So Thursday, I’m propped on my couch, eating my Triple Chocolate ice cream cone, researching for my current novel by watching the latest episode of the Marriage Ref. How else am I to know how married people behave if I don’t observe them? The first couple out of the gate is a good one. The wife is the one with the beef (as about 80% of these fights are); and it seems her husband embarrasses her (as about 80% of these husbands do.) Well, it’s more than that. He’s 38 and still pursuing his dream (on the side) of becoming a (white) rapper. He’s not exactly good—he’s still waiting for his big break—and while he’s waiting for his big break, he’s making videos and having fun and working at becoming the next big rhymester. Whatever. He wasn’t exactly godawful, but even an Amish country-music listener could sense he had a bigger chance of becoming the next Madonna than the next Eminem.

Anyway, not the point. The point is that the wife ticked me off. She gets into an argument with him, wanting him to give up this stupid dream of becoming a rapper. “Why are you doing this?” she shrieked. “Because I want to be a rapper,” he says back, just as passionately. “But you’re not a success! You’ll never be a rapper! Why can’t you get over it?” blah-blah-blah.

All I could think was, “Wow, this guy is actually pretty decent because he didn’t tell her off in no uncertain terms for just telling about 4 million strangers that she thought her husband was delusional and was never going to be a success.” Then I thought, “What is her problem anyway? Is this really hurting anyone? Has he given up his day job to pursue this career as a rapper or started using her in his lyrics—that bitch my wife stabbed me with a knife—or gathered some groupie girlfriends he’s sleeping with on the side?” It didn’t appear that any of this was the case. And all I felt was sad that this wife could not feel supportive of this hobby, this passion, which I still don’t think is as weird as being supportive of a passion like cross-dressing or taxidermy.

Alec Baldwin’s first quip summed up my thoughts perfectly: “It’s not like he’s a limbless guy who wants to be an Olympic skier.” And it wasn’t. Sure, the likelihood of him being the next Eminem is incredibly slim, but if it makes him happy, why are you pissing in his Cheerios? What’s wrong with letting him be happy? Deluded people are some of the happiest people on this planet. Let him the hell alone.

I realize I’m very much in a field where I’m like a 38 year old white guy trying to be the next big hip-hop singer. Opportunities are pretty thin to the ground, my friend; however, I also know there is no harm in doing the things you love even if the success you gain is not measurable by other people’s sticks, and more importantly, quitting is the most surefire way of ensuring you never get one of those thin opportunities. Stranger things have happened. You can’t win if you don’t play; and so long as you’re still enjoying it, why not?

We all know this though. We all write because we love writing and playing with words and characters and plot. But how do you keep well-meaning loved ones from, well, pissing in your Cheerios? When you get to a certain age, you can leave home and not live with your parents who beg you to pursue a real career like teaching. You simply don’t mention your writing—though to give my father credit, he doesn’t ask me to get a real career anymore, and so long as I have my day job, he seems relatively supportive of me spending my spare time in writing. But what do you do if you’re living with someone who doesn’t support your dreams, your passions? I get that as humans we’re not going to agree about, well, almost anything, but words damage. That “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent” is a bit of a lie. Maybe they do need my consent, but words matter. As a writer, you know this. You can’t let the inflictors off scot-free. They’re still assholes. And they’re even bigger ones if they’re supposed to be people who are on your side to begin with.

How are you supposed to deal with a well-meaning troll?

Do you have any well-meaning trolls in your life? How do you deal with them? Have you ever been a troll yourself? I’ve said plenty of trollish things, usually things I regret later, because who was it hurting really? Do you watch The Marriage Ref?