I’m driving along two sunny Sunday’s ago, blasting Ramblin Man, when my wife calls. Confusion tints her voice.
“What’s up with this poem you just blogged?”
“What poem? I didn’t blog today.”
HACKED!
I’ve had my car broken into. Credit card pilfered. Bike stolen. But something about a faceless badguy sending out my own words to you really skeeved me out. As I lay dreaming the previous night, some dirty rat in a windowless room somewhere entered my WordPress account and sent not one but two posts, back to back:
1. An unfinished sappy poem still in draft form (I know agony and good agony makes good art) with a link to some god-forsaken casino site. 2. Followed shortly by a blank post with the cryptic title – nordisk casino. I guess these cyber bitches fancy gambling.
He stole my thoughts! It’s so intimate … and you had no way of knowing it wasn’t me. As I hit the gas to get home and fix this mess, I’m thinking to myself, we all barely tolerate the daily torrent of email; now, I’m the problem.
When I got to my computer, one articulate reader made it very clear, “UNSUBSCRIBE AND FUCK OFF.” All caps, no less. NICE TOUCH. Insult to injury, the next day, during my site’s repair, my last actual post, ironically called Dis-Appoint-Ment, was inadvertently resent. Sooooooooo … you got 3 posts in 24 hours less than a week after my last real post. 4 posts in a week … That is NOT how I roll. My humblest apologies.
As long as I’m standing here with my pants around my ankles and a microphone in my hand, let me be transparent.
As I mentioned in my last non-Russian-mafia-sent post, I’m trying to sell my first book and publishers want to see a built-in readership. You are it. In case you are wondering how you got here, you signed up over the past dozen years by attending my art shows, open studios, parties, fundraisers.
Most of you are friends, colleagues and acquaintances. A few of you may have no idea who on earth I am since, until recently, I’d been sending a post just once or twice a year. Publishers want regular posts. So here we are.
But before you hit ALL CAPS and UNSUBSCRIBE, hear me out. I will post once a week. Short edible bites of an artist finding his dream. If you don’t wish to read a post, delete it. No hard feelings. It won’t mean a thing in a hundred years.
Better yet though, HELP A BROTHER OUT.
Invite 5 friends to subscribe at www.stuartsheldon.com and let’s do this together!
Because this ride is just getting interesting!
