I get a little weirded out when someone that I’ve known for years and is a Facebook friend suddenly asks, “Are you a writer?” This happens pretty much every time that I post a link to my latest book. There are a hundred responses although none of them are really polite.
Did you not see the other twenty comments congratulating me?
Did you not see “Works at Author” on my page?
Did you not see all the posts about writing and where I was at in the process?
Did you not pay the least bit of damn attention to anything in the last ten years that we’ve known each other?
Instead, I type, “Yes. Here’s a link to my website.”
I don’t really trust myself to say anything else.
The other one that sort of sends me into a corner shaking is, “Are you a good writer?”
What? Are you kidding me?
Truthfully, I always have the urge to respond with, “No. No, I’m not. I suck stinking, oily, feces-laden, bilge water. Thanks for fucking bringing up, you Asshat.”
Instead, I type, “I’m not bad.” Or “I’m pretty good.”
This will without a doubt be followed by the question: “What do you write?”
Jeeeeezzzzzeeee… do you not see the freaking link right there in the post that will take you to the damn book? Or how about clicking on the damn link to my website that I just freaking posted. Make a damn effort. Books, you jackass. I write freaking books. Guns, explosions, sex, more violence. What do you want from me?
Instead, I type, “I write contemporary fiction featuring strong women with military or law enforcement backgrounds, containing elements of action, suspense, and romance. I also write a paranormal series about military vampires under the name L. Scott.
Some days it is incredibly hard not to just say what passes through my brain, but then I remind myself that this is Facebook. These aren’t people that I see every day or even every year. We’re people with a common past and at least they’re asking.
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