Hey, can someone check out the calendar for me? Is it seriously Monday already? I feel like I just answered my latest email for the Monday Mailbag yesterday, but alas, here we are again. For it is Monday, and there is certainly a mailbag. There’s no denying that. So here I am, clad in gray shorts, ready to answer some mail. (You may think the color of my shorts is irrelevant; I assure you it is not.
Hey, Dave-o, any trouble with paparazzi these days?
Chuckles, Paris TX
Well, Chuckles, can I just say that your name makes me…well, never mind. Cheap thrills are great and all, but that one seems just too easy. I gotta let it slide, my friend. So, the paparazzi? I knew this question was coming eventually, and I figured it would come from somewhere glamorous. Paris? Nailed it!
The truth is, the paparazzi live for people like me. Notice I said live and not lives? Well, my good followers (all 11 of you), that little i on the end says, “Hey, buddy, this world is in Italian. And it’s plural!” So, there you go. Anyway, the paparazzi are all about authors. They love to follow around pasty, socially awkward people to plaster on the front of grocery aisle rags. What can I say? We sell.
And indie authors are tops on the most wanted list. As soon as it came out that I recently sold my 44th copy of The Boo Hag, they were all over me like flies to, well, anything. I was out with the fam this weekend, and I saw some dude sneaking up behind me with his camera. He tried to play off like he was taking a picture of his adorable little daughter doing adorable little daughter things. Was I fooled? No. As soon as he got within striking distance, I snapped flying kick to his aftermarket lens, and left his camera in little pieces on the ground. He was mad. That’s what you get, Mr. Paparazzo!
Consider your Monday Mailbag-ed.