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almost famous

So.

There’s something going on that you’ve all been keeping from me.

I may be a wee bit slow on the uptake, but I’m not a moron.

Well, not completely.

But I have to say, when I found out, I was a bit shocked. A bit confused. A bit hurt.

This week, I discovered that people are getting famous off their blogs.

Book deals. Good Morning America spots. Articles in the New York Daily News outlining their pithy hipness, garnering them legions of fans worldwide.

Oh, I know. I’ve written that I do this for me. But I’m a Big Fat Liar. I do this for You, too. If I just did this for me, I’d write about things more intensely personal, more embarrassing, more stupid. I’d write about the herpes scare that wasn’t herpes (just a bad reaction to some lubricant). I’d write about how the Irish Guy I went on one date with told me he liked me fine but couldn’t see me again ‘cause I was too fat. I’d write about how Younger SlackBrother j. and my first fight in our apartment was over whether a death row defendant was allowed to cite Insufficient Counsel as a basis for appeal.

I also lack the things that make these blogs and websites famous. I don’t write no-holds-barred, attempting to respect that even though I choose to dance naked on the Information Superhighway (and I use phrases like Information Superhighway! Does anyone do that anymore?), they do not. My site design used to look like an eight-year old did it, but I’ve recently seen some sites designed by eight-year olds that look much better than this one. I don’t have a theme. I don’t have any useful information, unlike someone like my friend Krista, who is someone who actually deserves a book deal based off her site, as it's fun, witty, and informative.

I just randomly parade my life out, week by week, for all to see. I crave attention but I'm fickle with my relationship to notoriety. I want it, but on my own terms. I don’t have a webcam, I don’t parade cute pictures of me in thick black eyeliner rolling my eyes with my red-lipsticked mouth twisted in a smirk. I am somewhat but not totally identifiable. I originally did this for anonymity, but as time progressed, I don’t think anyone really cares. One could probably track down a picture of me if they really wanted, but I’m afraid the experience would lead to an Ozlike oh-this-is-the-woman-behind-the-curtain letdown.

I’m not saying that any of the women who have received these things don’t deserve them. On the contrary, I think that there are a lot of interesting, witty, well-written sites out there, and the more the merrier. And the women outlined in the articles above are funny, smart, brave women who put there lives out there for all to see. And the brilliant thing about books and articles and the like is that there’s always room for more.

It’s just that, in some way, I feel as if I’ve missed the boat.

Or, as A. put it much more succinctly you didn’t even know there was a boat.

I look through these blogs, these sites, from the ones that have garnered national attention and I notice one thing: that most of them have only been doing this for two to three years.

I’ve been doing this for seven.

It’s jealousy, plain and simple. I am happy for these women but at the same time I think why not me?

But the answer is: because you’re a moron, Nina.

My site design sucks. I don’t update regularly. I still don’t advertise (and how do you advertise, anyway?) I don’t submit my writing to the world at large, so how can I expect them to notice me? When I started writing the Slack seven years ago, I was told no one will ever read this. And so I just nodded and said oh, okay. Sure, when I got my writing gig, my agent though it was something new and interesting, and I had my honeymoon period of meeting with producers and networks who all were interested in my “voice,” but we could never come up with an actual show to build it around. It was shuffled off to New York and the Publishing World but the word came back as a “we like it but we can’t do anything with it.” When someone turns down a TV script of mine, I don’t get offended, ‘cause they don’t like my writing. But the slack is Me, Me, Me. So if someone doesn’t like the slack, they don’t like Me.

I sulked for a few hours. And then I got over it. Because I finally figured out the book that I’m supposed to write. And I figured out the show I’m supposed to do. And A., because he rules in all sorts of ways, is currently working on a site redesign. There probably still won’t be pictures, or a webcam, or even a wishlist, but there might be a t-shirt or two. And I’ll still tippy-tap away at the computer, trying to come up with something new to say each week, because even though I’m not out there on the Internet Red Carpet with throngs of people from my Fan Club crowded around hanging on my word, I still do this for me.

And for You.