A Teaching Moment

Back in the early aughts I had a LiveJournal account. LiveJournal was one of the earlier social media platforms (it still technically exists, but it’s a fully Russian operation now, and I’m not aware of anyone who uses it.) LJ functioned more like a blog than anything, but also had a community aspect. For those of us with wordier tendencies it was a nice platform, but once Twitter, Facebook, et.al. came on the scene it rapidly became obsolete for most users. I was a heavy user in my peak years, at one point writing almost a post a day for my two different journals. I wrote whatever was on my mind; it really was a journal for me, just one available to the public. I certainly never had a large readership, and what I did have was mostly comprised of people I knew in real life or had a connection to.

I certainly didn’t think about what I wrote in terms of audience. My audience was my friends. So when I wrote a snarky, somewhat condescending post about The Imago Sequence, a collection of stories by a new author, Laird Barron, I’d just finished reading, I didn’t think anything of it. I can’t remember exactly what I wrote, but it essentially boiled down to: everyone in the field is talking about this new author, and I can’t figure out why. This collection did nothing for me. I just don’t get it.

The next day I saw there was a comment on the post from a LJ member whose name I didn’t recognize. Turns out the member was Laird himself, and I can quote exactly what he said because I’ve never forgotten it: “Sometimes there’s nothing to get, you like it or you don’t. Thanks for reading.”

I felt terrible. Never did I think there was a chance that an author might read something I wrote on my dinky blog. I had no wish to spread negativity about a writer’s hard work, and I certainly would not have done so in the condescending, snarky tone that I’d used had I any idea it would be seen by the author. I thought Laird’s response was spot-on and classy, much more than I deserved. Whether he intended to or not, he held up a mirror, and I didn’t like what I saw. Ever since I’ve tried to be much more thoughtful if writing about something I don’t care for, since all it boils down to is “well, this didn’t work for me but that doesn’t mean it won’t work for you.” Anything else is just ego games, right? Keyboard warrior bullshit. Now, I’m not above taking a crack at a megazillionare like Dan Brown, but even then I recognize that a lot of people have gotten joy out of Dan Brown’s books and that’s really all that matters. I don’t want to piss all over their joy, and I do not think myself any better than them just because we have different taste.  

A couple of years after this incident Laird put out a second collection entitled Occultation. I wanted to give him another try, and am I glad I did—Occultation is fantastic, definitely one of my favorite books of 2011. Once I finished it, I went back and re-read The Imago Sequence. This time I did get it, finding the collection to be fresh and original, with a powerful and startling voice. I wondered why it had not hit me the first time. Was it a timing thing? Was I just not in the right headspace? Laird’s best stories worm their way into you. They often don’t grant instant gratification, and perhaps at the time I simply couldn’t wrap my head around them. He’s certainly been one of the most important voices in the field for the last decade-plus, and one whose work I hold in high esteem and derive great pleasure from.

With so many books out there to read, it’s easy to write something off if it doesn’t hit you immediately. Most of the time that’s not a bad practice, but I’m sure I’ve missed out on some great work over the years by not giving it a second chance. Circumstances play into reading almost as much as taste, and circumstances are always changing.

I’m grateful that Laird left a comment that day. It was a turning point and a teaching moment. The internet is massive, but you still never know who might be reading. If it’s not something I’d say to the person in real life, it’s not something I’ll write in cyberspace. I’m beyond tired of snark and condescending tones, and I truly hope I’ve grown beyond that. In that simple, two-sentence reply, Laird taught me how a real author should conduct oneself. It’s a lesson I’ve never forgotten.