“Tricia, I have to confess, I’ve been stalking you.  I read everything you write.”

No, see, the thing is, I wrote it with the hope that someone would read it.  So if you read what I put out into the world, the collection of words with the stamp of my name and my heart on them, that’s not stalking.  That’s actually … kind of awesome. And super fun for me.

Let’s talk about what feels like stalking to me.

Driving by Starbucks to see if my car is there.

Locating my mailbox so you can see me get my mail.

Following me into the bathroom at a restaurant so you can speak to me alone.

Sending your kids to find my kids at the pool so they can finally become friends, because you’re sure they will be, and then we can have coffee and playdates together.

Learning my husband’s workout schedule so you can talk to him at the gym.

These things feel a teensy bit stalkerish.

Writers need readers. Readers are not stalkers.

Writers need to live their lives, though.  Without being followed.

There. That is all.


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