In which a favorite author has died.

Several writers have said today that they think they’d have been afraid to meet Harlan Ellison.

Well, I’m not a writer, so I guess I don’t have a writer’s fear of having my work critiqued by Harlan goddamned Ellison, but I’ve been around smart, mouthy men, and if you feel you would have been afraid to meet Harlan, you haven’t learned how to tell people to shut the fuck up.

Which, if you’re a fan of his, you should have learned from him. Ellison was basically a walking master class in how to tell people to shut the fuck up.

The way you do it is this: when smart, mouthy men say or do stupid shit, you say, “Shut the fuck up. Jesus. Are you even listening to what’s coming out of your mouth?”

And if they’re smart, and you’re right, they will.

The only time it gets uncomfortable is if they’re dumb or you’re wrong.

I never met Harlan, of course, but I don’t think he was dumb. I mean, not that my opinion matters in the least, but it never once occurred to me that anybody’d be afraid to meet Ellison. He looks like he was an unmitigated hoot.