Hello Lance lovers,
You lovable, quirky lot.
It needs to be said that I write 50 percent for me and 50 percent for you.
If it weren’t for you, I’d be a proper lady, a reserved lady. Actually, I’d be a Luddite, blissfully unaware of social media and the stronghold it has on everyone’s lives. I’d be a true technophobe, which means on top of being inept at operating my remote control, I’d also be inept at Facebook. But a blogger who rejects Facebook is like a sitcom actor who renounces television.
Facebook is how I’ve reached many of you.
Just when I think I should keep my stories to myself, one of you sends me a sweet note that says something like, “I love your blog. I enjoy your stories. Your writing makes me laugh.” Or, “I appreciate your heartfelt sentiments on the subject of cockroaches.” Or, “I once accidentally used my dad’s toothbrush too.” Or, “Where can I find the shoes you wore for your wedding?” Or, “I also love the smell of my dog’s paws.” Or, “I sent my friend a link to your exploding television post. Her husband recently installed a ginormous flat screen in their living room. She’s about ready to blow it up herself.”
Your feedback warms my heart.
Two readers on opposite sides of the globe once wrote me near-identical emails describing near-identical dreams they had about me. Both readers dreamt they had visited me in Florida and I forced them to sleep outside in a tent. Maybe it’s because I love tents. (Last year I posted a series of stories about camping across the country with the pug.) Or maybe it’s because I’m actually a miserable Broom-Hilda who gets off on torturing house guests.
I’m not, but man did I love these coincidentally perverse dreams.
If it weren’t for you, I’d write everything in my journal and lock it away from the rest of the world. I’d keep stories and inane observations to myself — or I’d just bore my husband with them.
A friend recently told me she seeks out Lance when she’s feeling sick or sad. She pulls up posts when she’s curled up in bed with her laptop and a runny nose. Lance is like her pint of Häagen-Dazs.
How flattering is that?
So thank you loyal readers. I savor your compliments (and even your insults).
I do not have a stat counter or any kind of fancy analytics device to track who you are, where you are or when you read. What matters to me is that the stories mean something to someone somewhere. The freedom to write for a nebulous audience invigorates me. Each time I write a post I feel like I’ve rolled up a message, stuffed it in a bottle and tossed it out to sea.
The message washes up much quicker this way. If I were really a Luddite, you’d have to wait years (and live by the ocean) to read something new.