September 16, 2018:
"I've read your writing," she began, with a really rather nasty undertone that was both dismissive and superior.
Followed-on with a second egregious swipe, this time how my incompetent spelling, while admittedly improved over the decades, nevertheless bugs her batty.
Elitist, controlling, mean-spirited, with undercurrent of genuine anger. Originating from some poisoned, evil well from which I emphatically have no intention of drinking.
So that when she transitioned suddenly to compliments I was not so much shocked as disoriented.
"But this," she said — meaning literally this, these daily exercises and experiments. "This is different entirely."
Catalog: confessional, poetry, algorithmic, haiku, memoir, essays, jokes. Culminating in the word "genius" which I find far beyond ludicrous.
It's unclear — well — exactly WTF. The reason someone so controlling and so manipulative would follow a laundry list of put-downs with something so generous. Where's this going?
Nowhere. I came to the inevitable conclusion that the manipulativeness and the controlling suggest someone who desperately seeks her own cult of self. With her loudly demanding advice and her seven worldwide followers. A thing I'm not now or ever will be remotely down for.