As some of the more literate of you may be aware, roughly 2 months ago we lost one of the greatest minds this generation and two previous could have hoped to know. Why, all you had to do was ask him.
I'm talking of the late Harlan Ellison, one of the greatest writers of short stories, to put it short. The long of it includes a record number of Hugo awards, and countless other such marks of distinction by the literary world.
Other fans, reporters, bots, and other such scum like I what pick up a pen have waxed on about his origins in Painsville, Ohio - which he seems to hate, seemed to hate with as much virtol as I do mine, thus I could see a somewhat kindred spirit.
I could go on about his extraordinary body of work, the most discussed of which is my Dad's favourite Star Trek episode City on the Edge of Forever; even if the version that aired and is so beloved is a badly mangled version of what Ellison dreamed up.
But what I think on, as most of us do, what an impact he had on me. How he inspired me to pick up a pen and get serious about writing, rather than playing in someone else's sandbox with fan fiction. How he lived and carried himslef so unapologetically, for better or worse. He took his blows, because he knew they were due for what he did and said.
And perhaps most important, as a working professional, his take no prisoners attitude about taking his work seriously is what urged me to refrain from making like a doormat and finally stand up for myself.
As a writer, I adore how ironic and dry and conversational his style became. It's very much like the way he spoke, only slightly edited and distilled by having the chance to go back and reread. I recall a hilarious tale about Santa Claus being a secret agent, or just how gross, or depraved, or abstract, yet compelling he could get. Bur more important was that was what I picked up from him in form, in the form of advice: kind of touched on at the back of this
But whatever I might say, and from whatever I can source from when he's been caught on camera, I guess all I can really say is, thanks for sticking around, Harlan. Thanks for what you've left us, I fully intend to keep reading and keeping the fire lit.
You fough the good fight, and lived your life on your own terms. What more can anyone ask for?
