The world of
the internet is a befuddling landscape.
A while back in a random project of e-publishing I sent a few emails to
women interested in writing around the country through a website describing a
novel I wrote. If they were interested I
would share, if not I would not and wish them the best. It was a simple endeavor meant to stay
outside adjacent zip codes and accomplish something outside the box. In doing so I connected with a number of amazing
people including a fellow writer from a foreign city. These are our letters. The names have been changed to protect
reality from the internet, which I have learned is best that the two rarely
meet.
RE:
Hello Pascal,
I nearly forgot about this account,
or rather, stopped figuring it. I'm replying to you because we could have a lot
in common... And because I came to San Diego from Nola and am moving back next
month.
However, I'm not sure if you're
serious or if you're just pimping your book. I’ve been in the publishing world,
so if you're honest, please forgive my skepticism.
If the former is the case, please
email me at randomemail@qmail.com.
Cheers,
Sophia
An email a few days later,
Sophia,
I
understand the skepticism. I would
rebuff such correspondence as incredulous at initial review if I were in your
shoes. The combination of a man on such
a website and any writer hocking his wares is akin to a tonic salesman in most
instances.
My
novel is genuine. It reaches for
something universal. The book is deeply
personal for the path that brought me to create it. I have shared my words via different
avenues. The email I sent you was part
of a thought I had that this could be part of that equation.
I
found your profile by attempting to view women who were thinkers and writers, who
described themselves in a contemplative manner.
It is a parallel complement that the composition of a woman who would
probably enjoy my writing, would probably mirror much of who I am.
My
goal in emailing you and similar women about the book is to share the art I
created. As grandiose as it may sound, I
feel compelled to open up the philosophy, the politics, the societal
examination, the exploration of the human spirit, the generational issues that
we are dealing with in America that have driven through my brain and been
processed in this novel.
I
have spent much of my life introspectively and in that I have found the
universal. I do not think the place I
have arrived at is rare, but each of us has our own parallel path. That is the main theme of my novel; that we
are all interconnected, but to feel and experience that connection we each
recognize and arrive at that nexus via the free will of our individual
paths. I do not mean to get too deep,
but from your email it sounds like beneath your skepticism is a desire for a
genuine response.
I
would like to meet you when you get back to New Orleans. I agree, it does sound like we could have a
lot in common. The confluence of
logistics is a pleasant surprise.
I
will hold off on sending the novel. The
piece is semi-autobiographical fiction for a large portion, as well as a
political blog. If we are to meet, I
would prefer you getting to know me rather than an emulsion of fact and fiction
forcing you to syphon reality from text.
Here
is my number. (666) 777-2222, Call me
when you have had a chance to settle down in town a bit.
Pascal
Based on how Sophia described
herself, she was a professional writer, a traveler of Europe, a spiritual woman,
an equestrian, a fan of J.D. Salinger and many books. The tone of her verbiage was clever with a
self-acknowledged complex nature.
Text
a month and a half later: Sophia to Pascal
Hi
Pascal, this is Sophia- we were emailing about your book. I’m in town, let me know if you want to grab
coffee or wine.
Pascal:
I’ve been under the weather, maybe one day next week after work?
Sophia:
Sure feel better
Four days later, Pascal calls Sophia in the
evening. Sophia answers and says she is
headed out with friends and she will call tomorrow.
An email a week later,
Sophia,
I have not heard
from you in the time I expected your correspondence and can ponder the busyness
of your schedule to reluctance based on any number of factors. I thought about
waiting a few more days to offer you the opportunity to contact me. Then I
thought to myself these are thoughts that would bring me and hopefully you some
manner of joy in sharing, if for no other reason that sometimes the novel
moments of life are sublime.
I was thinking
of this odd manner in which we became slightly aware of each other. The
sentiments I currently find myself contemplating are a bit bizarre in their
arrangement, yet nevertheless welcoming and deserving of expression at the risk
of being misunderstood. So as with most
occasions in life, I would prefer to be effusively forthright and be judged a
fool, than to swallow a muted pool of regret.
I am writing you
because I care enough about myself and what I seek to cultivate in my brief
time on this Earth to invest my available energies into growing what could be
beautiful, could be nothing, or could be a disastrous plague upon histories
depending on the sardonic irony of the internet.
In the debate of
that possibility, I know the core of my being goes into my writing to see the
world with a unique lens. It certainly is not my totality, but it is integral,
deep and constantly leads my mind down fresh corridors. I have spent many hours
of my lifetime in quest to invest my time with similar, but not identically
fueled-people.
I am pursuing
you. The narrative of your digital self-portrait ignites a potential reciprocal
nature to what may fit very well with my own. I owe it to myself to invest in
the opportunity with a commensurate level of healthy sincerity, assertiveness,
and indulgence.
After that I can
begin to form an opinion if I even like you. I would expect you to do the same.
(You may be a closet crazy stalker or really hate books or smash the ice cream
cones of small children to the sidewalk when given the opportunity. I don’t
know. You may be offended by my covert nerd hobbies, past misdeeds, home-made
wall-art or abhor the Clash. Life is a crapshoot. So who knows, but…)
I am particular
in crafting my life’s journey while remaining humble and cognizant to
awe-inspiring choices bestowed in our humanity which most often come in simple
packages of circumstance. This might be one of those.
Most potential
dating opportunities are laden with unknown optimistic potential, which leaves
one wanting. I prefer the visceral and embroiled storylines of reality, flaws
included. I am searching for a real woman, one of substance, capability and
graciousness who also sees the world through her own unique lens.
You came across
to me as plugged-in to the greater measures of contemplative human life wanting
to set the bar of the discourse and subtleties you share with whomever it is
you appear to be seeking at a level commensurate with the weight in which you
have invested in yourself.
I may be
mistaken in this inference; surely it does not encompass the description of a
woman I have never met. It is but an inferred sentiment full of imprinting or
folly, but it is what struck me from reading what you wrote about yourself. I
would want you or anyone I meet to be only who she is fair and direct, knowing
I do the same kindness.
I know what I
bring to the table and though my knowledge of you is resourced by the
precarious foundations of the internet, a proper introduction and dissemination
of fact and fiction can be applied quite adequately by meeting face to face and
the potential iterations thereafter. I also know that people like me and
probably you are scarce in this world, especially in a city the size of New
Orleans.
If you had never
emailed or texted me on this possibility, I would be fine and content in my journey.
But having considered the opportunity, I would prefer to assert my desire to
see this chance through for whatever it may or may not bring.
For at the risk
of appearing complimentary, you seem like you might be worth the trouble. If
you’re not I’ll tease you like hell, make you laugh and make the best of my
erroneous estimations. If I’m wrong I’ll buy you a Chardonnay and as a last
memory you can thrust it my face as long as we are in public and scream as you
walk out, “You magnificent bastard. You promised me rainbows! Rainbows!” If I’m
right, you owe me a whiskey sour and a smile.
I thought about
texting you or writing something more concise and direct to the effect of, “I
am free next Thursday, would you care to still get together?” Perhaps with most
other people I would have chosen such a fork. As my initial gut impression of
who you might be, I chose another path.
So if you are
still interested, give me a call and we can go from there.
With much
kindness,
Pascal
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