This post is bound, unavoidably, to read like the "macho posturing" I've tried so hard to avoid on this blog, but a certain segment of my readership needs to be made aware of some things before attempting to alter my behavior, or the content that appears on this page.
If you know me personally, and you're reading this, it's because I've trusted your judgment to the extent that I'm convinced you'll not be offended by anything I write. If you don't know me, you're reading this because you enjoy it, or you've been referred here by someone, or because something on this site has compelled you to take an interest. Fine. I'm not about to blow smoke up your asses and offer some gratuitous bullshit, saying "Calm down, it's just a blog," because that would be completely disingenuous. This little "just a blog" is about to generate a significant amount of money for me -- and, hopefully, an actual career -- so I won't be prick enough to sit here and belittle the concept.
The problem with having something like this happen to you comes when you have to tell people about it. If a schmuck like me gets a book deal from a major publishing house, do you honestly think I'm capable of keeping it a secret? From anyone?
"Hey Rob!" said the mailman. "How you been? What're you doin' with yourself these days?"
"Dude! I'm writin' a book! And they're payin' me for it! HarperCollins!"
"You're shittin' me! How'd that happen?!?"
"You know what a blog is? Gimme a pen and a napkin. You gotta see this shit."
So people know. As you're reading this, so are many friends, acquaintances, associates, antagonists, and disease-ridden hangers-on (Hi Pete!). Even a guy who runs an elaborate Ponzi scheme. At this point, nearly everyone I've ever met knows that it's me doing this blog, and many of them read it regularly. I couldn't give two shits. As I've said before, everybody who knows me is painfully aware that my life hasn't exactly been a heaping bowl of cherries, so even those who don't particularly like me (AM3.14579) won't begrudge me some modicum of success with this thing. Actually, he might, but at least he won't turn my happy ass in. That would be a waste of his time.
For whatever reason, people are objecting to certain things, and I can't, for the life of me, comprehend why. I mean, seriously, who gives a crap? Pardon me for sounding a touch arrogant here, but, again, this blog has given me the opportunity to write a book and get paid for it. In other words, I've already gotten my deal. Have I "lost my edge" as some people have claimed? Sure. On the blog, I have, because what's the point of pouring all of that psychic energy into work-related posts here, when someone's paying me to do it elsewhere? Have I really lost the aforementioned "edge"? I'd offer a resounding "Fuck, no" as a proper reply to this, but you're just going to have to get your hands on the book when it comes out. In my own defense, I'd say that the promise of a few bucks won't exactly offset three decades of dysfunction and bitterness, but that's for you, the reader, to decide. I highly fucking doubt it, though.
Difficulties arise, however, when things get personal. You see, you people have the upper hand for now. I need to remain anonymous, because the publishing process moves at a snail's pace, as does the mechanism through which authors get paid, and I need to continue working. Threw someone out last night, in point of fact, less than twenty-four hours ago. He didn't stop to ask me about the contract, either, the cock. I have, essentially, placed my financial fortunes in the hands of anyone I've entrusted with knowledge of the existence of this blog. I don't think I'd get fired if my employers found me out this late in the game, given the amount of publicity -- and business -- a successful book could potentially generate, and I'd likely be able to talk my way out of it in any event, but who the fuck wants to take the chance? Additionally, as many of you know, I'm an exceptionally private person, and I'd like to do this -- 'come out of the closet,' if you will -- on my own terms without having someone decide to 'play God' for me.
I have to stress here that this isn't aimed at any one particular person. By my count, this was the fourth such threat to my anonymity since the blog blew up, and this one wasn't even the most serious. Last week offered a bit of a scare, however, and it made me think about this for virtually the entire weekend. I'm fine with potentially becoming known in circles beyond my own, and when that eventually happens, I'm cool with it, because it'll mean I've done something successful. Thing is, though, I've got a bit of a reputation among those who know me, and many of you are well aware that it's entirely deserved. Ask "Clint." When it comes to protecting myself, and holding grudges, and avenging wrongs, so to speak, I've not always been "right in the head." Memorial Day Weekend '94 ring a bell for any of you?
So, yes, in a burst of immaturity, I feel the need to reassert my masculinity after bailing out and pulling the blog on Friday. It's predictable, but natural, and seeing as how I'm nothing but a brainless thug, it's actually pretty liberating to do so. There's an accounting that one undertakes in situations like this, however, and if you know me, you should know about it. I'm not always going to need people to stay silent, so what then? You think I'll keep quiet and take it?
If you know me, and you're holding that gun, you'd better think long and hard before pulling that trigger, 'cause if I survive the bullet...