I like to tell myself that I can be both logical and intuitive. Sometimes I can fail on both counts. This happened to me on Wednesday night when I threw up my hands in defeat. I simply couldn’t grasp a concept. Gone. Escaped.

Some of you may be aware of my escapades on Readwave, an online short fiction site. I do pretty well over there. 22000+ reads. Modest, but cheering nonetheless. One of the fave characters people like is Charlie, the very feminine appearing woman with a mouth like a sewage station, an attitude that scares even me (and I invented her), and a propensity for extreme violence.

I posted another story about her on Tuesday, and by the endish of Wednesday she was top of the heap, cock of the walk. Very pleasing.

Then a mysterious comment drifted through my email transom. You may need to sit down here.

‘Your writing only gets read because you’re popular.’

That made me do a goldfish impersonation. I only get read because I’m popular? Isn’t that arse about face? I’m popular because I get read, surely? Isn’t that how it works?

I now throw myself on the mercy of the court. Can ANYBODY figure out the sense here? I have a suspicion it’s somebody arsed off with my success, but it’s babbling from the sickbed, isn’t it?

Answers on a postcard please. Oh, by the way, here is Charlie at her best.