Have you ever gotten a paper cut on your finger, the kind that doesn't really hurt but just stings? You think to yourself, 'Ouch... ah well, it's nothing,' and try to ignore it, but it just keeps on stinging and aching, and won't stop annoying you while you're trying to do other stuff?

That's the way I feel about something I read a couple of days ago. I was looking up some info on an author I've long admired, one Steven R. Boyett. He's not famous, nor does he have any bestsellers under his belt - his main claim to fame seems to be that he worked on an early draft of 'Toy Story 2'. He's not prolific, either... I've only ever ready two of his five published books, plus one short story. That short story in particular, 'Emerald City Blues', remains one of my all-time favorites. It's a dark tour de force apocalyptic cold war fantasy/satire which imagines what happens when a nuclear warhead is detonated over the magical city of Oz... far from being the gimmicky one-note joke it sounds like, in Boyett's hands it's poignant, funny and heartbreaking, a bravura bit of fiction that influenced a lot of my own early stabs at writing.

In furry circles, Boyett's probably best known for a pair of mid-80s novels. 'Ariel' is a strange fantasy tale of a sexually frustrated young man and his unicorn companion as they journey across a magic-ravaged United States, while 'The Architect of Sleep' is the first third of a proposed trilogy about a man from Earth who finds himself transported to a world where sentient raccoons have evolved as the dominant race.

Personally 'Ariel' never did much for me, but 'Architect' was one that I quite enjoyed, and I've always wondered when and if the remaining two books might come out. So, imagine my pleasant surprise when I found a link to Boyett's personal webpage, which promised news about the 'Architect' saga. Now imagine my less pleasant surprise when I followed the FAQ link and read this:

"Where's the rest of 'The Architect of Sleep'? In a box in my closet. For the longest time I've had every intention of finishing it, but thanks to the existence of (and the kind of mail I get from) furries, I've changed my mind."

The word 'furries' in that paragraph is a hyperlink that takes you to the official Wikipedia entry on the furry subculture... presumably we're meant to follow it and share in Boyett's amusement and/or disgust. At first I tried to just roll my eyes and tsk-tsk away this snarky little dig - after all, furry bashing is nothing new, and it's not like it should come as any kind of surprise. I mean, come on, everybody makes fun of furries... we're used to it by now, yes? No harm done.

Still... I found his comment getting unpleasantly under my skin, long after I should have been able to shrug it off. Somehow it doesn’t seem so harmless, no matter how understanding I try to be. I dunno, maybe it's the fact that, once again, we're being cast as some kind of sicko fetish group, a punchline for scoring a cheap laugh. Mostly, though, I think it's just that the insult is coming from somebody I've always looked up to as a writer. I have to believe that he's not being serious - surely he isn't holding back publication just because of us. But does that make the 'joke', or the sentiment behind it, any less unpleasant? Honestly, who does this arrogant prick think he is, contemptuously dismissing an entire group of potential fans? Personally, if I were in his shoes, I'd be grateful to anyone who bought and enjoyed my work, regardless of why.

Regrettably, from now on, I won’t be doing either of those things.