but its image. Their advice was a watered-down version of the lessons told by much more seasoned and mature educators, who understood the gravity of their positions. 

I think, in reflection, there was probably a point where I was a Callum. I worked as a student tutor to make ends meet, and I repeated plenty of advice that I know I did not fully understand and certainly would never repeat today. Because, by the time I came up, by the time I encountered Callum and witnessed the rise and fall of ‘AuthorTube’, all of this was so normalised. It was just part of how people behaved in the writing community.

Truthfully, I am not sure what the ‘writing community’ is. It seemed to be ten thousand critique circles in a trench coat echoing advice that most of them don’t understand, with a gaggle of attention-hungry charlatans at its head, telling people advice that they clearly lack a proper grasp of.

I have seen it turn into backstabbing, bullying, manipulation, and scamming, even from people I thought highly of.

This is not to say that all educators are charlatans! 

Plenty are great educators and greater people still! But, as I meet more and more of them, I find them equally frustrated with the writing community. Those of us who do good work can never compete with people who can paint a road in gold and shout, ‘Follow me!’, and find ourselves sidelined. Even as the academia matures and grows, as people finally accept that creative writing can even have an academia and that it is worth taking seriously, that growing academia is then weaponised by people who truly do not understand it. They wield a knife like a hammer and call it a day.

My dream is that one day the writing community can do better. I regret how I used to behave, and find myself wanting to be a better educator and supporter of others every day. In a way, I think we all need to change. We need to break down the mysticism around that title, author, and look at each other and say, 

“Your art is worthy.”

Because yes, I do think the creative writing community can be toxic, but I have seen it be beautiful, too. And, although I think it is in a difficult place, I think we can do better. I think we must, because this art form is worth loving and cultivating.