It has occurred to me that this is a sad, strange little world we live in. If I concentrate on it too long, it's really very depressing.
Recently, a writers' blog I visit regularly had a post about this particular writer and her stalker. She's afraid, and she has every right to be. Apparently, this stalker believes her right to have her story ghost-written trumps the writer's right to make her own decisions and control her own life. Sheesh.
On an agent's blog I like, in the comment chain, is someone who has an obvious axe to grind and is anonymously using this agent as his personal whetstone. Apparently this commentor believes his opinion that the agenting community is out to screw writers trumps the facts presented by the agent and by her published clients. Go figger.
On Absolute Write, there are people who claim to be writers but whose only writing seems to be in the forums, and only ever seems to be filled with animosity. Apparently, their need to vent trumps the fact that AW is supposed to be a writing forum. Shucky-darns.
Play nice people. And if you can't play nice, find a nice quiet place somewhere far away from your fellow man, and slowly rot. You're slowing rotting inside anyway; don't subject anyone else to your deterioration.
I suppose if I was going to find an upside to this strangeness, it would be this:
All the sickness and bizarreness in the world makes excellent fodder for stories. Sad that truth really is stranger than fiction sometimes. (Or as I like to tell my husband, "I can't make this shit up.")
Thursday This n That
2 days ago