It might be integrity, or it might be cowardice
Andi had a very strong opinion about a particular issue. The mainstream media wasn’t treating this issue very fairly, she thought. So she started posting online about her pet issue. Almost immediately, her popularity swelled. She’d always been a well-respected writer, but her writing had never aroused strong feelings before.
Now people wrote to her, thanking her for speaking out. She was on the side of truth and justice.
Mostly the response was very positive. She did get some attacks, but nobody had tried to deplatform or cancel her, thankfully.
Her friend Sophy said, “Do you really want to go down this road?”
“The road of…speaking out for what’s right?”
“You know…if you get associated too strongly with this issue, then eventually it turns bad, right? You have this audience that’s addicted to outrage. And you have to feed that audience to remain relevant. It’s easy growth, cheap growth.”
“But I care about this issue,” she said. “It’s a life or death issue.”
“I am just saying…things change. Eventually the other side gains strength. They come after you. Then you’re in some kind of mental war. We’ve seen this happen so many times, between rival groups of intellectuals. Not to mention, after awhile you’re only read by people who care about this issue, and they don’t really care about your other work. I know it’s tempting to do this stuff to remain relevant, but—”
“You think it’s to stay relevant?” Andi said.
“Well…I mean…people aren’t that interested in your novels. So…this is something new. Some way to get attention. I don’t know…it’s just some new thing.”
“But this is a serious injustice,” Andi said. “They are lying to people, and everyone knows it.”
“Look, I’m just thinking about your career. You’re on this internet platform that feeds off hatred and anger and resentment, and you’re profiting from that.”
“Life feeds on hatred and anger,” Andi said. “Don’t blame the internet for this. The internet is not at fault here. I’m not a grifter. I’m not an opportunist.”
“Aren’t you?” Sophy said. “If you make money off the passions surrounding this feeling…if you turn those passions into clout and online influence…then…I don’t know. Do you really think you’re producing something that has enduring value?”
This argument spiraled onwards, without any resolution, as all arguments tend to do. Eventually, they agreed not to talk about this issue anymore.
Really, the reason this argument had arisen in the first place was that although Sophy notionally agreed with her friend about this issue, she also felt like…it wasn’t actually that bad. In fact, she was kind of annoyed that everyone kept expecting her to be really angry about this issue that just…didn’t bother her. And it was Andi’s harping on this issue all the time that had made Andi start to seem a bit tiresome, not just in her work, but in their friendship as well.
Obviously there’d been a period when this issue hadn’t gotten between them. But it seemed impossible to go back to that time. Andi’s mental energies were really oriented towards this issue, while Sophy’s weren’t.
It was something they’d once both decried (“How could people let politics get in the way of friendship?”) But the truth, Sophy felt, was that these ideological differences sap a friendship of joy. So there’s just no pleasure in it anymore. They used to be in sympathy. They used to enjoy talking to each other, because they had similar worldviews, that could affirm each other.
Now where’s the joy? They could avoid topics that they knew would cause dissension, and they did manage to do this, but…a part of Andi had become very alien. Her friend, Sophy, could not imagine caring this much about something you couldn’t really affect. What did Andi expect was going to happen? Did she think somehow everything was going to change? What would make her happy? Sophy had no idea, there was seemingly no satisfying Andi these days.
Sophy had her own work. Quiet. Rich. Mature. She told stories that, she felt, did justice to the fullness and complexity of life. The kind of stories that didn’t succeed nowadays, in a market that only wanted outrage.
P.S. I have a story today in Lightspeed, a speculative fiction journal. “Domestic Disputes” is the very of my first tale-style stories to appear somewhere besides on my blog.
I love the ambiguity here. Very much a litmus test.
I thought this one had an abrupt, underwhelming ending until I sat with it for a moment, realizing I can't remember feeling that way at the end of one of these tales...and gradually realized what's going on (I think) with the last paragraph. This is really terrific lol
One of the strange charms of these tales, especially with some of the O. Henry tricks, is they seem so focused on one clear/intimate situation, from the very first sentence, that they feel easier to slip into than a typical piece of fiction, especially online, that begins with something more ambient, and builds up gradually. These launch ahead almost like a joke, with the premise right there in the beginning.
This is becoming quite a crash course!