So, Internet, you may notice that from time to time, I talk about my family on this site, but they don’t comment or otherwise appear.
That is because I have long refused to tell them where this site is. My mother is only vaguely aware that the site exists, my brother and father are clueless, and my sister has an insane determination to locate the site.
I haven’t told them, though, because I do not want to feel stifled. You know we are all different when we’re around our families than we are around our friends, even if our friends happen to comprise the entirety of the Internet. It sounds weird, I know, but I am actually extremely uncomfortable with people I actually know reading my writing. To be clear, I don’t actually consider blogging (my blogging, at least) to actually be writing, which is why I am okay with the Internet reading it, but you’ll notice that even though I now am an honest to goodness writer who gets paid for writing things, I have yet to tell you anything about those things or where you might read them. Because I’m not even comfortable with people I e-know reading my actual writing. I still don’t even really consider myself a writer, and probably never will.*
You may wonder how I’ve gotten away with this, but if you don’t know the words “Temerity Jane” and only know me in person, this site is remarkably hard to find. My full name brings up a Google page full of results on a certain actress. The site has managed to hide in plain sight for quite a long time.
Me: Why do you even WANT to read it! It’s boring!
Kate: Because you’re funny!
Well… yes, yes I am. But I still refused to tell her. I knew she’d try to look, and figured maybe some day, some how, she’d manage, but trust me – if you don’t know what you’re looking for, this page is hard to find.
Then, last Tuesday, glancing at my stats after the influx from the Whedon post, I noticed something, all the way at the bottom, about to get knocked off the list by the next visitor. A 20 minute visit from the Lackawanna County Library system.
Hm… my sister lives in Lackawanna County, PA. And she doesn’t have a computer, so she uses the ones at the library!
I called her. No answer. Text messages ensue.
Me: I’M ON TO YOU, SISTER.
Her: (knowing immediately what I’m talking about) Who, me? *innocent look including dimple flash*
Little while later, my phone rings.
Her: So… how mad ARE you?
Me: How did you find it!
Her: I don’t even remember.
Me: Oh my god, how long have you known?
Her: Um… less than a year.
Me: You are in so much trouble.
Her: I know. As soon as I got that text message, I was like, “Nooooooooooooo!”
Me: You haven’t told anyone, have you?
Her: No! And think about how I felt, I’d be sitting in the library almost peeing my pants and everyone was looking at me funny.
Me: YOU’RE GOING TO FEEL LIKE SUCH AN ASSHOLE IF YOU RUINED MY SITE.
Her: Nothing has changed! Keep it together!
So apparently, even after being told that I would prefer to keep my site private from my actual family, she found it one day and immediately felt so guilty she closed the page (after writing down the name, of course). And once in a while, when the temptation got to be too much, she would open the site and read only the front page, never going back in the archives, and she has kept this secret from me for almost a year. CONSUMED WITH GUILT AT HER DECEPTIVE WAYS.
As you know, however, later that day my attention was taken away by other, more shiny matters.
On Wednesday, she finally made her first blog appearance.
KATE, yo SISTA:
GUESS WHAT! since you got engaged you totally forgot how mad you were at me! SCORE! thanks phil!
oh yeah and congrats. sweet bling. i mean ring.
Oh, I didn’t forget. I did NOT forget.
So, Internet. Does your immediate family read your personal blog? Do they even know it exists? Have you gone to any lengths to deliberately conceal or hide it from your family? What would you do if your sister had been stealthily spying on your life for almost a year without saying a word about it? Even if she read a story on your site that you later told her and she pretended not to have ever heard it before? Would you mail her a box of dirt? Would you make her wear a giant bow on her non-existant ass in your wedding?
* Why I do not, and probably never will, consider myself a writer: I write a lot. I write all day every day. I write for other people who do not have the time to write things for themselves. They tell me their ideas and what they need, and I write it up for them. When I write here, on this site, I generally write about things that have happened. If you notice, there is a complete lack of original ideas in both areas. I do not have ideas. Writers have ideas. I am capable of the actual, physical act of writing, but not of creation from nothing.