It was a Friday evening. Shelly lounged on her sofa in front of her television set, computer in lap, and Sir Poops to the right of her laying on his favorite pillow with Hair Ball on her other side. While networking, a message popped up.
“Thank you for accepting my friend request.”
Shelly found it surprising that someone actually said ‘thank you’ for such a thing. It really caught her attention. It’s a rare treat when another author shows gratitude by simply writing a polite note back. So she responded back:
“You’re welcome. Thank you for the note.”
At that point Shelly thought that would be the end of this little conversation, but she got another message.
“Hey, I’d really like to get to know you. I’m a writer. I’ve been working on my book for the last seven years.”
Shelly sees no harm in this and writes back.
“It took me four years to write mine. I’m the author of Secondhand Shoes, a paranormal romance/suspense/thriller. I’ve also got a short story coming out on July 1, 2013, for Kindle only, The Partners’s Progeny.”
Another message pops up.
“So how do you cope with your kids and husband?”
Shelly thought this a little strange, but answered anyway.
“I write. I’m really busy working right now. Later, dude.”
But another message pops up.
“So what are you working on?”
Shelly was getting annoyed now.
“Marketing.”
Once again, the guy answers.
“I’m working on a book about marketing. How does that work for authors?”
Shelly sees this as a plausible question and answers.
“For Indie authors, we scratch each others’ backs. We promote each other.”
The creeper answers back.
“When do you ever have time for romance? Would you like to be caressed by a real man?”
Shelly ignores this and in a panic looks how to delete and block this jerk. And another message pops up.
“I’m going to the pub now. We’ll chat later. Okay?”
This is a true story, folks. I’ve had this happen on more than one occasion. And yes, he’s been deleted and blocked. But before doing this, I went to his page to see what he was up to. Everyone he’s befriended is a female. A lot of them authors. CREEPY-STALKER-SERIAL KILLER OF AUTHORS, PERHAPS?
One of his comments stated, he was lonely and in need of a good woman. And yet in another one he stated, he was sick of his possessive girlfriend. He also had several provocative poses of himself for a middle-aged adult.
I know a lot of times I’m so busy doing something else when I accept a request. From now on, I’ll be a little more choosey who I’ll except. It’s not like I want to meet Ted Bundy or the Craig List Killer re-incarnated.
Anyone else have this happen to them?
Hugs and chocolate,
Shelly
