Actually, I was pulled out of the hot depths of hurt and fury by several other happenings. But I thought that a 28-word title was… freaking long already.
If you and I are friends on Facebook, then you might have an idea of why I was so upset. In case we aren’t, let me give you a bit of background: someone stole a bunch of my blog posts, short stories and poems included… a total of 183 entries. I was made aware of the theft eleven days ago. I cried… I raged… I spent days and nights and more days thinking of ways to solve the issue in the most permanent manner.
A few friends helped me find the thief. Soon after that, we figured out that the website seemed to be run by more than one person… and they don’t reside in the US. Even with this obstacle, one of my friends was able to contact the right organizations and make the necessary arrangements in order to shut down the website… Fewer than 48 hours later, most of the stolen content (bastardized with a changed word here and there) was back up.
This is the third time this happens to me in the last six years. “They won’t stop, will they?” I said to my Piano Man. We brainstormed, searching for ways to keep it from happening again. After a lot of head scratching, loud exhaling and a little cursing, we (okay, it might have been mostly me, but my love always stands by his witchy woman) decided that I was going to publish the conclusions to the current storylines of Lum and Darlene, Camp Cute, Creepy (and Quite Conveniently) Remote, and every web serial currently open. Once that was done, I wasn’t going to share my fiction or poetry online.
The not publishing fiction or poetry online resolution stayed around for a few days. I was looking for ways to tell you about it. At least, that’s what I told myself. Now I think that I was just delaying a deed I really didn’t want to put into action.
I drafted the post. Put it aside to publish after I was done with a medical appointment. The anger and disappointment kept the decision alive… Then I opened a message from a young woman in California, who said, “I love your Four Sutural story. Not many people think we can be funny or proud to be just like we are. ‘I am not letting anyone attach arms or legs to my already perfect self,’ either. Thank you for Drusilla.”
The email made me cry… with a full burst of extra happy. Before the tears (and the weird grinning) were completely gone, Holly from Holly’s Horrorland left a comment about the same post, saying, “‘I am not letting anyone attach arms or legs to my already perfect self.’ LOVE that line so much! I want to create a poster of Drusilla with it…”
Then I opened a package, from Sharon of Touch of the Goddess, containing Sedna Oil for my muscles and bones, Clean and Clear smudging mist, and a Crimson Heart. I love that heart and keep it next to my bed—every time I look at it, I smile like a happy lunatic.
And because the Universe knows that sometimes I can be rather thick when it comes to signs, Emma, from Little Gothic Horrors, emailed me pictures of fabrics and ribbons and such, so that I can help her choose the best look for our 13-year-old Drusilla.
Remember that bit about the Universe hammering her point? If you read “Eyes, Legs, Gut”, then you know that my Sexy Sister Sarah found a wondrous drawing of a grenade gone flower vase and forwarded to me. I’ve been exchanging messages with Mellie Moss, the artist who sketched it; during our last exchange, she asked if she could throw the blooming grenade my way. “I’d be honored if you would take it,” she said. “You gave it life after all!”
There is more, but I will leave things here before your eyes begin to glaze over. I just need to add the point behind this post: none of the individuals mentioned above knew what I was going through (feeling violated due to the thievery) or what I had decided to do about it (stop sharing my fiction and poetry online), before the actions I’ve described took place. Their gestures reminded me of why I share my fiction, my poetry, and bits of my Self on this blog: my words bring smiles and nudge people to shake their fists in agreement. And that knowledge, my Wicked Luvs, feeds my witchy writer’s soul.
I won’t stop sharing… even if I suspect that there might be more stealing.
A little voice—my zombie self?—told me that symbiotic soul-feeding is worth many risks. I believe her fully… So read and feed, my Luvs, and I’ll write.