Ive picked up so many things from reading his Introductions, stories and essays , including other writers whom I might never have otherwise read or known about. He touched my life in so many ways and made me a bit wiser about the world around me.
I can relate to how you feel. Harlan Ellison was a major influence on me as a person and as a developing artist when I was still a teenager. He expanded my intellectual horizons greatly at a time in my life when I was receiving a lot of pressure to cease exploring, compromise my dreams and play it safe. Also, I can't tell you what a relief it was to have my own passions and perspectives validated when everyone in my environment was either obtuse, apathetic or an arrogant bully. Harlan and his work gave me the moral courage to continue forward and fight for my belief in a better world, and for that he has my undying gratitude, whatever may come.
I met Harlan once on the Fourth of July weekend at the Chicago Comic Con (held at the Rosemont Horizon Convention Center) in 1994. Although he had just recovered from his wounds caused by a recent major earthquake that had severely damaged his house, he was as feisty and fun-loving as ever - what my grandmother would have dubbed "full of piss-and-vinegar". A portfolio review table had been set up under the auspices of Full Moon Entertainment. Harlan was there to interview and select an artist he would collaborate with on his new comic book. My friends who, in equal parts, feared, resented and were awe-struck by Ellison, hung back, but I got into line in spite of their discouragement and Harlan's reputation. I needed to meet this man who had such a powerful influence on the trajectory of my life. (And should he brutally reject me? Once you've had your own father tell you numerous times that you are "completely worthless" - and savor the act - the pain of anything that follows pales by comparison.)
Just as I queued up, I could hear Ellison dressing down a fanboy for some transgression in etiquette. Not an auspicious sign, but by the time it was my turn, his exasperation had been spent and he very cordially invited me to have a seat next to him and show my work: "Let's see your book!", he said, punctuating the request with a hearty slap of his hand on the table top. Although he was honest and open that my style wasn't what he was seeking, he was polite and respectful about it, without obsequiousness. Being gentlemanly is not a quality commonly ascribed to Harlan, but that is precisely how he treated me. He also treated me like a peer, a colleague. At a time when my fledgling career had already exposed me to the toxic contempt Corporate America felt towards artists, this was a rousing tonic. I then proceeded to make the only
faux pas of our meeting: I told him how much his work meant to me.
Instead of looking pleased, the muscles in Harlan's jaw tensed and anger boiled up behind his eyes. A sincere, genial sign-off note on my part nearly concluded an otherwise memorable and pleasant meeting with a savage tongue-lashing. The reason, I found out later, is that he HATES to be complimented on his work. Perhaps he detects a faint hint of insincerity in many compliments, or maybe he tires of hearing the same, trite litany of flattery at such events. Whatever his reasons, he considers it a breech in protocol, and Harlan
is a man whose triggers and boundaries demand to be respected -
or else. Harlan has been known to publicly eviscerate others for far less . . . . yet he didn't erupt like Mount Stromboli at me. I remain grateful to Harlan for this - and much besides - to this very day.
