The first week of the year is normally one of the best weeks in my mind. I love planning, setting new goals, getting excited about what the new year has to offer and what I want to accomplish – this has been such a shitty week! You better prepare for some foul language.
There is a great contrast between publicity and privacy in your life when you’re a writer and how we approach that is different from person to person. I started this year with a book release, thought it’d be a fun way to start the year. And as always when you release something you need some publicity or it’s all in vain. If I didn’t want anyone to read my books I wouldn’t publish them so one part of being an author for me is to get people to discover me. Sadly, I suck at it. When I say I’m an introvert, I mean I’m an introvert, not I’m an introvert because that’s what’s writers are supposed to be.
I break out in sweats just logging onto Facebook (though I’m getting better at it, yay me!), if someone knocks on my door my first thought is to hide and pretend I’m not at home, and when it’s time for a get-together of some kind I try to come up with a way to cancel. I could sleep for a week right now because these fucking holidays have stolen every ounce of energy I possessed and I haven’t had time to recuperate – RL work and all.
But the reason I’m so upset right now isn’t due to publicity or lack thereof, it’s because someone touched what’s mine, my private fucking things no one has the right to touch. During New Year I had a few people here. They stayed overnight as often is when it’s New Year and they had phones that needed charging. I wasn’t super pleased to see that they’ve pulled out my phone charger and the cord to my laptop to make room for their phone charger – that actually wasn’t theirs at all but my husband’s and they’d nicked it from his desk – but you don’t make a scene do you?
On the first of January they left and I drew a sigh of relief to have my house back as my own. I sat down and tried getting some people to review Worth His Salt since it was its release day and I hadn’t had the time to reach out to people earlier – those fucking holidays again. The day after I was working and then on the third I sat down to do some graphics for my website. I reached for my drawing pad which is hidden on a shelf by my desk only to realise the cord was missing. I never pull it out, ever.
I have four kids so naturally, my first thought was that one of them had taken it, but that didn’t quite add up. This was in the evening so my husband and I turn on all the lamps in the house and crawled around the floors looking under sofas and tables to see if it somehow had ‘disappeared’ in under there. We couldn’t find it and I had this niggling feeling of something not being quite right about the missing cord. The drawing pad is hidden, it’s up on a shelf tucked away under a few notebooks and some papers, this simply because I have four kids and I know how tempting a pen can be.
My husband looked at the shelf and frowned, then he said it had to be a grownup who had taken it. Three of our four kids don’t reach that high and it isn’t visible where it is so why would the fourth take it? And if he had, he would’ve asked if he could use it, not nicked the cord.
I agreed and a knot formed in my gut. I knew there had been people by my desk – adult people who knew not to touch my stuff. I sent a text to my sister, a ‘Hi, you didn’t happen to take a black USB cord when you were here, did you?’ This was quite late at night so she didn’t respond until the day after when I was at work. First, she sent a ‘No’ then she said she’d ask her friend.
Yes, the friend had it. He’d taken it home with him. Was there a hurry to get it back?
I’m so fucking angry. I haven’t been able to sleep this night because at this point I’d fucking kill him if I saw him. There are very few people who manage to rile me up but he could make me commit murder, I’m not kidding. He has gone through my papers, my contracts, a notebook with passwords and shit for my husband if I should happen to die or something, notes about my stories, my goals and dreams, stories I want to write, my journal – everything about my writing life is there – the PRIVATE part of my writing life.
And as I said, one part of being a writer is publicity, but there is a whole lot that’s very VERY private. I’m fucking furious, but what bothers me the most, and perhaps make me even angrier, is that I feel violated. Silly perhaps, but he touched something that’s mine, that he had no right touching, and I bet my ass he knew exactly what he was doing. Why else put everything back the way it was, the drawing pad was back at its normal place, hidden away just that the cord now wasn’t there. This is my stuff – MINE – and they’re private. Not only did he steal from me, he went through my personal stuff.
If this is an indication of how the year will turn out I’ll be in prison before it’s over.
Fucking, thieving, son of a bitch! (Sorry about the language and that the rant ran so long…I still want to commit murder or at least hire an assassin. Anyone happen to know a good one?)