Plots From the Spam Filter

Tips for Texting a Girl wrote:

Just walk into your local book store or grocery store and see how many romance novels are on the shelves. Some girls will not want you to know that they are finding it tough after a break up and will put on a brave facade to not let you know how much they are hurting. She may even contact you before you get in touch with her.

Honest to gosh, I copied and pasted the words above directly from Akismet. Unlike most of my spam, it’s almost coherent. It’s punctuated. It uses verb tenses correctly. And that last line, “She may even contact you before you get in touch with her,” shows empathy. It’s conspiratorial. Winking.

I see him in the bookstore, hiding like a creep in the stacks of Romance, spying on the lovelorn ingénue, waiting for his big chance to offer her a personal-sized pack of Kleenex. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Do you read Nora Roberts? Here’s my number. Call me, maybe?”


He stalks her in Fantasy and Science Fiction. At the precise moment she turns a corner, he blocks her path. Hulk green and drooling. “Do you wanna dance, Baby?” Spittle litters the napless carpet. She runs away, cowering between the blank books and the greeting cards.FullSizeRender


She sees him in Children’s, legs folded criss-cross applesauce, reading Winnie-the-Pooh aloud to no one in particular. She sighs. “He’s the Piglet to my Pooh.”

It’s love at first sight.


Hey Girl!


Hey girl! I can’t wait for you to tell me take out the trash.


Hey girl! Of course, I’ll shop Anthropologie with you. Great idea!


Hey girl! You want me to put down this book on the Byzantine Empire to read Nora Roberts? Sure thing. I can’t wait.

easter sunday3Hey girl! Thanks for buying those confetti eggs. I always wanted shells in my hair.

Happy Valentine’s Day to Bacon. The love of my life since I was ten. Some things are not only meant to be–they are impossible to avoid. I love you!

Up All Night

I did it again. Pulled an all-nighter. I wasn’t partying or working or studying. I was reading a Nora Roberts novel. It’s a compulsion. When the pub dates are posted, I mark my calendar.

This time, it was The Last Boyfriend, the second installment of The Inn Boonsboro Trilogy. A few weeks ago, it was the big stand-alone, The Witness. I read so fast; I read them twice. After all, I don’t want to miss anything.

Why all night? Why Nora Roberts? She makes me turn the page.