The Letters to the Editor Revolution
Tuesday, January 30th, 2007
Today at Salon, where I’m also on staff, writer-at-large Gary Kamiya writes a cover story about, well, our readers. It focuses on the often wild letters section at Salon, and how both Salon’s writers and Salon’s content has been affected.
This is a frequent topic among staffers — “You” are on “Our” minds all too often. And some of us are quite affected by it. Personally, I really enjoy the nasty letters sent in about me and my articles, but then, the nasty letters about me are never quite as vitriolic, never quite as personal, as those about some of our other writers, particularly the female ones.
Thought this was worth mentioning here on SMITH; this is, after all, one of the least discussed, though ultimately perhaps most influential, aspects of the personal media revolution, and I thought it worthwhile to bring the discussion here. What do you think? Tell us — just don’t call me fat.
I once received a letter from an inmate while at RAZOR. He wanted to be penpals. Richard’s letter made my day and I posted the letter on my wall for all to see.
What can I say—it’s about the fans.
He also did not call me fat.
I can’t believe you’re 24 and not married yet. You only wrote this blog post because you’re a bitter old spinster who can’t catch a man.
That post makes Alex’s butt look HUGE.
Yrs,
That whining bougeois mommy ™
I think I’d gladly rape my sister’s face if it meant I could get a steady stream of feedback from readers. Whether they’re saying they like my writing or sharing their desires to see me get turked by a syphilitic bear, at least I’d know they’re out there.
Well, at least it’s the post and not my jeans.
P.S. — Have you really been called that?
P.P.S. — This is true, Rachel, but did you have to tell the world?
Don’t you think that the piece is the second meta-est thing ever, the first being the letters it yields in response?
Yes. Yes, I do. However, the fact that we’re now writing comments about a post about letters about an article about letters has made my head explode from the metaness.
P.S. — Have you really been called that?
Dude, when am I NOT called that? Also, and this may be my favorite, “spookily out of touch.”
But to me, the true mark of when you’ve made it is when “I AM CANCELLING MY SUBSCRIPTION” letters start rolling in.
Larry Smith, you have been warned.
I stand warned. But we have nothing to cancel.
On a more personal note, I’ve written for Salon many times, but only once during the “free swim” letters policy. I wrote a story on my own internal dilemma about whether or not to have babies (despite world’s want of me to pass on this great hair, it’s just not that simple), and my discussion on the subject with the woman who I now call my wife. I lean toward offspring, she leans against. So I wrote openly and honestly, and we even agreed to let the editor on my piece ply us with wine and do an interview with her about the story. The reaction was intense. At the time there were over 200 letters (they seem to have been pared down now), a good majority of which called us selfish, awful, pathetic people. I was thrilled! I starting sending links over to my wife. About a half hour later I received this email: “Darling, I am glad you are enjoying yourself. But I have no interest in what any of Salon’s readers have to say, good or bad, please do not forward me these letters.”
Now, I’m not a woman, but I’ve seen them on the buses and on tv so I have a good idea of how they work. Basically, whatever they say is the opposite of what they’re feeling. Example:
“Honey, you look mad. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
So you take her at her word and go out with your friends to drink your weight in whiskey. Then you come home and find the crotch has been cut out of every single pair of pants and underwear you own.
“Ummmm… I thought you were fine?”
“I am now.”
In other words, your wife saying she didn’t want to read the letters was actually a womanly ruse to get you to flood her inbox. I only hope you saw through the deception.