I've written about this before, but one of the joys of being a writer and editor is the opportunity to meet and speak with other writers. Sometimes they're famous, sometimes not, but they are among my favorite people. (Many of them drink like fish, for instance, which makes me feel instantly at ease with them.) (Ok, no, it's the writing.) (Ok, shit, yeah, it's the drinking.)
This blog affords many such opportunities, and even though I often embarrass myself here, it's ultimately more embarrassing to go up to a writer whom I've met through the internet and say, "Hey, yeah, so I'm, er, Sex. You know, from Sex Scenes at Starbucks?" Most online foks rarely know my real name and often call me Sex even if they do. I think it's cuz so many of them are men and they get sort of a secret little thrill from it or something. Or maybe it's degrading me, hell, I dunno. So far I'm still waiting for somebody to get their guts up to call me Sex to my face.
Of course, with a just a wee bit of hunting, an industrious reader could find my real name, which I loathe, btw. Even my husband just calls me Mo.
No, you can't call me Mo.
Anyway, last night I got out a stack of books for my mom to look at cuz she's out, and I knew or have chatted up most of the authors. Cool. Not for the fame factor, cuz that shit's stupid, but just because writers are such cool folks and I'm proud to count myself among their ranks.