I Don’t Want To Meet My Heroes
I’ve had the opportunity over the years to meet some famous people I really admired, mostly writers of some sort at readings or conventions or just in the course of grad school. In some ways it’s a really neat experience because they become more humanized, actual people instead of the god-tier art monsters of my imagination. For the most part they’re still brilliant in person and they cast an aura that gives them an outsized presence. But I decided a long time ago that if I had a choice, I’d never meet my heroes because it’s disappointing nearly 100% of the time.
It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.
I never know what to say when I meet anyone, let alone genius-level artists. I’ve told Cesar Aira how much I admired reading and translating his work, but his English isn’t great and my spoken Spanish is awful. I don’t know that he really understood what I was talking about so I felt kind of stupid not being able to communicate in the moment. He was kind enough to sign a couple of books for me and nod and all that.
The same thing has happened with Grant Morrison. I don’t know if he still does this, but he used to spend a ton of time with fans during signings at NY Comic Con, where I met him, so if you had something to say he was more than happy to chat. He was super generous about his time which was notable for how famous he was already. He’s a comic book savant and you could have a really deep conversation with him if you were immersed in that world, but I don’t really speak Comic Book. I don’t read superhero comics often. I just like reading some of his work like Doom Patrol, We3, Invisibles, with some JLA and New X-Men in the mix. He’s got an impressive body of work and I enjoy it as long as I don’t need tons of historical context. But when I met him I didn’t have much to say other than that I enjoyed his work. He signed a few JLA books, I said thank you, and went on my way.
Except when I’m not the problem
Also at that same NY Comic Con, I met a really well-known sci-fi author whose books I’d been reading since I was in middle school. He’s written well over 100 books, been on bestseller lists dozens of times, and had made quite a career for himself by then. He had his own large booth with his books laid in stacks around four sides worth of tables with a 10-foot-tall publisher banner in the middle. He was there with his wife and his assistant.
No other fans were at the table, which I found strange since he’s written books for some large franchises that have garnered him multi-million dollar book deals, so he and his wife were just hanging out, chatting behind his life’s work. His assistant ran interference when I approached the table and started telling me about his career and his recent work, and that was all well and good, but I actually did have something I wanted to say to the writer.
I wanted to thank him for being one of my sources of inspiration over the years that ultimately lead me to want to write. All the joy his books had given me was the sort of thing I wanted my writing to be for other people. The assistant said he’d autograph any book I bought, so I picked out a novel, a relatively inexpensive mass market paperback, a standalone story I hadn’t yet read. This got the attention of the writer. He and his wife stood to chat with me. He started pointing out which of his books he liked best and asked me what I liked to read. I gave him a couple examples and he grabbed a special edition hardcover of a novel he’d co-written with another famous person I was familiar with. I’m not an idiot and I saw this for the upsell it was, but the book did seem interesting and there were some cool illustrations, so I said to myself, “how often do you get to meet a writer with this kind of status and thank him for his work and come away with a nice autographed copy of a book you might really enjoy?” I sprang for the hard cover.
When the assistant rang me up he asked if I wanted it autographed. Sure, yeah, why not. The assistant said, “That’ll be $3 extra.”
‘Scuse me? I’m paying $30 for a book, Grant Fucking Morrison is doing autographs for free with a line around the center of the room and this guy’s nickel-and-diming me for an autograph that his assistant made me think would be included with the purchase? Like I said, I’m not an idiot, but I am a sucker, and at this point I thought to myself, “this is going to be the worst kind of story I get to tell for the rest of my life,” so I paid the $3.
I still wanted to thank him for his work, so I did, and I felt a genuine sense gratitude in that moment despite the weird commercial interaction, but he didn’t really acknowledge me and just kind of waved me away and went back to chatting with his wife.
That was that. Awkward and disappointing.
He was enough of an ass that I don’t read his work anymore and that $33 autographed hard cover is sitting unread on my shelf to this day. It now serves as a potent reminder not be like that guy.
Expectation vs Reality
Artists are just people, right? They’re not going to be perfect. And I certainly wouldn’t expect them to be.
Which raises the question: what did I want from these encounters anyway?
Really, I just wanted a cordial interaction. Meeting these three particular authors seemed like a good idea at the time, and I like thanking artists. Art is a thankless job and it’s nice to know one’s work is appreciated. Ask me how I know…
Beyond that, nothing. I neither need nor want souvenirs. I really don’t care about autographs, special editions, collectibles, or anything like that. I would ideally want to come away with an additive experience, something that either enhances or improves my relationship with the artist’s work, but artists are under no obligation to provide that for anyone at any point.
Given that, I’ve resolved to content myself with attending readings and other literary events and listening quietly. I’ll enjoy a few drinks with friends and leave it there.
I do also want to note that not all of my interactions with artists go poorly! I’ve met plenty of other writers I admire - I went to an MFA program with a pretty stacked faculty - and my relationships with them were absolutely fine. Sometimes even great. But sometimes also disappointing. The difference there is the context. They get paid to help me improve my writing. They’re not trying to sell their book. They assigned work and I completed it with the discussion to follow. Slightly different situation.
I’ll stick with my illusions, thanks
I draw way more inspiration from the images of writers I’ve conjured in my head based on the work that I’ve connected with. I don’t want anything to mar my experience of their art, whether it’s because of my idiocy or their assholery. The visions I have of them are motivating ideals and meeting them in person never lives up to those ideals. I appreciate that some people derive benefit from connecting with their role models in person and maybe from even cultivating an ongoing relationship, but I seem not to be one of them and I’m OK with that.