The Big Secret - One of Them, Anyway

I know, I know, that last post was deliberate suspense-creation. Yes, I have sunk to the level of Big Brother and other wonderful reality TV crap. But I bet it worked, right?

I won’t keep you hanging any longer. I slept with Justin. Her much-beloved boyfriend. Not that it was really deliberate, you know? I was angry and scared and upset at being kidnapped and treated like a servant. Justin was pissed at being treated like a mobile sperm bank. He hadn’t even known about this plan of hers until she’d tried several times. He wasn’t keen on being a father right now, let alone to a half-alien creature who’d get taken away from him not long afterwards – oh yeah, and his girlfriend would be the one taking the baby away. She obviously hadn’t thought that he might want to be consulted about her going. And we justified it as not really cheating, because she wasn’t even human.

So we slept together, for comfort and company. And for the enjoyment factor, I’ve got to admit. I wonder if Lana was trying to breed some sexual prowess into her race as well?

 

The Missing Bits

Wanna know what Naomi missed out?

The best bits, of course.

I got my revenge. And now I’m scared stiff of what Lana’ll do when she finds out.

 

Nutcases Anonymous

Geez, I’ve been rambling and raving like a nutter on this blog. I’m surprised anyone is still reading. You’d think I’d know better, wouldn’t you, what with all the blogs I used to write. Popular blogs. But it seems harder to write as me than it ever did to write as someone I’d made up.

So let me try to get some more explanation happening. Naomi’s stories - they’re not 100% fiction, of course. Yes, I was a fiction blogger and Lana outed me. Yes, it utterly crushed me. See, I used to work in your classic crappy 9-to-5 – the sort that’s more like 8-to-7 – and I hated it. Passionately. Fiction blogging was originally my escape. Most people use books or computer games to escape the dull realities, but I used my blogs. Some reminded me of how much worse things might be. Others helped me feel alive and interesting again. Yeah yeah, I made money from it too. But I loved being those people, having all of those different lives. I felt as though I wasn’t constricted to just being boring old me. So Lana coming along and happily sweeping all that away so that she could have her bloody half-alien baby kinda pissed me off a little.

 

Fiction is Fiction

I really need to chill (as George’d say) about this ridiculous Fiction Blogger serial fiction shite. I’ve been sitting here reading it over and over and getting angrier over the misrepresentation of me. But it’s occurred to me - it’s fiction. Sure, it’s based on me. And sure, I wish it was written by someone like Bryce Courtenay or Katharine Kerr or dammit, someone with talent. But it’s not. And the poor woman’s sole source of information is Lana, because I’ve refused to talk to her. And Lana is clueless. Thank the universe!

Except… Lana’s not going to be clueless anymore if she finds this blog, is she? And you might well ask, why the hell am I willingly turning my arse into Lana-fodder?

Maybe I’m just self-destructive.

 

Introduction

So starting my first post with ’stuff you all’ probably wasn’t the best of ideas. Then again, maybe it was - you’re bound to end up hating me if you don’t already, so we might as well get all that friendly stuff out of the way.

So after that incredibly ungracious beginning, I suppose I should introduce myself. Right? Because there could be some innocent little blog-reader out there who’s never heard of me, or the crap I pulled, and could naively wander straight into the shitstorm that’ll hit when the rest of the blogging world finds me.

My name’s Sally. I used to run a number of blogs. All of them were written under different pseudonyms, pretending to be different people, with different audiences. Why? Because I made money from the advertising and various other tricks. I’d convinced myself that as long as I wasn’t scamming money straight from the pockets of the people I was ‘talking’ to, it was all fine and legal and etc. Well, it might’ve been legal, but when a certain person outed me, my fans turned on me. All of them. I was internet social pariah number one. Everybody hated me.

Impressive effort, eh? Up till now, everything’s been perfectly believable, and you can read about it on any blogging-news site. But the next chapter you’re not going to believe. That I can promise.

 

Stuff You All

I know you’re not going to believe me, OK?

Not just because my story’s ridiculous and fantastical, but because I gave away any right to be believed when I spent thousands of my - and others’ - hours writing fictional blogs, claiming to be people I wasn’t. I lied, I got caught. And now my name’s mud, and even the most gullible person would turn their nose up at a request for belief. Fine. Treat it as some fine fiction, or the ravings of a madwoman. Whatever. I need to get this out.

Stand by for some seriously messed-up shit.