BASS thoughts part one: the Internet and me

This is really a mini-post; the next two will be much meatier. I'll attempt to put this year's Best American Short Stories anthology into some kind of context historically and culturally soon, but for now, I just wanted to muse briefly on the personal meaning of one passage in this year's BASS. It's from Dina Nayeri's "A Big True":

I know the Internet isn't some deity. I know it's made up of people trying to inscribe the void, to mark the very ether with what they've lived and what they know.

I've been at this blog for over four years and written a little over 220 posts. Some of those posts were light little throwaway thoughts, but some took real work to put together. In all that time, I've had a pretty moderate readership. I've had about 33,000 hits. I'd guess one-third of those might be bots, unless Russia and Ukraine really love thoughts about writing from a small-time American writer.

So it's not a lot of readers, but there are some, and a few of those readers have been amazing. They write thoughtful replies that show they've actually taken the time to read something I wrote, absorb it, and form their own thoughts in reply. Anis Shivani, whose criticism I find incredibly on-the-nose, once commented on my blog. Amy Silverberg gave me a "Thanks!" the other day when I tweeted a link to my write-up on her story. A few other writers I've written about have sent me a note in one way or another. One friend of mine, who already spends his time reading everything he can consume, still puts time aside to read and posts on half my posts.

I've met others trying to inscribe the void on their own, like Karen Carlson, who keeps posting away on her blog for no other reason than it gives her joy to do so. There's Marc Goodson, who just wants to tell his story and won't quit until he does.

And then there's all those people who stop by for reasons I can never be sure of, since so few comment. Every post gets at least 20-40 people stopping by, and some get more. Although my son likes to point out all the YouTubers who get millions of views just by playing video games on screen, I'm happy for what readers I have. For whatever reason they browse, when I stop to think about it, it's unspeakably flattering. It's Saturday morning somewhere, and I post something, and then a guy I don't know at all, who could be doing anything and doesn't have to read what I write, chooses, of his own free will, to spend ten minutes of his day with me.

That's ten minutes of a reader opening up her mind to my best shots, my attempts to "mark the ether with what I've lived and what I know." I felt the same way about my book, once I got past the initial shock of realizing how few copies I would sell. Because as few copies as sold, there were still some that sold where I have no idea who the buyer was. Reading is hard, and a person somewhere chose to expend the effort to read me.

I've tried to write seriously about the twenty stories in BASS this year. It wasn't easy. My hope is that this effort will be of use to normal folks who gave BASS a try, the people who do something else with their lives besides think about books all the time, but who still like to try to read well. I was aiming for the literary equivalent of the YouTube video where some guy did shows you exactly how to fix the thing in your house you needed to fix. There won't be thousands of people who read this. Even though I put as much effort into this as if the whole literary world were hanging on my every word, I know I have virtually no influence on American letters. But I'm going to write like I'm America's top critic, just like when I blog about the struggles of writing, I'm going to write like America's next Melville needs my words to get them to the next step. I'm going to write like it matters, because to me it does.

I'm grateful the Internet gives me a place to share what I've written, even though the Internet is not a person to whom I can be grateful. It's easy to dismiss people following their passion projects on the Internet, but I stand by what I've written. The Internet has made us dumber in many ways, but for me this year, it allowed me to see a thing I wished existed in the world and make it exist.

And now, to conclude the way my son always tells me I should: But that's just my opinion; leave yours in the comments below. Don't forget to hit like and subscribe!