A few weeks ago, I made arguably the biggest splash of my modest writing career: a paid publication on the virtual cover of the lefty web magazine, Salon.com. The piece was a pared-down version of a narrative essay I had been shopping around for some time, the story of a Woofing (volunteer farming) trip my girlfriend and I took two summers ago to Alabama, Texas, and New Mexico. It was a significant experience for both of us, leading to paid internships on another farm in New York state, and I was happy the story would see the light of day.
But my joy was short-lived. By the time I had even been made aware of the piece’s presence in cyberspace, it had garnered more than a dozen comments. The final tally was around 170. While some of the responses were positive, most were not. Over the next few days, I would be accused of self-hatred, self-importance, self-parody, self-aggrandizement, and more. Gawker, in perhaps a knowing gesture of ironic self-effacement, blasted the piece for its “pointless journalism.” Numerous blogs mocked my sententiousness and pretension. Commenters speculated on everything from my upper-middle-class upbringing (not true) to my poor performance in bed (hard to say—writers are notoriously unreliable self-critics).
Naturally, I was a bit stunned. An unpublished poet and fiction writer, and an occasionally published essayist, I had had relatively little public exposure to my work to that point. But the volume, not to mention venom, of the response to this piece was unprecedented.
Much of the haters’ enthusiasm seemed to derive from a seemingly innocuous paragraph, early in the story, in which I expressed frustration with certain cultural trends popular in places like Portland, where I used to live. The subhead of the article refers to “yuppie liberals,” a useful enough approximation of what I was trying to convey. Part of the motivation for leaving Portland for the farms, I explained, was our creeping frustration with what might be called mainstream liberalism.
I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that this was a message that some Salon.com readers did not want to hear—after all, at least one part of the website emphasizes the kind of partisan, self-congratulatory liberalism that I had been complaining about. And while I could understand, intellectually, that the attacks were not personal—that my stupidly-grinning mug on the cover of the magazine was simply an easy target for the rantings of frustrated lives—I still felt blindsided by the rancor my piece had provoked.
But then it did get personal. One of the haters acquired my e-mail address (probably through my personal blog), writing that since he had tried to addend an angry note to one of my Rumpus pieces without success, he wanted to make sure I got the message personally. (In summary: Get a Job, Hipster Scum.) All of a sudden my blog, mostly viewed by friends and family, saw a surge in traffic, the source another blog called, “Die Hipster.” In a comment thread there, the anonymous e-mailer had posted my personal e-mail address, my blog URL, and links to other articles I’d written. Someone else mockingly linked my father’s four-year-old obituary notice. Others opined about my girlfriend—her race and ethnicity as well as other, more intimate topics. Finally, someone else (hopefully not a Jewish relative of mine) called me the “opposite of a mensch” and a “perversion of development.”
It shouldn’t surprise anyone that some of this triggered deep-set insecurities. After all, what poet doesn’t sometimes fear that his development has been perverted? What writer doesn’t feel shame about the work she does? And what person on the Left doesn’t often feel like a fraud, “squatting in one of the handful of prefabricated subject positions proffered by capital,” as Adam, the poet protagonist of Ben Lerner’s excellent recent novel, Leaving the Atocha Station, puts it?
As I reflected more, I realized the nasty commenters had been right about at least one thing: I had been sheltered, as an author, at least. My previous web publications had appeared on literary sites like The Collagist and Bookslut, where comments are disallowed, and The Rumpus, which moderates their threads vigorously. As a result, I could write a personal essay, as I did for The Rumpus a year ago, about my state of demoralized unemployment and not worry that I would be pilloried as a slacker because of it. Or I could weigh in on the heady topic of the politics of work (or in my case, idleness), as I did ten months later, without feeling like I had to apologize for my lack of comprehensiveness. The essay would simply serve as the catalyst for a discussion, I knew, one that might very well commence in the comment thread below.
Which isn’t to say that Rumpus readers never challenged me. In response to the latter essay, for example, which shamelessly advocates for idleness, one reader pointed out that I had failed to take gender differences into account. Historically charged with child-raising and other domestic tasks, women often did not have the luxury to just be idle. Another reader took issue with Bertrand Russell’s prescription of four hours of work per day. How could one survive financially working so little? Both were valid points and obviously worthy of discussion.
At Salon.com, though, by the time I had even caught my breath, the conversation spiralled out of control. Hate had responded to hate. The pettiness proliferated. The story I had tried to tell was thrust to the backburner. Most disturbing, though, was that the points I had been hoping to raise—about the viability of organic farming, the problems with urban living, liberals’ complicity in systems they claim to abhor—were largely ignored. Instead, the argument centered around negative speculation about me: my privilege, my hypocrisy, my work habits and finances. I had become their punching bag, their piñata, the commenters flailing gleefully to score points against whatever kind of person they had imagined me to be.
“An unmoderated fray is no comments,” the blogger Ta-Nehisi Coates said recently in an interview on NPR, and I think that’s basically right. I can’t help but feeling a little cheated by the response my Salon.com piece received. I had spent a lot of time and energy on refining my argument and revising the language with the hopes it would resonate with readers fed up with their city lives. I had been looking forward to the discussion, even to a debate. What I got was an earful of errant hate and manifold attempts to discredit me personally.
As I look back on the experience, I mostly feel lucky. Lucky to have found an online community like The Rumpus, where voices that only want to harm are actively excluded. The result is a place that plainly attracts people who seek refuge from the petty, reactionary voices that dominate so much of our public discourse. We, those of us who frequent The Rumpus, come here to share our stories, art, and ideas among the online equivalent of friends—even those who respectfully and thoughtfully disagree. We expect others in the community to hold us accountable—after all, there is a converse danger in being too cuddly, too undiscerning, too automatic in our support. But the space exists in part because we exclude those voices who would infect it with hate. That’s how creativity can be cultivated—not only with gung-ho support, but with meaningful, relevant commentary.
31 responses
My first advice to any friend publishing online is always “don’t read the comments.”
Not sure if you’re reading these comments (re: the post above!), but I really appreciated this piece. Thank you!
Yeah, you can’t read the comments at Salon if you publish there. It will basically ruin your month. When I have stuff at The Rumpus, people disagree but it’s always a respectful conversation. Some sites simply put more effort into encouraging a healthy dialogue than others. Salon is a great magazine but their comments section is that last town in the wilds of gold rush Alaska before the mines start–dirty and lawless and not very pleasant.
despite how great of a magazine salon is, i cannot abide that kind of a community. it doesn’t invite me to come back or to contribute. even the commenters gang up against other commenters they don’t agree with.
i’ll stay right here until stephen kindly kicks me out 🙂
“I yanked spinach and sang language.” That was from your “Where I Write” piece on this here Rumpus. I still think about that line, all the time. It’s such a beauty.
Excellent piece, Alex. Glad to read it here.
That sucks, Alex. I guess the article did what Salon wanted: it generated traffic, which I suppose is why they can pay – because they’ve got a bottom line. I know it’s not as glamorous or exciting, but there are actually a few neighborhood papers up in Portland that pay by the word and, from what I could tell, were always hungry for contributions. I made a little cash that way when I lived there, and though it never offered the latitude of a personal essay, I found everyone involved to be very warm and supportive. I’m surprised more writers don’t approach their neighborhood newspapers for work.
Isaac: I agree with you, except for on The Rumpus, where reading the comments is mandatory.
Roxanne: now you tell me!
Thanks, Courtney. Josh, I’m so glad you remember! That means the world to me.
Jonas: I had a friend there who wrote articles for some of the local papers, too, but I was mostly doing literary writing while I was there, when I was wring at all. In retrospect, though, I regret not getting involved. I could have used a few more warm, supportive people in my life, not to mention feeling connected to the community. I’m very grateful to be contributing to the virtual community here.
I help moderate the comments here–it’s not a one person job, that’s for sure–and I’ll happily admit that I use the rules I learned as a frequent commenter at Coates’s place into practice when I’m deciding what to let through.
i was listening to this whilst reading the above. it fits well, and brings decent beats to this constructive comment party… http://youtu.be/YFiqDqejR_Q
also, don’t forget that many people go online to be entertained and mind-numbed. not really to think, be challenged, or least of all, be charitable toward the abstractions of others. that’s not to knock inter-tainment (i love me some youtumblr), but just to say figure skating may not be well-received by hockey fans.
Love this.
Hi Alex, This piece made me smile. I commiserate, brother. Writers serve as an emotional dartboard for misdirected hostility and hypocrisy. I’ve been hassled on my personal blog many times, which is basically like a stranger walking into your house and taking a dump on your bedroom floor. The Rumpus is on top of the sad rage that comments can breed. The Rumpus is awesome.
You are a wonderful writer Alex! I love reading your pieces. The imagery from the Salon.com piece was beautiful and made me laugh and cry!! It reminds me of so many things. love, Dede
One day I read this really thoughtful interview with Rebecca Skloot on AV Club, scrolled down to the comments, and found a blinding wash of commenters discussing *raping* the author Rebecca Skloot. I’ve never been back to that site. I still feel sick thinking about it.
i really enjoyed reading your essay. some people are so mean! write more, and write for the rumpus so i’m sure to find it. 🙂
Alex, my dear, you should know: I read the article and the comments posted on salon.com, and yes, you are correct, most of the people posting are working through their own issues. It is clear that you are a caring, self-aware person who not only takes “relevant commentary” but harsh criticism well, using negative responses to investigate the perceptions and biases that influence your own writing.
While I encourage you, like the rest of the commenters here (on the marvelously accepting The Rumpus) to keep writing and stay strong to your beliefs and experiences and whatever, to also remember what it was that fueled you to take your trip in the first place– and that it is the same thing that fueled those commenters there (on the apparently not-so-accepting Salon) to criticize you so harshly. That is–never be comfortable with the position you’re in if you *know* it’s from a standpoint of moral superiority. As a displaced Northerner/Westerner in the South, I can say that the same biases permeate all walks of life, and it is the biggest, most power-laden mistake of all to assume that you–and the rest of your somewhat ambiguously defined geographic region–have been able to somehow transcend bias and now, officially, hold the “right” in one hand and the “good” in the other. That’s the essence of colonialism, dude. That’s what made you want to leave, right? The “self-congratulating liberalism?” And that’s what made the those exact liberals get up in arms about it (my brethren, to be sure, I’m a blue-stater at heart)–they are just sooo sure that they’re right and you’re wrong.
Sorry, I’m in college right now and totally jiving on hegemony. What I mean is, stay cool, stay thoughtful, keep perspective, don’t be afraid to question…everything. Even-or especially-your own perspective.
Alex, this is probably little comfort, but after several similar experiences (granted, none as extreme as yours), including a mean Gawker post that still comes up as a top Google search result four years later, I have just come to see the obnoxious comments as just part and parcel of writing online. I’ve taken to expecting it, and even laughing at it. Of all the ongoing high schools in life, the Internet, with its provisions for anonymity, is the worst, and it probably won’t change. It does make you appreciate the community on the Rumpus, though.
Thank you, Brian.
Antonia: that’s exactly how it felt at first: intrusive. But I’ve been able to let most of it go. Writing this piece was helpful, in that sense.
Amy: that’s awful.
Thank you, Adrienne.
Clara: I agree with you absolutely. Thanks for your thoughts. Hope you’re having a good time down there.
Sari: Yes, it very much reminds me of high school — or middle school. It’s like walking out onto the playground and realizing a whole group of people you don’t know are saying bad things about you behind your back. Very strange, this world we live in.
Much love, everybody.
That’s funny, I had my first big piece published on Salon.com as well. The editor warned me – and it was very true – that the commenters were vicious, but I didn’t get attacked outside of the site the way you did. Yikes. I agree with Sari, I think it’s just part of the whole experience of writing online, but what a way to get initiated.
Also, in case you haven’t seen it, Meghan Daum recently wrote a wonderful piece on internet commenters for The Believer.
http://believermag.com/issues/201201/?read=article_daum
It is really a shame that the comments on your Salon piece were so disheartening to you. I think that most thoughtful comment posters are often disheartened in a similar way, so they self-screen themselves out, leaving the most vitriolic, thoughtless commenters to represent those who have read a particular piece.
I read your article, and I really enjoyed it. I especially thought that the issues you raised about the viability of organic farming and the plight of small organic farmers were particularly interesting.
Alex, you should also keep in mind that what drives the comments of places like Salon is in part angry liberals or conservatives who want to have their say, and perhaps as much as half trolls working somewhere in the key of Anonymous, 4chan, and the bragging rights of Encylopedia Dramatica. I’m not saying that there aren’t oppositional traditions in online commentary (like, say, at HTMLgiant), but Salon brings the most toxic mix out there– angry, bellicose conservatives, self-righteous liberals, and trolls trolling them and trying to troll trolls.
Oh honey, Salon’s comments section is so toxic, I used to be a regular commenter over there (under a different screen name) but had to quit for the sake of my blood pressure. I was driven out a couple of years ago by the declining quality of comment debate and steadily rising, utterly pointless viciousness and volume of spambot posts, which Salon evidently can’t even get an unpaid intern to clean out.
Alex, I read your piece, and I think it’s great. P.S. See: http://www.newyorker.com/humor/issuecartoons/2012/02/13/cartoons_20120206#slide=7
I had an excerpt go up on Salon last week from my newly published book and had the exact same experience. The comments were devastating and I had to force myself to stop reading them after a few dozen strings of hatred. I, too, am grateful for places like the Rumpus.
Well Alex, now you know for sure that tourists get no respect. It can be a way to sample a place for possible long term stay, but your essay (I read it twice) did not make that apparent to me. I appreciate the larger points you wished to illuminate, as you state above, “…about the viability of organic farming, the problems with urban living, liberal’s complicity in systems they claim to abhor…”, but again, these were not apparent (to me) or held out as a topic for disscussion in your essay. Perhaps the readers could not see a specific point or strong conviction being illustrated, so began the attacks (some very comical if I were to read them them as not attacking you personally but put in a different context). Comment sections do have a life of their own….Anyhow, like your farmwork, that whole Salon thing is just another experience on your trip through life. The few writings of “outsider as tourist seeking to enlighten readers” that I have bought into — most of Hunter Thompson’s work, and “Let Us Now Praise Famous Men”, a collaboration of James Agee and Walker Evans. George Plimpton less so. Anyhow, keep writing and digging.
Harry, a couple things. First of all, I appreciate you reading my work carefully. To clarify, I wasn’t trying to enlighten anybody, only to relate a personal experience, and also to try to locate that experience within certain contemporary cultural trends, I guess would be one way of putting it. I wanted both to make sense of the culture I had come out of and to juxtapose that with some of the cultures we saw over the course of our trip. I wouldn’t say I was trying to make a “point,” either, per se, or deliver a conviction, only to start a conversation. Mostly I was interested in showing difference. Implicit in the essay, though, I think, and even explicit in parts, is our dissatisfaction with “blue,” urban culture as well as our desire to seek an alternative, possibly small-scale organic farming. That’s what I meant by hoping to start a conversation. By no means did I intended my personal essay to be the last word on any of it.
Like I said, though, I appreciate the respect you’ve shown my writing. That’s the most I could hope for. And I like Thompson and Agee a lot, too.
Oh, and thanks Sari and Heather and chavisory. I appreciate it.
Claire, I wish I had stopped reading earlier than I did. Congrats on your book! I wish it — and you — well.
Salon’s unmoderated comments have killed any opportunity for discourse over there. There are only piranhas and sharks left. It’s too bad. I still do it sometimes – read an article there and then get drawn into the comments, much to my inevitable dismay and regret. Sorry about your experience.
“As I look back on the experience, I mostly feel lucky. Lucky to have found an online community like The Rumpus, where voices that only want to harm are actively excluded. The result is a place that plainly attracts people who seek refuge from the petty, reactionary voices that dominate so much of our public discourse. We, those of us who frequent The Rumpus, come here to share our stories, art, and ideas among the online equivalent of friends—even those who respectfully and thoughtfully disagree.” I couldn’t agree with this more. This is one of the few places that I actually comment and read the comments. I will comment on other sites if my friends have work up or something like that but there is just not enough time in my life for that bullshit when I could be here in the good vibe of the Rumpus. Glad to have your essays here, Alex.
Two little words for you when publishing in the web: pen name. I find it magical. Because most web comments come out of hate, happy people will just smile and move on. I had some people who liked my articles to actually defend me from the haters, but… as we say back in my country, if you get out in the rain, get ready to be wet! So when you use a pen name, or pseudonym, it gets less of personal and somehow – at least in my own experience – you don’t feel so attached to your writing. You see it as it is: words talking to words. And hopefully it will be harder for haters to find your email – but alas not impossible. On a side note, I wanted to share with you that I also wwoof around – and my first book, which I am trying to publish, was born out of that experience. Keep your hands in the dirt – you can always wash them later…
Not only do comments cause sleepless nights for writers, but once you get into the publishing world, your editors and publicists will read them and take them as the public opinion on your entire body of work. Your work will also be judged on how many likes you have on Facebook and your number of twitter followers. Writing has always been tough, but today, part of the job is learning to gird your loins against repeated attacks. The only defense is to unplug your modem, go for a walk, and find your fierce place. Real people in the world are appreciative of your talent. Congrats on publishing in magazines as well respected as Salon and the Rumpus.
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