Remember when there was no Internet? We used dictionaries, encyclopedias and we bought newspapers. We wrote letters to our friends, and when we were on the phone, we needed to be home for it. There were phone booths and the fastest way to send a written message was telegrams. Everything took longer. I wonder if we ‚knew‘ less people then. I certainly wrote to fewer.
So yesterday, I was contacted via Instagram by a person from Latin America who was looking for a way to get in touch with a mutual friend whose name I had mentioned once in a hashtag. A couple weeks ago, I would probably have passed on my friend’s details without blinking an eye. Yesterday, I did not. The reason for that is a big ugly catfish.
We’re all aware that the Internet is anonymous – duh. Creating an online persona is a piece of cake, and the younger generations grow up with Social Media being a given. There are forums and platforms for just about anything out there, and people connect, even when they’re thousands of miles apart or on different continents. Nobody has to be lonely anymore if they have an Internet connection. And that’s a beautiful thing, right?
I must admit, though, that one of ‚my‘ author’s recent exposure as a fraud gave me pause. Long story short, apparently the person, who had been writing under a pseud, allegedly because of their working in education in America, is not a he but a she, and a straight woman and not a bisexual man at that. They’ve caught some flak for that, as they have for using online friends‘ personal stories in their books. But what (understandably) upsets their fans most is their pretending to need cancer treatment without actually being sick, and accepting financial support from their community – which leaves a very bad aftertaste indeed… Shame, for I thought they were really talented. Needless to say, their publisher and co-author have dropped them, and their writing career is probably shot to shit. But seeing how easy it is to be someone else online, we may be hearing from them again after all without being aware it’s them. I imagine it must be so hard to stop being a writer if you have stories to tell, so what else are they going to do with themselves?
Self-absorbed as I am, it made me wonder how this translates into my own online identity, not so much as a blogger (for it’s my sneaking suspicion that stitch readers are mostly people I actually know). No, it occurred to me when I was thinking how it’s even possible that the author’s agent and publisher didn’t know their true identity. But then I realized that even I don’t really know most of my own clients in person. I’ve been shying away from the whole networking thing because I’m an introvert, I’ve not been going to the book fairs and conventions because crowds confuse me, and I’m not even a member of the translators‘ associations because I don’t really care. I might be a con person myself, and my work might be done by a slave I keep in the basement … kidding, I’m kidding! You know what I mean though, right?
So, weirdness happened. Please let me know your thoughts – have you ever experienced anything like this? As you can see, it is on my mind. But don’t worry, I’m fine, just a tad disappointed I won’t be translating this author again, probably.
I’ll go back to work on my completely down to earth knitting book now. The editing phase, sigh. Wishing you a lovely weekend with a pic from ‚my‘ spot by the lake around Easter.
P.S: My next post will be about my great pride and joy, the Dotty Blanket, which I’m about to actually finish. Take a peek: