Nine miles in ninety-eight years. Makes a snail look like a cheetah.
Or: Maybe it went all around the world and came back, like a salmon returned to spawn ...
In some ways, posting on the net is the modern version of messages-in-bottles. Now and then, I get a note from somebody who plugged something into a search engine and happened across a post I put on my blog. Of course, the blog has only been around six years; still, there are some references that are so narrow that somebody looking for information on, say, a Rolls Royce mechanic in Baton Rouge in the early 1970s, is apt to come across something I wrote.
Got a note from a guy just this morning who'd had a mutual acquaintance back in the day, and who spotted my post about the guy when I had discovered he had passed away a few years back.
Life is strange.
2 comments:
Add to that, all the people too shy to make a post, or drop you a line, and you never really can ever tell who you impact and how. Something that the Internet, as a whole, doesn't seem to get, or care if they do.
Being a writer, it's always been that way. Cast your bread upon the waters, and you get minimal feedback and some of that years after you wrote the story. Unless the book is a best seller, of course.
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