The sad truth

Is that I hate to blog.

I read my friend’s blogs with a mixture of enjoyment and envy and think to myself, why can’t I write like that?

Does nothing good happen to me, well, good enough to be worth blogging?

Sure it does, every day. The truth folks, is that I am just paranoid. I don’t want people to know what happens in my life, not really. I have this deep-seated and wholly unreasonable fear that there is some weird, greasy, creepy dude in a windowless van, cataloguing every bit of personal information I let slip into the cyberverse and waiting until he has just enough to steal me away and dump me in a pit, where he shall -- yep, you guessed it-- make me put lotion on my skin.

One could say I am almost phobic about it. I don’t like blogging, chatting (with the exception of my very small and tight circle of friends) or those prolific personality quizzes peeps keep sending me. ACK, why on do you care what I had for breakfast? I can't help but think; hmmm, I bet my serial stalker (whoever he may be) wants to know!

This is not a good attitude for a writer to have, your books don’t get sold if nobody knows who you are. I have a friend who is just amazing at all the minutia of promo and name dropping. Her website is out of this world, her group is active and the many other groups she belongs to all know who she is and they love her.

I hate her…. I really do… no I love her…. No, I hate her!!! ACK! Am I tipping into serial stalker territory myself?

What’s a reclusive-unknown-but-seriously-in-need-of-exposure-writer to do????

By the way, in case my stalker is wondering….I don’t eat breakfast. Nayna! Pfft!