I belong to a website called Reddit, which hosts groups pertaining to every topic imaginable – from unrequited love to cats doing crazy things and authors looking for publishers. Each group has moderators – people who decide which posts will or will not be allowed, particularly if the people posting don’t stick to the main subject of the group.
I’ve joined several writers’ and authors’ groups on Reddit and so far, they have provided a wealth of information. Any questions I might have, such as “What is the best way to promote your book when your funds are limited?” usually receive prompt, helpful responses.
When I was browsing on Reddit earlier today, I couldn’t help but think back to over 25 years ago when I bought my first computer and decided to enter one of the early “chat rooms,” where people who shared similar interests could gather anonymously online to discuss various topics. It was kind of like an early form of group texting.
The first thing I had to do was select the type of chat room I wanted to enter. The list was endless, with every topic imaginable: Divorced Ladies, Married and Looking (for what?), Schmooz Fest, Fans of Elvis, Oldies Music and Authors’ Lounge, to name just a few of the hundreds.
I thought Authors’ Lounge sounded intriguing, so I checked out the description. It said it was a gathering place for authors, publishers, editors, literary agents, journalists, poets, and writing instructors to share their ideas. Encouraged, I entered the “room,” hoping to learn a few new things about writing.
Entering a chat room for the first time was sort of like being in one of those old western movies where you’re the stranger in town, walking into the local saloon.
The authors’ chat room already had 19 people chatting in it, most of whom seemed to know each other. They had catchy little on-screen names such as, “Over-the-hill-Lil,” “YoYoBozo,” “DroopyDraws” and “Rubberduckie," and were in the midst of a heated discussion when I first popped in.
“It does TOO hurt to have an ingrown toenail removed,” one chatter was saying. “I can hardly walk!”
“Aw, you’re just a big sissy!” another wrote back. “I had all of my toenails removed on my right foot and was wearing my steel-toed work boots the next morning!”
“Hey, we’re not here to talk about your feet!” another chatter interrupted. “Is anyone here a Steinbeck fan?”
“Oh, shut up!” came the response. “Who cares about Steinbeck when my toe is swollen to the size of a banana?”
I sat silently following the conversation for several minutes, thinking I’d entered the wrong room. Not only was no one was chatting about writing, everyone kept using mysterious abbreviations I’d never seen before, like “LMHO” and “BRB.” Finally, I couldn’t stand the curiosity any longer. I gathered my courage and typed my first question: “What do LMHO and BRB stand for?”
“‘Laughing my head off’ and ‘be right back’,” came about 10 replies. (Some of them also used “LMAO,” but I figured it might be best not to ask about the letter “A” in that one).
Another new chatter popped into the room. “Hello,” he or she said. “I’m 17 and I write poetry. My friends say I’m a real natural when it comes to writing. Anyone here know where I can get my poems published? What's your advice?"
“My advice is to learn to write something else!” came one suggestion. “You’ll never get anywhere with poetry.”
“Only sissies write poetry,” said the same person who’d just called the ingrown-toenail person a sissy.
“Yeah! Learn to write true-crime stories,” someone else chimed in. “Nothing captures a reader’s attention like a decapitated human head rolling down a hill!”
“Eeeeyuuuw!” came another response. “That’s gross!”
“But I enjoy writing poetry,” the young writer defended. “I write all about love!”
“Love??” another chatter shot back (and I swear this is an exact quote). “Love is nothing but a big pile of doggie doo-doo.”
Finally another chatter dared to ask, “Is anyone here REALLY a writer?”
I was thinking the same thing. And there obviously were no moderators back then who were keeping the discussions limited to the main topic.
“I once wrote a biography about Princess Diana,” came one answer.
“And I have four novels on the bestseller list,” boasted another.
“Yeah, right, and I’m Stephen King’s twin sister, Stephanie!” said yet another. “I taught him everything he knows!”
“I can’t write and I hate reading,” another chatter wrote. “And I think all writers are really boring!”
“Then what the heck are you doing in this chat room?” came the immediate response.
“Looking for girls!” he answered. “Anyone here single and available?”
“Go to the ‘Looking for Romance’ chat room,” someone suggested.
“I just came from there,” he answered. “It’s full of other guys looking for girls!”
“My mother is single and available,” one chatter offered. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” he responded.
I’d seen just about enough. Foolishly, I decided to jump in with, “I write a weekly humor column. Anyone have any ideas for a topic I can write about this week?”
“Yeah, write about what it would be like to be decapitated,” said the aforementioned would-be ax-murderer. “Think of how funny it would be to run around looking for your head!”
“Dummy!” someone wrote back. “How could you look for anything if you didn’t have a head?”
“Write about that stupid woman on the reality TV show who married the multi-millionaire, sight unseen,” came another suggestion.
“She wasn’t stupid!” another argued. “HE was the stupid one! At least she ended up with some money. All men are pigs! As I said before, love is nothing but a big pile of doggie doo-doo!”
“Write about all of the crazy people you find in chat rooms,” came one last suggestion in answer to my question.
Not a bad idea.
Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.
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