On my in-progress website, a little while ago I innocently posted part of a short story called "Jeffty is Five" by famous sci-fi (he prefers the term "speculative fiction") writer Harlan Ellison, a guy whose fiction and non-fiction I've been reading for more than 30 years. At the time, I just happened to be re-reading an e-book of the short story collection it appeared in, Shatterday, and I wanted to see some actual text up on the site as opposed to "Blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda" or other such nonsense. If I'd have been reading Stephen King at the time, it could well have been something by him, or by Roger Zelazny, or any number of my favorites.
But, Fate being the smartass that she is, it was Ellison.
A small bit of background on Harlan: He's notorious for being an abrasive gadfly and, quite frankly, a bit difficult. It's ok, though, because that's just his way, he knows what he is and he's fine with it, he's been like that forever and he's a legend in the field. Besides, he's usually right.
From Ellison's wikipedia page:
Fiercely litigious, he has on several occasions sought (and won) legal action against copyright infringements. He occasionally uses the pseudonym Cordwainer Bird for reasons explained in the "Controversy" section, below.
So last night (this morning, actually) at 1:30 am, I received a phone call. Being in the depths of slumber at the time, I'm afraid that I answered the call with more of a sleep-choked grunt than actual words.
"Is this Gary Smith?" came the voice from the phone.
"Urrmmhh ... why? Who's this?" I replied (quite wittily, I think, for someone less than 5 seconds after awakening).
"This is Harlan Ellison."
At this point, I experienced a very strong sense of unreality, which I think is quite understandable, considering the situation: a dead-of-the-night personal call from a writer I've admired most of my life. It took a couple of minutes to convince myself that I wasn't dreaming.
During this interlude of my mind trying to gain purchase on slippery reality, Harlan was explaining in no uncertain terms the dire legal consequences that could arise from infringing on the copyright of an easily-annoyed guy who makes it a point to aggressively defend his intellectual property, and extolling the particularly vicious virtues of his lawyers. Since I was a bit muddled, I'm not exactly clear on the details of his monologue, but I got the impression that he's delivered versions of it quite often. I do recall clearly that he mentioned having had to sue (or threaten to sue) over two hundred infringers since the advent of the internet.
Having regained just a smidge of aplomb (and being by this time perhaps 75% conscious), I explained that I in no way intended for the text to have ever been seen by the public, and had meant it only as a placeholder to be later replaced by text of my own creation, and that I was very sorry to have caused him any concern. I also slipped in a couple of compliments because he's an icon, I'm longtime admirer, and I have adored "Jeffty is Five" since I first read it back in 1980 or so.
He seemed a bit mollified by this, and directed me to take the text down, and then to visit his website and post a message on the message board there to this effect. The conversation ended quite cordially, and I removed the text and posted the website message with all dispatch. If you'd have been in a similar situation -- having read of Ellison's exploits with the legal system, editors, publishers, TV and movie production companies, etc. over the years -- you'd have done the same.
Afterward, lying in bed trying to regain admittance to the realm of Morpheus (no, not the one from The Matrix), I was again struck by the sneaking suspicion that it had all been a figment of my sleeping subconscious. I recall an actual dream I had later on -- after I was finally able to fall back asleep (no mean feat, I can assure you) -- wherein Ellison's phone accidentally dialed me without his knowledge and I sat listening to he and his wife Susan have a conversation about where they would eat for dinner the following evening. The dream was so clear that when I woke up, I had to check my call log on my phone to see if two calls from "Unknown" showed up in the middle of the night; there was just the one at 1:25 am for 5 minutes and 37 seconds.
Next time I use some placeholder text, I'll make sure to choose some from someone long dead.
*Photo: Harlan in 1977 by Randy, Dingo & Panga
UPDATE 1-27 18:39: I visited Ellison's semi-bloglike thing just now and I was greeted with the following:
HEY, GARY SMITH !!! YO, MUDDLEFUGGAH, OVER HERE !!!!
See, this's how I get such a bad rap. Least you could've posted was that I did not raise my voice, I did not use inappropriate language (to be determined at a later date), I did not harsh yer buzz...I was polite and judicious and--once I knew I was not going to get that ArrogantAss SlackerGeek sass-- I was as charming as a julep at an oasis. Yes, I intentionally called at an hour that would certainly awaken whoever "Gary Smith" was, whatever his age or station in life, but that was the penance I exacted in lieu of burning your house to the ground. Least you could've posted was that I seemed a gentleman and that all the Wickicrapia about my "fierce" litigiousness may not be as properly represented.
Now, of course, I will have to burn yer house to the ground.
With bludgeoned feelings, genteel Harlan Ellison
He was indeed (once he saw I wasn't going to play the jackass) much more polite and good-natured than I would have expected the dread Harlan Ellison to be. Perhaps I have been led astray by press reports over the course of decades ... wouldn't be the first time, probably won't be the last.
On the other hand, one of the blog commenters says:
Gary, be glad that you are dealing with the 2009 Harlan and not the Harlan from the 70s or 80s, especially the 80s, when Harlan was deep into Reagan hate and doing his thing for the women's rights movement. Too bad the hounds of hell had the last laugh. Obama cooled the dynamite stick. Be thankful.
And another opines:
Gary: You're ahead of the game -- last time Harlan called me, he opened with "I'm going to have to kill you". So, y'now -- s'all relative!
All-in-all, I think I've escaped with a whole skin and have gotten a whiz-bang of a story in the process. I am indeed grateful. Thanks, Harlan; I shall commit that particular sin no more. ;-)