A couple weeks ago, I wrote a blog post on Chicagoist about a new class at DePaul that focuses on the ins and outs of small press publishing. It was designed and is being taught by the founders of one of the indie presses here in Chicago.
Yesterday, I received an email from one of them thanking me for the coverage. He said several students had signed up for the class after reading my post. Furthermore, he told me, if those several students hadn't enrolled, the course probably wouldn't have happened. I am assuming they needed a minimum number of students to teach it.
It felt great to hear that something I wrote had a positive outcome. Okay, I know I didn't change the world or anything. But people read something I wrote. And then some of those people did something because of something I wrote. That feels pretty good, right? I don’t need validation for my writing, but it's still nice to be reminded why I'm a journalist. Or blogger. Or whatever I am these days.
Then, only a few hours later, I received this comment on a different post I wrote, a review of a new book: "This review misses the point of the book!" Then something about my lack of understanding "may point to the first signs of an absence of compassion."
Oh, such is life. You make some people happy, others you don't.