I remember when My Space was big. every one was in a hurry to upload their pictures and find friends on it. The facebook came out and made the social networking scene childes play. putting the ability to find the majority of people you have ever met in your life at the tips of your fingers.
I off-lined my personal facebook account for personal reasons. I felt as if my personal life is unimportant to who i want too be. so i made a Twitter account. I did this so i can connect my self with other people doing the same quest i am. looking for my self, or the life style of my self.
On Twitter, i can share my writers life with out compromising my personal security. for working in the security style industry for years, this is paramount too me.
So! if you have a Twitter for personal or for your writer life style please add me follow me and encourage me into a better life style!
rsrousel is my user name.. if that doesn't work try R.S. Rousel!
5 hrs into my trip I stopped off at this small town called White Haven. I picked this exit simply because I needed gas for the suv. Pulling into the gas station I get out and begin filling ritual of my o-zone killer. Along side of me is a silver minivan with a handful of young ones sitting inside. Cute little rascals they were. They were not unattended; it appeared that they had a caring older sister in her early teens keeping an eye on them.
My phone beeps and catches my attention. An incoming call from what looks like another fellow writer I had a coffee date with earlier today. I obviously forgot but I needed to come up with a good cover story. I’m sure telling him that I was on a chase for the guy that wrote my story for me years ago wouldn’t do anything for my image in the community. “Scott Dalton.” I say as I pick up the phone call. I chit chat this guy for a few minutes to find out he was apologizing for not showing up to our coffee date. Only of the guy knew. While talking to him I noticed the parent of the van full of offspring was by the pump. She was gowned in almost all black from head to toe. She even had one of those Muslim Hijeb deals on. She was looking at me, and then she would look away and look at me out of the corner of her eye.
I hung up on my friend as I felt the pump disengage. My suv was full and ready for more trekking. “Excuse me sir?” I hear as I begin to round the nose of my vehicle. I look over at the woman clad in black attire peering at me from around the pump. “Yes?” I asked.
“Scott Dalton? The Writer?” she asks stepping around the pump.
Thinking about the question she asked for a second, I didn’t want to answer ‘yes’. I didn’t quite feel like a writer, more like a thief. But then again telling her that I’m Scott Dalton the thief probably wouldn’t be the best idea.
“Yes ma am, that’s me.” I answered as I put on the plastic fake grin on my face
“The Writer of Final Gambit?” she asks.
It honestly felt like someone was stabbing me in the gut over and over again when she asked. Normally I loved the attention but knowing that it’s not my story, it feels wrong.
“Yep, that would be me.” I said with a smile on my face.
“Really? I’m such a big fan of your work Scott!” she erupts with excitement.
Again, my work? All I can do is get this woman off of my case as soon as possible so I don’t end up driving off a bridge out of shame and disgust of myself.
“Really? Thanks! I didn’t know I had fans way out here in the Poconos.” I remarked
“Oh yes, you sure do!” she says laughing. Cute laugh, not going to lie.
“What brings you way out here?” she asks tilting her head in question
“You’ll never believe me even if I told ya'.” I said walking a little closer
“Promise to keep a secret?” I ask playfully.
She shakes her head in excitement with the thought that I’m really going to tell her a secret. Little does she know, she just became my therapist for the moment.
“I’m looking for the real writer of The Final Gambit, see I just stole story.” I said with a grin
She busted out laughing. The joke was on her, I didn’t lie.
“You’re a funny guy Mr. Dalton.” She says in mid laugh.
I begin to laugh hoping it would make me feel at least a little better. Laughing is medicine to some people. Always wondered if I was one of those people.
“I try to have a sense of humor.” I added as I walked to her with my hand extended.
Our hands clasped and I felt her soft skin on mine. Firm grip for a woman.
“It was a pleasure, and always is a pleasure meeting a fan.” I state.
Looking over her sunglasses at me she smiles.
“Hey, it’s not every day I meet my favorite writer at a gas station in the middle of no were.”
After the exchange of good byes', I sat in my suv and wanted to cry. Not literally but the weight of this was really on me. I need to find this R.T. Colo and put my mind at ease.
Driving off I begin thinking of the conversation with the woman. I started to feel bad and made the discovery that laughing isn’t a medicine for me, nor is she a good therapist.
For the last 5 years I have reaped the rewards of s successful book I had published called “the final gambit.” Now I say published, not written simply because I did not write it. Allow me to elaborate. Back in early 2004 I joined this online writer’s community forum where new and experienced writers could talk about writing and publishing. Some would post short stories for contests and others would be looking for a review of their work. I was one of the new writers that wanted to win the writers contest. I spend 3 weeks writing 3 chapters for a story on the topic of “Spy thriller”. I barely made the dead line. Days passed and my work was submitted, reviewed and judged. Out of 15 entries, I placed 10th. Needless to say I didn’t have the skill or material to win a small contest, or the 3 million dollar life style i'm living now.
After losing that contest, and a few others like that one I gave up and worked on becoming a better boy friend. It was 3 months after my original submission of the 3 chapter fail story I submitted, I received an e-mail that changed my life forever. The senders name was obviously a pen name, R.T. Colo. The contense of the e-mail was 4 chapters of fan fiction based off of my original 3 chapters I submitted months ago. The work was phenomenal, simply phenomenal. I read it over and over again and each time I did this, I fell more and more in love with the story. I attempted to contact this R.T. Colo on a few occasions but could never lock him down. It was mid 2006 when I received the 23ed chapter of this epic story. Completely taken by its complexity in story and dense plot, I printed out a few copies and handed them out to my friends and family.
I was promptly urged to submit this story to a publishing firm. Without thinking it through me did. In almost no time I had my first published book. Years pass and the book is making my money to where I don’t need to work a real job. So I quit my private investigator job and live a near spoiled life. I went too as many book signings and conventions as I could. My fan base was picking up at a rate I didn’t expect. I even received a proposal to turn my book into a movie. Needless to say, things are looking good for me and my bank account.
Then the darndest thing happened. I was being my typical self and came across a thread on a forum that was all fan fiction of my book. The material I read was unbelievable! But something hit me. Something weighed on my chest with conviction. My story, “The Last Gambit” wasn’t my story. Now I had known this since day one but ignored it because of the letter S with two little diagonal slashes through it. I wanted as many of those dollar bills as I could get.
I fell into this dark place in my emotions. I have taken credit for another writers work without giving him any acknowledgement or royalty. I began looking for this person’s info. With a little bit of digging I discovered his user name on my old forum community was R.T.Colo. I must have spent all night looking over achieved posts and blogs from this guy. I became obsessed with some of his short stories. He alone is the creator of The Final Gambit. I’m just a thief. I need to find this man. I spend a whole week logging into every popular writer’s forum site I can find and there I made my discovery. He was an active user on a site called Sippin’ Pages Café. Apparently it’s a real coffee shop in Philly Pa. there is evidence that he goes to this café in some of his posts. It would be the best start for me and my quest.
I read my things for a week long adventure in the wonderful state of pa. Loaded up my gas guzzling, not-so-eco-friendly SUV, activate my GPS and hit the road by 5 am the next day.
I have this friend that has the wonderfull ability to work from home 3 out of the 5 days of the week. I find that working from home as a un-published writer to be far too distracting. Im always doing somthing else like playing some online game looking for "inspiration". looking back at my work, the only time i feel right with writing is when im at my real job. the idea of being paid to do one thing but doing another is some what attractive to me.
so here i sit, writing my first blog and writing in my project called "The Book of Things."
Separate names with a comma.