The Blog On The Edge Of Forever

Today, I planned on writing at length about Harlan Ellison’s recent lawsuit (March 13, 2009) against Paramount. However, it occurred to me that most of you probably have no idea who Harlan Ellison is, and that is the sort of tragedy that I cannot let go without comment.

First off, the man known as Harlan Jay Ellison is a writer. He’s one of the most prolific writers of the twentieth century, and certainly one of the most influential – especially amongst genre fiction. Without Ellison’s work, a lot of the things you think are the bee’s knees today wouldn’t even be around. You should thank the man.

Second, Ellison is a strong believer in the rights of the writer – or, more specifically, in the slow disappearance of those rights, which are already so ephemeral that they barely exist as a begrudgingly acknowledged whisper in an entertainment business that doesn’t give a crap about them. So, whenever there is any perceived slight against his work – no matter how small – he tends to violently leap into the fray to combat the Evil and champion the Cause, taking no windmill as prisoner.

Third, the man is – by most accounts – a complete troll. People say he’s vicious and vile and detestable if he decides not to like you or your work. They say he’s vindictive and spiteful and arrogant – again, if he decides to take issue with you. Sometimes, he’s wrong; sometimes, he’s right – but the point is that you really don’t want to get on the bad side of a man who, at one time, reportedly mailed a noxious carcass of decaying roadkill to a magazine editor who refused to honor an agreement.

There is already a lot of commentary buzzing about on the web concerning Ellison’s latest lawsuit, and it’s probably only going to get worse from here on in. I’m not picking a side right now, but I would be lying if I told you that I’d support Paramount. I need to dig up more specific information than I currently have before I’ll formally declare my support of Ellison’s position, but in all honesty, it’s just a matter of time until I do.

What I want to talk about today is the sad, depressing fact that so few people know who Harlan Ellison is, and that’s just not right. I’m not going to bother trying to educate you, though. You can go to Wikipedia or just use your formidable powers of Google-Fu to search the Internet and pass yourself off as knowledgeable. I don’t really care how you find out more about someone who is arguably one of the most important contemporary writers from whom we’ve had the greatest fortune to have had him bless us with his talent – I just care that you do.

The problem with Ellison’s body of work is that it has been so influential, it’s difficult to convince new readers to like it. The difficulty lies in the unfortunate irony of the man having had such a profound impact on literature. Having so strongly affected everything to follow, his older work has the peculiar trait of seeming unremarkable and derivative today precisely because it was so significant at the time. In other words, nothing was like it before – but everything has been since.

So, when you hand a new reader a classic Ellison story that should move them in profound ways, more often than not, you’ll simply receive a polite, “I didn’t like it” for your efforts. It’s not their fault, really. Where they should see a daring, original vision, they’ll instead read redundant cliche after redundant cliche. That’s the problem with being an innovator and setting new standards: future writers adopt them, and what was once new and exciting becomes old hat and boring. It’s tragic, but that’s just the way it is.

If you read some of Ellison’s work and love it, then congratulations – you’ve just discovered an author with a massive body of work for you to enjoy. If, however, you hate his stories, then that’s fine, too. At least you’re no longer ignorant about someone with whom you should be familiar with on at least a cursory level. I just want you to know who the man is, after all. It doesn’t really do anything for me if you like him or not. One way or another, that’s your own damned business. I don’t care.

I also don’t care what you think about the person of Harlan Ellison. A writer is not the story he writes, just as an actor is not the character she plays on TV, no matter how badly you may want to believe that Buffy is a really real vampire slayer. Never confuse the artist for the art. That way lies the blind devotion of the amaurotic fanboy, or the spurious indignation of the bile-filled hater, either of which is a personality type so repugnant and devoid of any trace amount of likability that the only hope such people have of finding companionship is in the warm, irradiating glow of their computer monitors as they frantically peck away at their keyboards, venerating their own idols while venomously attacking the idolatry of others.

I think this is where I’ll leave you today. I encourage you to seek out more information. I’ve given you a little bit here, in the form of a few pictures and YouTube videos featuring the man. It’s up to you to do the rest, if you care at all about not being stupid. Just remember, if you don’t care, I’ll probably hate you forever.

I hate because I care.

Want some books? 'Course ya do!

NOTE:  I know times are hard and yeah, I need to make a living too, but if you want to read any of my books but can't afford to buy them right now, hit me up.

I'll take care of it.

Humor | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?

Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?

If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.

You're welcome.

Short Stories
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The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.

Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.

Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.

Always get back up.

Gaming | Nonfiction
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This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.

The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.

Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.

If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.

I'll try to not be boring.

Horror
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What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.

What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.

You've been warned.