Harlan Ellison Inspired Me To Write My Origin Story
As I have mentioned, I am spending some time at present with the works of the recently deceased writer, Harlan Ellison. As a part of this, I have been watching some of his videos on youtube, of which there are many. For one, Ellison was a popular television guest for a long period of his career, and many talk show clips featuring him are there. As well, in the past few years, Ellison himself had taken to youtube directly, with his own vlog channel.
Now, it is worth noting that my first recollections of Harlan Ellison are actually from television and not print. As a boy, I did read science fiction, fantasy and all variety of alternate reality works, but mostly these were those on the shelves of my family's home, and represented the works my father had collected. Works that were mainly from Heinlein and Asimov were common, and a few by Bradbury were present, though far fewer. My father had a certain type of book he enjoyed, and Ellison was not quite in his wheelhouse. I recall passing a copy of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep to him when I was in college, and he did not enjoy the book at all.
So, the first recollections I have of Harlan Ellison are from television. I think that it was on some show in the early days of the SciFi, now SyFy, Channel. I was probably in my mid-teens, and I can recall Ellison's ranting as a weekly segment. I cannot recall the show specifically, it might have been some sort of science fiction themed news magazine, but it could also have been part of the tech show they had that I think was branded as cnet. My only vivid memory is of this crotchety gray-haired little man screaming at the television in a way that must well have influenced Lewis Black. He would go on brilliant little tirades, ranting about almost anything. I can recall them flashing the words "Commentary" when he called out a trading card company for preying on and exploiting children, or, at one point, actually taking the network itself to task for a television special that he felt was repugnant for playing fast and loose with history. In that piece he emphasized an awareness that he might well be fired. Having looked into it since, I know he was not, though his next video in the series seems to be an interview with Julius "Julie" Schwartz, suggesting that he was at least attempting to make nice. It is hard, though, not to respect a company that will broadcast material against itself.
On youtube, he continued his ranting, though at a far more advanced age. In addition to ranting, though, he also took to answering questions and discussing his own history and thoughts. In one video I watched recently, he recounts how he became a writer, what, in contemporary terms, would be his origin story, though he makes little of it. From his perspective, it seems almost like their was no true origin, as he had always read and just believed that writing was a thing everyone did. He describes teaching himself to read off of boxes and labels by the time he was two and having a library card by age three. Thus, for Ellison, it was just a thing that had always been true for him.
Now, thinking about Ellison's story made me think, of course, of what I believe inspired me to become a writer. Of course, this is in part due to the general nature of the situation; it is only natural, isn't it, to consider our own history in comparison to another's, especially within such a narrow frame. But, my own experiences learning to read are in such contrast to those that Harlan Ellison described, and that disparity is something that also triggered my own thoughts.
I am severely dyslexic, which is really just short hand for a whole variety of learning disabilities (the term that was used when I was a child, and which I am sure is terribly out of date, but it is the one that I have the most experience and association with) such as directional confusion, dysgraphia, etc. I also am what is called "mixed" dominant, meaning that I am not right or left dominant, nor am I ambidextrous. In my case, different systems of the brain can have dominance depending upon what part of my body I am using. I still don't really know my right from left, even as I approach forty in the next few months.
All of this is to say that I did not learn to read by teaching myself before I even entered kindergarten. Any capacity I have with writing is hard won, and the result of many years of work with very dedicated specialists, educators who dedicated their lives to children with severe learning disabilities. In first grade, I was fortunate enough that my parents recognized the difficulties I had and found an incredible woman to tutor me. It was with Shirley Cohn that I learnt to read.
I think, however, that I must owe a debt to those who could not teach me, for I can recall the joy of learning to read. You must understand that I believe I was an idiot. Friends of mine would describe me as one, without me thinking it was an insult, and when I first heard from a specialist that my testing showed I was learning disabled, I cried asking, "you mean, I'm not retarded?"
To me, not being able to read, like my class mates seemed to be able to learn, was a disgrace. I hid it in class, well enough that they would have passed me along had my mother not been, herself, a trained early childhood educator. She noticed things. One day the spot on the side of the dining room table by the french doors was obstructed and I had to work on the opposing end. She looked and saw that I had picked up a pencil in my left hand. "William," she asked, "how do you know which hand to use?" So, I told her, "it's simple, I use the hand by the window."
Now, the point of all this is that by the time that I did learn to read, I was motivated. Shirley told my parents that the moment I could read, I was off like a shot. She compared it the portrayal of Helen Keller, the world suddenly opening to her. I don't know if I would go that far, but I do remember the joy of learning to read.
It is worth noting that I had a precollection for language even before I could read. When my best friend called me stupid, as mentioned above, his mother overheard. "Don't call him stupid," she scolded him, to which I replied in his defense that it was only the truth. "You have the best vocabulary of any first grader I know," she said. So, their was already a love of words in me, but learning to read, and to write, that changed.
Now, it was a few more years before my passion for language ignited into a love of writing, but I read all the time when I was young. I had read the Douglas Adams Hitchiker's novels, at least those that were published by then, by third grade. I had gone from not being able to read anything to reading adult novels within just a couple of years, and I attribute that to the hardships I had. Once I learnt to read, I wanted to do it.
I did, as well, read children's books (Daniel Pinkwater is still amongst my favorite authors), but I believe strongly that my love of writing grows directly out of that momentum that lead me to being an at times precious reader. It was the desire to continue that mastery of language, an understanding of it on a deeper level, that drove, and still drives, my desire to create, and my experience of that sudden thunderbolt strike when I understood what writing was and that it could truly be used to communicate.
Now, it is worth noting that my first recollections of Harlan Ellison are actually from television and not print. As a boy, I did read science fiction, fantasy and all variety of alternate reality works, but mostly these were those on the shelves of my family's home, and represented the works my father had collected. Works that were mainly from Heinlein and Asimov were common, and a few by Bradbury were present, though far fewer. My father had a certain type of book he enjoyed, and Ellison was not quite in his wheelhouse. I recall passing a copy of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep to him when I was in college, and he did not enjoy the book at all.
So, the first recollections I have of Harlan Ellison are from television. I think that it was on some show in the early days of the SciFi, now SyFy, Channel. I was probably in my mid-teens, and I can recall Ellison's ranting as a weekly segment. I cannot recall the show specifically, it might have been some sort of science fiction themed news magazine, but it could also have been part of the tech show they had that I think was branded as cnet. My only vivid memory is of this crotchety gray-haired little man screaming at the television in a way that must well have influenced Lewis Black. He would go on brilliant little tirades, ranting about almost anything. I can recall them flashing the words "Commentary" when he called out a trading card company for preying on and exploiting children, or, at one point, actually taking the network itself to task for a television special that he felt was repugnant for playing fast and loose with history. In that piece he emphasized an awareness that he might well be fired. Having looked into it since, I know he was not, though his next video in the series seems to be an interview with Julius "Julie" Schwartz, suggesting that he was at least attempting to make nice. It is hard, though, not to respect a company that will broadcast material against itself.
On youtube, he continued his ranting, though at a far more advanced age. In addition to ranting, though, he also took to answering questions and discussing his own history and thoughts. In one video I watched recently, he recounts how he became a writer, what, in contemporary terms, would be his origin story, though he makes little of it. From his perspective, it seems almost like their was no true origin, as he had always read and just believed that writing was a thing everyone did. He describes teaching himself to read off of boxes and labels by the time he was two and having a library card by age three. Thus, for Ellison, it was just a thing that had always been true for him.
Now, thinking about Ellison's story made me think, of course, of what I believe inspired me to become a writer. Of course, this is in part due to the general nature of the situation; it is only natural, isn't it, to consider our own history in comparison to another's, especially within such a narrow frame. But, my own experiences learning to read are in such contrast to those that Harlan Ellison described, and that disparity is something that also triggered my own thoughts.
I am severely dyslexic, which is really just short hand for a whole variety of learning disabilities (the term that was used when I was a child, and which I am sure is terribly out of date, but it is the one that I have the most experience and association with) such as directional confusion, dysgraphia, etc. I also am what is called "mixed" dominant, meaning that I am not right or left dominant, nor am I ambidextrous. In my case, different systems of the brain can have dominance depending upon what part of my body I am using. I still don't really know my right from left, even as I approach forty in the next few months.
All of this is to say that I did not learn to read by teaching myself before I even entered kindergarten. Any capacity I have with writing is hard won, and the result of many years of work with very dedicated specialists, educators who dedicated their lives to children with severe learning disabilities. In first grade, I was fortunate enough that my parents recognized the difficulties I had and found an incredible woman to tutor me. It was with Shirley Cohn that I learnt to read.
I think, however, that I must owe a debt to those who could not teach me, for I can recall the joy of learning to read. You must understand that I believe I was an idiot. Friends of mine would describe me as one, without me thinking it was an insult, and when I first heard from a specialist that my testing showed I was learning disabled, I cried asking, "you mean, I'm not retarded?"
To me, not being able to read, like my class mates seemed to be able to learn, was a disgrace. I hid it in class, well enough that they would have passed me along had my mother not been, herself, a trained early childhood educator. She noticed things. One day the spot on the side of the dining room table by the french doors was obstructed and I had to work on the opposing end. She looked and saw that I had picked up a pencil in my left hand. "William," she asked, "how do you know which hand to use?" So, I told her, "it's simple, I use the hand by the window."
Now, the point of all this is that by the time that I did learn to read, I was motivated. Shirley told my parents that the moment I could read, I was off like a shot. She compared it the portrayal of Helen Keller, the world suddenly opening to her. I don't know if I would go that far, but I do remember the joy of learning to read.
It is worth noting that I had a precollection for language even before I could read. When my best friend called me stupid, as mentioned above, his mother overheard. "Don't call him stupid," she scolded him, to which I replied in his defense that it was only the truth. "You have the best vocabulary of any first grader I know," she said. So, their was already a love of words in me, but learning to read, and to write, that changed.
Now, it was a few more years before my passion for language ignited into a love of writing, but I read all the time when I was young. I had read the Douglas Adams Hitchiker's novels, at least those that were published by then, by third grade. I had gone from not being able to read anything to reading adult novels within just a couple of years, and I attribute that to the hardships I had. Once I learnt to read, I wanted to do it.
I did, as well, read children's books (Daniel Pinkwater is still amongst my favorite authors), but I believe strongly that my love of writing grows directly out of that momentum that lead me to being an at times precious reader. It was the desire to continue that mastery of language, an understanding of it on a deeper level, that drove, and still drives, my desire to create, and my experience of that sudden thunderbolt strike when I understood what writing was and that it could truly be used to communicate.
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