Or that’s what the spam said. Now, I know that they think I’m stupid enough to click the little URL link that will take me to their den of Spammery–especially if they stroke my ego–but no matter how much my head may swell I really don’t believe there is anyone out there who actually worships me. I’m a pretty decent writer, a swell human being–just ask my mom!–and damn cute–according to my hubby–but a goddess? Not hardly.
Spam truly amuses me–so long as I’m not being flooded with it or inundated with the backsplash effect of some asshat using my domain as a false “return” address. I occasionally harvest a really nifty name from a spammer’s ID and use them in my writing–after all it’s not like they’re going to sue me, now is it? Of course, I don’t write enough comedy to use the really good ones, like… Surreal Origa, or Nintendo Gomez (I kid you not!) No, no. Malachi Gonzalez, Bryson Hall, and Tessa Petty are quite sufficiently odd to be real and still dopey enough to be unlikely. They will probably turn up in a ms some day as murder victims or homeless drunks. Possibly small shoeless mammals in an SF gene-splicing misadventure tale. And shall I feel bad? No, I shall not….
In the meantime, I don’t mind the occasional letter from a fan. But y’don’t gotta worship me. (Well… maybe just a little worship… on alternate Wednesdays.) 😉