This is a special message for some "very special people" who know me and who've ignored me because you couldn't get past your own envy, jealousy, hatred, embarrassment or whatever the hell you want to call it to actually take a look at my books, my blogs or my website or anything else about my writing career. This message is for all you selfish, self-centered louts who always have to be the center of attention and who always have to be number one, always on top, or else shooting for the top with the limelight in your face at all times.
This is also for everybody I gave my business card to and who looked at it like I'd just crapped in your hand. This is for all you blockheads who thought I was trying to nickel-and-dime you just because I mailed you a handmade art card with my author business card inside. And this is for every spineless, spamming web worm who tried to sell me your own crap instead of taking the first look at one my books. I never spammed any of you. Not even once.
This is for the incredibly hostile hicks and snobs who tore down my book fliers after I placed them on supermarket bulletin boards throughout the local area. I thought you might at least get a kick out of my being a local author, if nothing else. I was actually hoping that somewhere, somehow, someone in the local area and especially someone who's known me for a long time just might feel good about knowing someone from this area who'd six science fiction thrillers, two literary novellas and a book of blogs.
I also wished that someone who knew me would put aside their Appalachian, redneck, hostile, jealous hatred or their snobby hatred of everything Appalachian or everything Mountaintop for one tiny, rare moment and enjoy what I'd done with the latter half of my dwindling lifetime. But that never happened.
So, if you can take a moment to pull your heads out of your own asses and take a look at the real world, you'll realize that I'm not "trying to be" anyone. This is the real me. Michael Casher the writer. Michael Casher the author. Not Mike Casher the whatever the hell you need him to be in order to make you feel better about yourself, with very little regard for who I am. Been there and done that, happily and voluntarily, way too many times. But that's history now. It's no longer a one-way street just headed your way. In the real world, life is a two-way street. Get used to it.
That's right, all my life I freely and willingly gave my time and my life to many of you because of who you were. I cared about you, I cared for you, I championed your causes, your abilities and your efforts. And the one time I needed you to be there for me, to make me feel good about finally having the time to be an author, you turned your backs on me. Some dastardly deeds in life are unforgivable. And you know who you are. I was the person I wanted to be as I cared about you people and, waiting inside me, was the other half of me. The writer. And when you finally saw him emerge when I was fifty, you scorned him. Now you must live with that.
My shirt store, for example, has been up for more than six years now and I'm the only one who bought anything there, most of them for my mother. There are some really hateful people out there and you know who you are. If this had been you, I'd be wearing your shirts to support you and to tell you how proud I was. You people need to take a good hard look at yourselves in the mirror before you leave this planet or you won't be headed where you think you're going. Trust me. I look in the mirror every day and work on what I see and it's not my face. It's the man behind it. So, if you wanted to hurt me and make me feel terrible, well, you certainly succeeded. I hope you're all satisfied. I'd have never done that to you. Never. I'm sorry I was ever born because eleven years of this crap is just the tip of this iceberg. I've been the target of your hatred for sixty-two years now and you don't get to take any more shots at me. End of story.
Yep. That's the concept. What you labeled was the Mike Casher you needed me to be. Not who I really was and who I really am. So, you can stick that worn-out phrase, "Who in the hell is he trying to be?" up your wazoos where it belongs. I'm being exactly who I really was all along. You self-centered louts. If you take another moment with your heads out of your asses, you'll see that I was always both people. But you could only see just the one. The one who was there for you.
But it's too late now for your lying, condescending acknowledgement. Twelve years is a long time to wait for a little recognition for being an author from people I know (or who know me), people who are apparently so filled with hatred or anger or envy or just plain full of themselves they couldn't take a minute out of their lives to tell me, "Hey, way to go!" My God, that would have meant an awful lot to me to have heard that from someone. But no one told me that. Not a single, blessed soul.And there are a lot of you who know who I am. And you know who you are. A lot of people know that I've been a science fiction author since 2002. And yet you'd begrudge me a simple compliment that would've made me feel really good about what I'd done. Writing a book is not easy and writing nine of them (so far) took at least ten years off my lifespan. I thought it was worth it but now I'm not so sure. And yep, it's way too late for your belated, phony recognition. When you have to ask for it, it means nothing.
So, if you've ignored me so far, just keep on going. It's obviously who and what you really are. I just wanted you people to know that it's too late for you to do the right thing now. And, while we're at it, I wasn't put on this planet for your amusement. You want somebody to make fun of? Yeah? Well, go someplace else.This page is proof of what can happen when you treat a nice guy like a piece of crap. You get crap in return. That's right, feedback is a two-way street. So...you all have this coming to you. And don't think for one minute that you don't.
P.S. Now, if you're not one of the "very special people" I'm referring to, then pay no attention to this "Outbound" page. Just pretend you got lost in a hideous, roving wormhole and your only way out is to click on a NavBar link. Or you can just leave this website altogether. It's no skin off my ass either way. Not anymore.
Michael Casher, Author, written in 2012 and updated annually so years, dates, and amounts match the real world.