I checked my email before basketball last week.
There was a message forwarded from the “contact me” portal on this very website.
Somebody was writing to tell me how much they loved my best-selling book Everything is the Same, but Exactly Different. By best selling, of course, I mean worst-selling.
That tracks, I thought to myself, the book is beautiful. It makes sense that somebody would like it.
The kind message lifted my spirits. Then I noticed it was signed by Suzanne Collins. That name sounded familiar. A Google search informed that, indeed, Suzanne Collins was the best-selling author of the Hunger Games. And by best-selling, of course, I mean actually best-selling.
Holy shit, I thought to myself.
Kind reader, I came close to quitting my job and buying a yacht right then and there.
***
I sent my new friend Suzy a thoughtful response. I told her about the writing I’m doing. In fact, I’d been moved me to tears by a sentence that surprised me that very morning. I was toiling in Pointdexters and realized something about family. I made mention of those tears to Suzy. The book is going to be beautiful. As beautiful as I can make it, I suppose.
My new friend Suzy sent me another quick reply. Suzy was interested in reading my new project. I was beside myself. I texted Katie:
“I’m best friends with the author of the Hunger Games,” I told her.
Katie read the messages when I got home from basketball.
“This looks legit,” she told me.
I mean, it isn’t crazy. My writing is good. I could see why Suzy was moved by it.
“Daddy’s famous,” I told the boys after picking them up from school. Their mouths dropped when I told them about my correspondence with the author of the Hunger Games.
Yes, kind reader, I was elated for the rest of the day. Maybe my new friend Suzy would help me score a prestigious literary agent. Maybe I’d finally put books into the world that would be actually best-selling. I’d be on a yacht in no time. Smoking a big fat cigar. Succumbing to the ever-present siren’s call of power, privilege, and empire. Giving into the security of wealth despite my commitments to other-orientated love, kindling light in this growing darkness, and giving away the burdens of this earthly tomb.
***
I spent the next morning working. Writing, too. My new BFF Suzy hadn’t written back yet.
Something stirred inside of me, and I found myself googling “Suzanne Collins scam.” This, kind reader, is what came up:
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
And here I was, one email away from sending my social security information, my credit card number, and my firstborn to my new friend Suzy.
Sure enough, I got an email later that day.
“Click this link,” Suzy wrote, “and I’ll share the project I’m working on. We can become great friends.”
The link in question looked something like this: xwafrscamwar.vdsg
I didn’t click the link. I considered hitting reply, and letting Suzy know that I was in desperate need of funding. If she could just wire me $1,000,000, our friendship would really bloom. I didn’t write that. I deleted the email and told Katie I was fraud. I admitted to my boys that Daddy had been scammed. I fear that soon I’ll be supporting Nigerian royalty across the world.
Look, kind reader, I’m happy with the book(s) I’m currently making. Good writing is bursting forth. These works are going to be as beautiful as I can make them. And I don’t need a yacht to justify what I am doing. Making something is good. Writing is good. I’ll keep at it, despite my inability to connect with Suzanne Collins.
I’m chasing light in the darkness, Suzy-impersonator. You can keep your promises of riches.
Samuel Jaye Tanner 