I always get excited every time an email lands in my inbox announcing a new subscriber to my newsletter. I need all the readers I can get. While other authors boast thousands of followers, I am thrilled to have one hundred—though I’ve learned not to dwell too much on the actual number of opens and clicks. It’s okay. I understand that everyone who is notified of one of my new, fabulous, exciting, hysterical blogs may not have time to spend a whole two minutes reading it. But honestly, I would be satisfied if they would merely click on it and give me the validation I crave as a writer. They don’t even have to read it.

However, nothing stings quite like the email informing me that a user has canceled my newsletter. Yes, I know, writers are supposed to have thick skins, and I’ve toughened up over the years. Not enough, obviously, but I’m working on it. But I always want to ask why someone who was previously a follower would decide they didn’t want to receive my newsletter anymore. Did I do something wrong? Say something offensive? Have they gone on a digital detox and unsubscribed from everything, including their favorite writer’s emails? Did they move to a remote area with no WiFi? Did they think my email was from their boss and accidentally unsubscribe?

And why go to all the trouble of canceling me? Couldn’t they just delete the email notice when it comes in or mark it as spam? That way, I’d never know, and I could go blissfully on with my writing life assuming someone is actually reading my blog.

I suppose if Hubby decided to cancel me, he would be justified since he often provides such amusing fodder for my blog and finds himself featured in so many of them. But I know he reads my blogs because he frequently corrects me where I have (allegedly) maligned him and besmirched his good name. Not that I particularly want to be confused with the facts. My kids also make good subjects, although they don’t read my blogs, which is probably good.
Still, the person who provides the most humor for my blogs is me.

To be a supposedly intelligent woman, I can do some of the most dimwitted things. Case in point: Not too long ago, I applied for a copyright for my new book and entered the wrong title. I accidentally entered the title of my previous book, which was already copyrighted. (I wonder if a book can be doubly copyrighted for extra protection.) I didn’t realize my mistake until I’d already paid the fee. Geesh! You’d think an author who had poured countless hours into writing a book would at least remember its title when applying for a copyright. Right? Thankfully, I discovered the error before I uploaded the wrong manuscript, but typical of a government site, the website would not let me go back and correct my mistake. I’ve tried repeatedly to contact the copyright office to see if I can get my money refunded. However, also typical of a government agency, there is never a real person to talk to or even email. I have a feeling I can kiss that fee goodbye.

Just think, those readers who canceled my newsletter will never hear that story. Their loss.

Remind me to ask my website manager if he can take the unsubscribe button off my website.