My last Musing was a full-blown, four alarm rant. This time I'm going to tune it down. Just a bit. I promise. But for those of you who wanted a lighthearted discussion about puthy cats, you're still out of luck. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Now to clarify something else: last time, I'm afraid I gave everyone the impression that everyone in Georgia is a stupid, beer-swilling redneck. That isn't true. Just some of them are. I'm not against Southerners; in fact, I am a Southerner, born and raised. The fact is that the stupid people are everywhere, and will take over. If we let them. Now, on to the business at hand.
A few months ago, when the idea for this page was still fermenting inside my brain, I came across an article in my local paper. I intended to cut it out, so I could use it as a reference for this Musing, but I got busy and forgot about it. Next time I'll try to do better. I promise. Anyway, the article was about a school teacher, can't remember the guy's name, but he was teaching a night class about how to build homepages. He told the adults in the class, most of which I think were women, according to the article, to look at his homepage to get some ideas. His homepage contained short stories which he had written. Horror stories. And one or two of the women were offended by them, and the guy lost his job. You hear that, folks? The guy lost his job!
Well, as a future teacher myself, this struck a chord with me, a somber, dimished one. It also brought up something that writers have had to worry about since, I guess, people learned how to write: fans who think that authors are writing about their personal lives. If I write a story about a homosexual serial killer, it doesn't mean that I am homosexual or enjoy slicing up coeds like Butterball turkeys. That's what these women, who I believe were supposed to be teachers, thought when they read those horror stories. Sure, horror is oftentimes offensive, but it doesn't merit a judgement call on behalf of the author. I can remember growing up hearing all of these stories about Stephen King. About how he was strange and weird, and probably beat his wife, and all sorts of terrible stuff. But now that I'm older, I see that nothing could be further from the truth. Stephen King is a short, stocky, native of Maine who sleeps with his bathroom light on and is a husband and a father to three children. He listens to rock music (and in fact owns a small radio station), and he and his wife give to local charities. Sound like a monster to you?
And a poor guy gets fired because of a story he wrote. Well, word to the wise: don't judge a book by its cover, or an author by the story he's written; as for that poor guy out there: next time, just don't tell them you have a website.