I've thought about this issue from a variety of angles in the eight months that I've been writing this blog. One of the main reasons that I have a tendency to use full names, or at least very obvious almost-full names, when I write is that I write in such a convoluted fashion that it would be almost impossible to discern my meaning without something to hold on to, and the names (I think) are the anchor for my stories. I mean, seriously: that last sentence contained 61 words. How could I expect anyone to give a shit about what I write if I didn't at least tell them about whom I referred?
More simply, though, the vast majority of those reading with any regularity are people I know personally. It would be coy to create an elaborate code to obscure your identities from each other when the names of your blogs are on the left sidebar or I'm writing about drinking tea with you every other day. That's one reason that The Cat's reticence makes me laugh a little--I've certainly referred to her by [actual] name in this forum enough times that a dedicated reference librarian could tie things together, if not easily, then with a minimum of Atomz searching.
There are some frequent readers who don't comment and who aren't from a place where I'm aware of knowing anyone, so I'm intrigued. Nearly enough to post about it, but not quite so. For one thing, it sounds paranoid. And I'm charmed, really. It's an ego thing. And I like the speculation--have I known you in a former life, i.e. do you know the real me, 'or just the paper person'?
And then there's a small cadre of [apparently] regular readers who almost never comment, but who will comment to me under separate cover about the blog. That used to (within the first month or two of when I began writing it) drive me insane, because I was looking for public recognition of my brilliance and fascination. How I see it as an inevitable part of the psychology of the blogworld, which contains all sorts of people who do all sorts of things on varying levels. Some people don't want to participate at all, so they won't read 'em or write 'em. Some people only read, but don't write. Others write, but don't read. Some read but don't comment. Some comment with the intent to annoy. Some live to comment, to be known. Blah blah blah. To some extent, commenting is--at times, and only rarely--an alternative to email for me, an almost-instant message with someone whose interest I'm guaranteed to share. The point of this? Comments are always welcome, always read, always interesting. Often treasured and reread and printed and taped up by my desk at work (or not, as the case may be!)
I've met some people purely through the blog, or through that medium in other directions, and "met" has a variety of meanings. In one case it was literal (Hi, Robert!). I feel adopted by--or have I adopted?--family, particularly Molly, who's the very real aunt I always wanted but was denied by the harsh realities of Protestant Norwegian stiff-upper-lipedness. (Hi, Molly! That was a compliment, in case it wasn't clear.) Some of us are tied by strange links that we wouldn't have chosen, i.e. migraines and other things that haven't been overtly acknowledged, but also through true love--books and reading--and vocation--the library world--Hi, Annie! And although we may never meet face-to-face, we have the amazing opportunity to offer and reveal, share and sample, help and stand by--even from halfway around the world--all day, every day. How fucking amazing is that?!
I go too far on the blog sometimes. I have revealed too much, said too much, made it far too clear what I meant, about whom, in which circumstances. It's a life-long theme with me, that I need to learn when to shut the hell up, because the world doesn't often offer the opportunity to go back and edit out the errors, and the Law School Weasel can still search his name and find this blog, damn it.
But that leads me to what I really wanted to say, which can be put very simply. I'd rather go to hell than to purgatory. I don't want to sit in a fucking waiting room for all eternity. You know how I write fairly frequently about driving and traffic and the assholes I encounter in my travels around here? Well, imagine what life would be like if I drove where there were people! It would be impossible. I'm the most impatient person ever. So I'm not going to do this--or ANYTHING--by half-measures. I'm not going to mouse around and mince words and be reasonable and fairly kind or at least gentle. That's all meaningless bullshit, and I'm not playing. It's not really nice, it's not really fair, and it's not really gentle. It's just cruel by another word. So if there's something that I need to say, and in my own space, this space that I've made for myself, maintained for myself, and to which I've invited a few people but that I haven't generally advertised (and that obviously is not a huge internet draw, no insult intended to my small but loyal following)--I'm going to fucking say it, feelings and whatever else be damned. Yeah, we've had the inevitable libel discussions several times before, Annie counseling me to watch what I write, Robert asking whether anyone's been successfully sued for that which they've blogged. To tell the truth, I haven't bothered to check on it. The reasons are twofold and easy:
1. My full name isn't connected to this in any way, so making that connection, while possible, would be...difficult.There were some rather contentious articles and letters to the editor about this topic in the last few issues of Library Journal. That particular furor began in the NextGen column entited "Speech Wants To Be Free." NextGen is written by Rachel Singer Gordon with the younger generation of professional librarians in mind. That column suggests that while it is important to express one's opinions about the profession, it can be dangerous to one's career to do so openly.
2. Opinion isn't libel, truth is always a defense, and libel must be proven by the plaintiff. "I think EK is a goddamned airhead and a poor excuse for a Barbie Doll" isn't libel--it's my opinion. "Law School Weasel used my ideas" isn't libel--I retained the intellectual property evidence. And even if those two were libel, Barbie and Weasel have the onus of proof. Good fucking luck, assholes.
[Shudder. I just imagined the two of them in a room together. Imagine a bunny rabbit and a ferret, locked in an amorous embrace. That's what it looked like in my head. Eeeeeeew.]
NextGens concerned about the impact of their online interactions on their library careers can choose to post more controversial opinions anonymously. You can certainly blog under a pseudonym or establish an anonymous email account, and lists such as the Contrarian Librarian...and forums like Librarian Avengers...encourage free discussion of library working conditions--anonymity optional. These venues serve a purpose, providing a home for those toss-off comments you may not wish to come back to haunt you, or for those you wish to hide from your present employer.A dangerous suggestion, in my opinion. Encouraging "toss-off comments" about things in one's profession that are bothersome or upsetting seems to perpetuate the problem, rather than allowing any possibility for improvement. It's also, on a basic level, really immature. (It seems that the editor-in-chief of LJ agrees with me; see his editorial, and Singer's response--in which she sounds like a bratty little bitch, in my opinion.)
So. I'll try to balance my, er, urge to go to hell (that doesn't sound quite the way it's meant to...) with my logical understanding of law and practicality. In other words, I'll try to be good. And if something comes up and you think I need a reality check, go ahead and remind me. But I'm basically being like this on purpose, so don't be overly concerned. Everything's under control.
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