Tuesday, 5 August 2014

Stalkeratzi: The Pitfalls of Being Famous

Being an authors has its perks ... or so I hear. You no, hoards of fans and millions of dollars.

So far:
I'm not famous.
I'm not rich.
I haven't been asked to share my writing secrets.
I don't have hoards of squeeling fans.

On the plus side:
I have been asked for an autograph.
I have gotten fan mail.
I do have followers on social media sites.

But most importantly .......................... I have acquired a stalker.

Yes it is true.

I have an amazing family. We’re quirky, weird, fun, and flaky. We are fabulous story-tellers and just a bit nuts. We fight like cats and dogs, but don’t say anything bad about one of us or we’ll kick your sorry ass. Nobody, but nobody has the right to say nasty things about my family (except me.)
Last month we had a small gathering. We got together to celebrate the life of our recently departed father. Dad died a couple months ago and didn’t want a memorial service of any kind, but we needed closure. So, being who we are, we modified his wishes.
In the middle of everything, we broke out a case of my most recent novel (at my Mother's request) and I had a grand time signing autographs. The first time someone asked for my autograph, I thought they were nuts. I’m just a nobody who likes to make up stories. Now, a couple years later, I kind of get a kick out of inventing funny things to write when I sign my alias on those front pages.

Keep in mind that most of the attendees were true family, but about half a dozen were hangers on. You know those people who come into your life, make their presence known and never leave. Somehow, they just end up being part of the family. Every family has them, and ours is no exception. Who knew that one of those add-in-family members would be a stalker?

Mostly, the gathering was all fun and games and good memories …. but there were moments when it got weird

I was headed outside to chase after my granddaughter when a familiar face appeared in the doorway. She walked right up to me, gave me a hug and said. “You’ve got a hair hanging there.” She waved towards my face. “In your eyes. Is it bugging you?” She asked.

I said, “No, is it bugging you?”Obviously it was, because she reached out and gently moved it aside and seemed relieved when it was back where it belonged.

I said “I didn’t expect to see you here.” As far as I knew she wasn’t on the guest list.

“I’m stalking you,” she said. “After all, you are famous now.” I nearly shit myself laughing at her.

“I’m serious,” she said. “I have all your books. I’ve been a fan since the first one.”

Now, I’m speechless, and if you know me well, you know that doesn’t happen often. I stood there staring at her, gaping like a fish out of water. I didn’t know if I should be thrilled or creeped out. Eventually, I broke away from her and visited with other people.

But wouldn’t you know it, she showed up at Mom’s house afterwards. She said she followed me there. And here I thought I had taken a circuitous enough route to throw her off. Fat lot I know. She hung around, drank our booze, ate our food, snapped some pictures of me, hugged me a couple times and generally made a nuisance of herself. At one point I actually had to threaten her with a restraining order!

Seriously creepy I tell ya. CREEEEEEPY! Damned stalkeratzi anyway! Pictures will likely end up on a porn sight. (Love you anyway, Tamara.)

Okay, so I don't really have a stalker, just a good friend and adopted sister who has an amazing sense of humor.


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