To Be A Rock and Not To Roll

     So I don't write on The Enemy Blog for weeks, because I am completely focused on getting "Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Horror" finalized, and then so many things happen in a short period of time that I wind up writing twice in one day.

     If I had any doubt that you guys were still out there, they are removed now.  The earlier post today got over a hundred hits.  I am humbled.

    I'm going to back up now, before I get to the good news. 

    It was the mid-90's and I went with my friend Adam to the Philadelphia Comic Book Convention.  I wasn't really keen on the comics back then.  I went just to meet a friend.  Well, we were meeting for the first time, but this was someone I felt I already knew intimately.  Kind of like that girl from Kentucky that you talk to on the internet.  You two have shared everything but the same time zone.  

    Harlan Ellison, mercurial science fiction author and essayist, was coming to the convention.  For a nominal fee you could meet him, have him sign a few books, and hear him lecture.  I spent my early years studying everything the man had written, and knew more details about him than anyone should reasonably know about another human being they are not in a relationship with.  Well, let me scratch that.  I was in a relationship with Harlan.  He just didn't know it. 

    It is probably the same relationship that most writer's share with their readers.  A writer's job is a complicated one, but at the essence of it, we are supposed to break off little pieces of ourselves and present them for our audience's inspection.  Some really gloss it over and leave you with the impression that the author is some sort of holy man imbibed with God's wisdom.  Come to think of it, that might describe Harlan a little. Others not only don't polish it, they purposely leave it crusty and ugly, almost proud of their lesser-nature.  I'm thinking Bukowski. 

    So I waited in line to meet Harlan Ellison, getting more and more nervous the closer I got.  Finally, when it was my turn to approach him, I blurted out the first thing I could think of.  "You're going to read about this someday!" I said. 

    "Call security," he said, over his shoulder. 

    "What I meant to say was, I am a writer, and I'm going to write about meeting you," I said.  

    "Ah," he said, suddenly looking back at me.  For a second our eyes met, as if he were an old gunfighter assessing the young gun across the saloon.  "You're a writer?  What have you published?" 

    And that was the Atom Bomb that Harlan chucked into my lap, folks.  The truth was, I had published nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Not one single person in the whole planet had ever read anything I'd written and said, "You know what?  This kid can write.  Roll the presses!"  

    But rather than lie to Harlan, who I suspected would sniff it out instantly, I said, "Nothing.  Yet." 

    He looked back down at the book I was having him sign and said, "If I had to do it over again, kid, I'd have been a plumber."  He handed me the book, and that was that.  

    It wasn't hard for me to unravel the brilliance of Harlan's question.  What he was telling me was that you can write all day, you can fill up volumes and volumes of the greatest literary feats known to man, but if nobody publishes it, you ain't shit.  And I wasn't shit.  

    "Still ain't shit, stupid!" 

    Ah well, nice to see Aunt Jane is still with us.  

    I told you guys awhile back that I was stepping away from The Enemy Blog in order to pursue a legitimate writing career.  In fact, I have done what I said I would do.  My goal was to attempt to get some solid publishing credits under my belt before trying to sell "Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Horror."  You already know about the "American Police Beat" article, which came out two days ago.  I got more good news today. 

    There I was coaching first base for Enemy Blog Jr.'s little league team, and I happened to check my email on my phone.  It was from "Philadelphia Stories" magazine, telling me they want to run the "BJ Schaffer is Dead" piece.  That's a good week, folks.  The best thing about it is that I'm getting very positive feedback from the people I submit to.  Professional people who have no reason to lie to me one way or the other, but they are telling me that my writing is strong.  They are telling me my work is worthy. 

    As far as the novel goes, there are some interesting things happening on that front as well, but I am in no way ready to talk about them.  All I can ask you to do is cross your fingers and wish me luck.  Blind luck.  The kind of luck that favors children and idiots.  The kind of luck that if you are bold, sends mighty forces to your aid. 

    And just for the record, I sent Harlan a message, about fifteen years after the fact, that I finally had an answer to his question.  I am extremely grateful he asked it, because he taught me the difference between the Boys and the Men in that one brief exchange.  Not that I'm any hot item now.  I'm just one of another of thousands of writer's who have managed to get something into print.  But I do not intend to stay that way.

    Everything has a beginning.  I say we see where this thing takes us. 

    On a funny side note:  Adam and I later met another famous author named Neil Gaiman.  Adam was a HUGE fan of the Sandman comic series, and we waited in a long line that snaked around the upper-level of the Willow Grove Mall just for the opportunity to have Neil sign a book. 

    So we get to the front, finally, and Adam walks up to Neil Gaiman, takes one look at him and goes, "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah...."

    And Neil smiles kindly at him.  "You know, you are under no obligation to say anything remotely intelligent when you get to the front of the line." 

    Adam presented his book for Neil's signature, and fled the store so quick that I lost track of him.  I handed Neil my book and said, "I really wish somebody had told me that when I met Harlan Ellison." 

    Neil smiled and said, "I bet we're going easier on you than Harlan did."

    Yep. 

    But Harlan showed me the line of division, and I'll be forever in his debt. 

    

       

Comments

[Tanya]

Everything happens in life for a reason. You just may not realize it till later in time. I am proud of you and your accomplishments!
P.S. Was nice to read something on here again.