This was, perhaps, my greatest work
People debate whether eBooks change literature, if blogs are literature, etc. It’s besides the point. A writers goal is to get read. It doesn’t matter if they read you on toilet paper, as long as they get it. This is why writing, and great writing, will always live as long as there is a medium, any medium Take Reddit. Reddit is a space for posting short links, yet it occasionally produces great writing. Plant it in concrete or money, the word will somehow live.
Here is someone writing non-fiction, telling his story of basically evicting people from their homes:
And so I listen. I feign dispassion but I’m not fooling anybody. Somehow they can tell that I care and thank me even as they admit that it isn’t my fault, that it isn’t my responsibility to listen. I’ve stood inside another’s dream for an hour as they spoke, not really to be heard but to say goodbye – to leave the ghosts behind.
They go to the car and return with the openers.
The keys are peeled from a ring.
They thank me. Sometimes they cry.
And they’re gone.
Then here is Prufrock451, hinting at T.S. Eliot and answering the question “Could I destroy the entire Roman Empire during the reign of Augustus if I traveled back in time with a modern U.S. Marine infantry battalion or MEU?” – in fiction.
Sergeant McCandless watches the Romans advance, ignoring his warning shots and calls to halt. Their swords are drawn. He does not know the range of a Roman bow. He only knows that they are closing. He doesn’t know what kind of weapons they have. He doesn’t know how to talk to them. His nerves are frayed after four days without sleep, nightmares about his family ripping him out of the few minutes he can eke out before taking another go-pill.
“STOP!” he roars. “FUCKING HALT! NOW!” Five seconds.
The bullets arc forward. Marine marksmanship is the finest this world has ever seen, and Bassus and his men, trotting forward six abreast, make a fine target. They all drop. Horses and men shriek. McCandless orders men forward to take prisoners and dispatch the horses humanely.
Within five minutes, a Humvee roars up. Nelson roars at McCandless furiously. He is relieved. Urgent conferences are called. 50 horses are counted – and 49 Roman corpses.
It is war.
Is this literature? I don’t know or care, it is writing and it is read. Just like rap really is poetry, this is writing. And it will leave as long as there as a comment box left on the Internet. Hell, it will live as long as there’s toilet paper or dirt. Fundamentally, writing will live as long as it is read.