Fan/Pro Interactions

Originally published October 25, 1996, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1197

“That’s all I can stands ’cause I can’t stands no more.”

—Popeye the Sailor

How much is one supposed to take? And, when one has taken as much as he thinks he should, how does one fire back and to what degree? And where does the demarcation between fans and pros lie, and is there one, and should there be one?

Harlan Ellison’s noted “Xenogenesis” essays about the abominations perpetrated on pros by fans certainly documented some of the most extreme cases. And I myself was witness to one professional, assaulted by a fan in an elevator who was “miming” strangling the pro with the kind of demented ferocity that seemed to remove all aspects of it being a “game.”

But those are all extreme cases, and they occur at conventions.

Conventions used to be the sole venue at which fans and pros interacted. At a convention, everything is very controlled, almost to the point of ritualization.

Pros sit behind tables, fans come up with comic books to be signed, often expressing praise for the pro. There may or may not be panels, but it’s rare that someone in the audience stands up and starts mouthing off at one of the panel members because there’s something daunting about facing the immediate groans and waves of hostility one has to deal with from the audience in the room. The general sense of, “God, why are you doing this? Just shut up already.”

I was even told by one comics pro that there should always be a “curtain” between the fans and pros—not a physical one: a figurative curtain that the pros stand behind and the fans never get behind. A distance, as it were.

And this was easy to maintain when fan/pro interaction was limited to conventions. But the electronic age has brought the entire world closer. It’s hardly limited to comics; major movie stars talk it up with fans on live computer chats.

But as it’s been pointed out: How do you know it’s really them? One could probably make a tidy sum in Hollywood renting oneself out as an online computer personality. You’ve heard of celebrity lookalikes? These would be Cyberlebrity lookalikes: indistinguishable from the real items, quick on their feet with a thorough bio of their clients at their fingertips. Definite possibilities for a nice little business, particularly for those actors who are not particularly facile and would—left to their own devices—answer most questions with, “Yes,” “No,” or “I dunno.”

Television brought celebrities into our homes and gave us familiarity or an illusion thereof. But computers have brought celebrities even closer, right into our desks and even into our thought process. Computers and cyberspace have become the great leveler, on par only with death when it comes to equality and accessibility for all. We’ve reached a point where no one needs to be perceived as “above” or “separate” from anyone else. That would seem, on the face of it, to be a good thing.

Yet, at the same time, we have a double standard.

As noted earlier, at conventions there is the palpable pressure from others for obnoxious individuals to “sit down and shut up already.” That can be a pretty formidable thing in an “in person” venue. But in the security of cyberspace, no one can be “made” to do anything. So if someone wants to be obnoxious, he can rant and rave, insult and demean and attack, “flame” as much as his little heart desires.

This is, of course, the American way. Freedom of speech and all that. Although nothing, not even freedom of speech, is unlimited.

The question is, if you’re a pro: What do you do about it when someone goes after you?

Because although the playing field is ostensibly level, the fact is that it’s not level at all. Professionals in the industry, while regarded as a resource and a pleasure to have by some, are considered nuisances or—even worse—targets by others. But while fans can attack full bore, the professional is expected to hold back. To show restraint. To take the high road.

This expectation is even held by those who do the insulting. I remember one flamethrower who was incredibly toxic, obnoxious and insulting, not just to me but to everyone. He was belligerent, vituperative, and blithely libelous in his comments. Consequently, a movement began among the computer community to get in touch with those overseeing his access point to the net and get him thrown off.

And I, who had been one of his most frequent targets, received groveling email from him asking me to intercede. To plead his case, beg indulgence for him, ask the net community to back off so that he could continue to use the facilities that he had so maliciously and ruthlessly abused.

I’d like to tell you that I stepped in and saved his hash in the spirit of free speech. But as far as I was concerned, this wasn’t government intervention or out-of-the-blue persecution. This was a guy who had sought to achieve notoriety by setting himself up as a flamethrowing personality, and was now seeing the consequences of that decision. Or, as I put it to him (quoting Super Chicken), “Fred, you knew the job was dangerous when you took it.”

Then there was the guy who tried to challenge me to a debate. Having had my fill of people maneuvering me into public forums in order to get publicity for themselves, I ignored him. This tactic infuriated him and his pals. In addition to manufacturing letter-writing campaigns that were laughably, obviously bogus (multiple letters written in the same hand, carrying an assortment of false names and mailed from a variety of fake addresses in envelopes all carrying the same handwriting), he and his associates pled their case in newspapers, on radio, and—naturally—on computer boards.

I refused to bother with him, and after a year—a year—of harassment, he finally went away.

So I took the high road, as one would expect. Take two gold stars out of petty cash.

Another time, however, a guy on a computer net started attacking a friend of mine, one who doesn’t frequent nets. I’m far quicker to anger over matters concerning friends than myself, particularly when they’re not there to defend themselves, and I rounded on the critic. By net standards, what I said was incredibly mild. Probably didn’t even qualify as a flame. Wouldn’t have even merited comment if a fan had said it. But because I said it, it caused an entire brouhaha.

Then there was the fan who was angry because I didn’t attack him. He had posted a harsh review of one of my Star Trek novels. I very rarely reply to any reviews because I don’t want to have any sort of chilling effect on commentary of my work. Usually I’ll only post an observation if there’s some sort of outright misstatement of fact. And this guy’s review didn’t have anything particularly wrong in it; he just didn’t like the book.

But when I didn’t endeavor to make any sort of reply or rebuttal, he was outraged and posted a scathing notice declaring that obviously I didn’t give a dámņ what anyone said because I hadn’t defended my book against his diatribe. What’s there to defend? Either you like it or you don’t. But as far as this guy was concerned, I was the scum of the earth because I hadn’t climbed down from the high road and slugged it out with him, passionately defending my work against all comers—a practice that, if I did it, would result in fans commenting, “Boy, that Peter David sure can’t handle criticism. Pros should really take the high road.”

The question is: Why are pros expected to take the high road? Particularly when taking the high road means that you are simply presenting yourself as a nice clear target so that those on the low road can hurl stuff up at you?

Frankly, I don’t know.

Because, at core, all a comics pro is is someone who gets paid for his work by a publisher. That’s the only reasonably applied, broad-based definition. And even that is somewhat less defined when one factors in self-publishing. The line keeps being relocated.

Make no mistake: I firmly believe that being a pro, however one defines it, carries certain responsibilities. One has an obligation to the fans to behave with decorum and politeness. I have little patience for those who have little patience with the fans.

But how much patience is one to have with those who have little patience with pros?

Many fans raise pros to a level above themselves and then feel that they can tear down those pros with impunity. But they become outraged when pros refuse to submit to it, and yet also outraged when pros endure whatever harshness is hurled at them.

To paraphrase Shakespeare: Hath not a Pro eyes? Hath not a pro hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? If you prìçk us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you flame us, do we not burn? And if you tee us off, shall we not seek revenge?

It is a fannish conceit that pros should have to take whatever is dished out and bear it with quiet, equanimity, and stoicism. There are, in fact, some pros who are capable of this. There are others who are not.

And when other fans step in in defense of assailed pros, they are immediately accused of being brown-nosers or bûŧŧ-kìššërš. As if stepping in simply because one disagrees with what’s being said is an impossibility; there must be deeper motives than that, apparently because the motives behind trying to tear someone down are inherently superior to the motives behind trying to build someone up.

(Which cuts across all walks of life, I suppose. People gather to watch and marvel at a factory fire. How often do people gather to marvel at a factory under construction?)

Not that this practice is limited to fans, of course. Pros feud among themselves. Except for me, of course; my affability is legendary and I have no enemies anywhere within the industry.

And yet, fan reaction even to those feuds is often out of proportion. People have disagreements, and whether those people are both fans or both professionals, in point of fact there is nothing inherently more or less worthy of commentary in either situation. If people are arguing and they’re paid to clean sewers, or people are arguing and they’re paid to write or draw comics, what difference does it make? Indeed, the former argument might have more merit to it.

Where does one draw the line? Should pros get down and dirty, mix it up with the fans at any provocation? Should pros sail above it all, remote and distant, despite the technology that serves to bring people closer to one another? Do people really want that proximity—or do they find it unnerving and unmanageable? Some fans complain about the presence of pros on computer nets because they feel that fans must therefore act with some measure of decorum and restraint. But aren’t these attributes to which they should aspire whether pros are there or not?

Why is only the threat of retaliation by the injured party a reason for civil treatment? And why, when there is retaliation, are fans so outraged and surprised? That’s what they were expecting, wasn’t it?

Let me emphasize one point: As is always the case when discussing something like this, I’ve been speaking in generalities. Most fans are civil and sane. Most fans don’t act out of belligerence. Most fans can even have a disagreement with pros and do so in a calm, rational manner. It is the few, the proud, the angry and belligerent, who poison the well for the others.

All I’m saying is that, as the electronic community draws everyone closer and closer, and as everyone and his brother has their very own website, the line continues to be blurred. And I’m not entirely certain that’s a bad thing.

But I’m not entirely certain that it’s a good thing, either.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., P.O. Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)