I should stop googling myself. It's a terrible habit but when I need a break from a scene I'm writing, I find my fingers itching to see if anyone has written any reviews about my recent releases. Generally I find the answer is no, so after skipping down a few pages I get trawled into a slow realization that every bleeping word I've ever written is there for all the world to admire, laugh at or ignore.
I am careful about what I say - mostly - but how long are those words going to be there? Forever? Is this my afterlife, my immortality? My pronouncements about TV shows, my son's dog, my ever patient husband, my kids? Why didn't I study astrophysics at university so that I could have at least left some intelligent words for the world. No, instead the world gets an insight into what is clearly a strange mind - one that writes about MM sex and MMF menages and MF sex and murderous psychotic bad guys like Jack in CHOSEN. Oh God, is that how I'm going to be remembered?
Published on June 16, 2011 03:51