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Thursday, December 8, 2011


So I've got a little bone to pick. I was going over some old emails when I found a little email request I made, that never received a response.

First a little background: I'm pretty sure that if you wanted to find me you could but you wouldn't so you won't. I'm a little Black girl that works anonymously in a big Ivy League University. As a result, I have the occasional opportunity to literally rub elbows with the Glitterati, Literati and Cognoscenti- oh most definitely in a peon capacity, don't get it twisted- but I meet them nonetheless. And so far I've been generally impressed with how normal they are, few have put on airs and even fewer have been actual divas. But what I'm quickly discovering is how much those airs and diva-ish antics are generally inversely proportional to their actual importance, relevance and recognition in their given fields. Yes, you may eventually be a Nobel Laureate in Literature but right now you've got one book and a couple stories in The New Yorker. Sistah-girl, let over yourself. Please.

Which leads me to my email...nothing big, just a simple autograph request- not even for me- as a gift to a friend. I though the message was sufficiently fawning while not setting off stalker warning bells. And while I have had no less than the aforementioned Nobel Laurate tell me that she was more than happy to sign a book for me (provided I sent it to her office -oops I gave away my university right there didn't I?) I had someone with a couple good notices and a book of short stories not even deign to answer my email. That again I must say was flattering, respectful of their time and short on demands (as in none at all).

Now, I know I'm nobody, so no, you don't owe me anything. But I did read your book and it would have been nice to be respected and appreciated enough to merit a reply. If you don't have the time to sign a book, fine, just say so. If you're terrified that inviting me to your office for an autograph would potentially leave you exposed to a clingy, obsequious fan, then do like Miss Toni and tell me to send it to your department's secretary. But you can't even manage a response? Of any sort? Really. Really? Shame on you.

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