I don’t know which is faster and more
far reaching, the Internet or the international gay grapevine. But put
them together and there’s a reason that, even after long days of
working at a computer, many of us spend so much valuable down time
staring at our monitors.
I never know who will respond to one of my articles that have been
posted on line. It used to be that when I contributed a piece to a
small-circulation publication like Letters from CAMP Rehoboth, I wouldn’t
expect much of a response, even when what I wrote was controversial.
And I certainly wouldn’t expect a column I penned for a local
magazine in Delaware to draw letters from Iowa, Indiana and Australia.
But I’ve come to realize that having a platform for expression in any
publication today gives a writer remarkable access to countless readers
all over the planet, if one’s words are included on the publisher’s
Web site. And based on my experience as a contributor to, and editor of,
quite a few publications in recent years, Letters from CAMP Rehoboth
tends to bring in more responses than many larger circulation rags. Gay
people in particular seem to like to read about us.
The far-reaching influence of this magazine first came to my
attention nearly three years ago, when John and I were temporarily
living in a tiny 1950s-era trailer in Rehoboth. I had mentioned in a
column about life on wheels a witty little play called Trailer Trash
Tabloid that had caught our attention in Orlando, some 900 miles from
Letters’ southernmost distribution point. The playwright, searching
for mentions of his show online, came across the article, contacted my
email address, and next thing you know I was recruited to do publicity
for the play’s national tour.
My most recent surprise about Letters’ wide world of readership
occurred just a few days ago when one of the women I wrote about in the
last issue, an organizer of the Friends gay gatherings in Mount Dora,
Florida, emailed me to tell me what a wonderful article it was.
"What?" I replied. "I didn’t even know it’s out
yet, and you’ve already read it?"
"Friends in New Jersey let us know; they saw it at the
beach," Glenna replied. "And they’re sending copies."
So much for being the only person with a copy of Letters in Mount
Dora. And Glenna and Marsha got the issue before I did. Furthermore,
they’re linking their local e-mail list of several hundred people to
the CAMP Rehoboth Website, so before long practically every gay person
in Central Florida will be reading Letters. We’re already discussing
the idea of an exchange program between the two towns’ gay/lesbian
communities. Maybe we could become sister cities. (Or, maybe it’s time
to move again.)
Anyway, there have been plenty of other examples of this little
publication’s impact. I received nearly a dozen responses to my
anti-war epistle three issues ago from e-mail addresses from California
to the Carolinas. I even got one from Rehoboth. (Thanks, Tom.) And all
of them were supportive, which was refreshing—though, like any writer,
it bothers me that I might invest too much effort in preaching to the
already converted. Nonetheless, we all need to have our viewpoints
validated from time to time (as well as our personal worth). And I’ll
simply have to work harder to get a regular column on the National Rifle
Association’s Website.
The largest (and least expected) volume of e-mails any of my Letters
columns has produced regards a trifling piece I wrote in January a year
ago about overused language and a group at some university (I’ve
almost forgotten) that bans trite and meaningless phrases. Somehow,
someone somewhere in cyberspace linked my article and email address as a
way to contact the list’s creators. Seventeen months later, I’m
still receiving correspondence with terms people would like to banish.
Here are a few of my favorites:
"How about ‘poetic license’? Who issues these
licenses?"
"If somebody is polite does that mean he’s couth?"
"Let’s ban the misuse of the word ‘legal’ as in, ‘We’ll
have to send it to the legal department for an opinion.’ You hear this
phrase in large corporations where LAW departments exist. Aren’t all
departments legal?" (Response: In corporate America today, perhaps
not.)
"Please banish diversity." I believe the writer was
referring to overuse of the word rather than the concept, though she
didn’t specify. Maybe she is with the National Rifle Association.
The most recent term to find disfavor by one of my readers is
"embedded journalist. It makes you people sound like a bunch of a
sluts." (Response: Many of us do have our happiest hours between
the sheets.)
My emails also bring me frequent breaking news reports about
Rehoboth. That’s how I first heard of plans for the new AM dance club
in the old AMES location. A reader who had seen my comments mourning the
passing of the Renegade called my attention to the announcement on the
Dennio Productions Website. Meanwhile, my old pal Mikey, who was one of
the CAMPsafe "lifeguards" four years ago when I was director
of the project, sends me instant critiques of the hotness or "notness"
of the latest models. Then there are my friends in retail, who post
frequent bulletins about the state of the local economy: "It’s
cold and rainy again. Business sucks." "I can’t pay my
bills, business is so bad." "It’s still too wet but it was a
record-breaking weekend." With so much to read from you fine folks,
it’s amazing I find any time to write or go to work at my
"real" editing job. Now, here’s a little test of Letters’
ability to reach people anywhere. I haven’t spoken lately to Lew Routh,
the playwright I worked with a couple years ago. I know he’s in New
Orleans staging a new one-man drag comedy called "People Come and
Go So Quickly Here." So, Lew, are you reading this from Louisiana?
How’s the show going? I’m sure I’ll hear from him soon, and I’ll
keep you posted.
As almost everyone seems to know, Bill Sievert can be reached at
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