The man grinned foolishly.
He lie in his own bed, for once, staring at the ceiling. The publicity tour for his long project had taken him around the world and back home finally, on its last leg. He’s conquered his thing with the Red Carpet and schmoozed with so many media types, that he was surprised he wasn’t sprouting gibberish. He felt beyond exhaustion but the moment his head hit the pillow, he was suddenly wide awake. Oddly, he didn’t want to think about all the incredible experiences he’d just encountered, but something else.
No, he needed some much needed rest. Tomorrow started early; he needed to finish the AM program circuit without bags hanging under his eyes. He had no time to humor himself. Turning unto his side, he burrowed into the pillow and willed himself to count sheep. The sheep morphed to ponies that morphed to dwarves that changes to – his eyes snapped open.
Damnit. He could practically hear the laptop calling him. He calculated fuzzily that he hadn’t been online in over a week. Was that too much time? He flopped onto his back. He had no way of knowing. He’d have to check.
The man sat at the laptop, sipping a glass of wine, neither of which was a good idea. He paused to reflect. He’d always wanted a place to let it all hang out, to be as chatty or reticent as he wanted, to discuss his fears and desires, to be creative, to nurture that geeky, creative side of himself. He’d always fancied himself something of a writer. His character biographies he created for his roles no doubt signaled a frustrated novelist. He’d written other stories never mentioned to a soul, stories containing characters woven completely from his vivid imagination. No ideal outlet existed to share his fiction, and the demands of his day job limited any full time pursuit. Ironically, his own fandom was that sort of place. He’d checked his Twitter hashtag and found fans discussing creative projects and events happening on the blogs, forums and tumblrs. They piqued his curiosity. He’d imagined that if he were a fan, he would join a community like this. He’d imagined also what kind of fan he’d be here.
Smiling, he went immediately to a blog called, “And So It Goes” written by Alia. Alia was a 40 something educated, literary woman who’d emerged in fandom a month ago. She was intelligent, erudite, reserved,and still reticent in disclosing facts about herself. She was also funny, a bit naughty and had the knack of getting facts straight about him and squelching rumors. She’d recently revealed herself to be a talented writer with a vivid imagination, having posted a few of her short stories to good receptions. He really liked Alia; she was exactly how he pictured himself. Scrolling down to the comments section on her latest story, he observed that she had picked up quite a few new commentators. Taking another swig of wine, he leaned eagerly forward to read.
The man smirked at the new signs as the large group of cheering fans held them aloft for him to read. Thank heavens they were talking to him now. He pulled out the ever-ready Sharpie, and scrawled his signature. He nodded and winked at a few for good measure , provoking bigger smiles if that were possible. Sending the last off, he entered the building and ducked into an alcove. Good, nobody could see. He pulled out the iPhone and tapped open his Twitter account, but paused for a second to think. Chuckling, he tapped open his secret Twitter account: @Alia. “OMG, I just met The Man!,” Alia tweeted. He thought and added, “he winked at me!” Maybe she might blog about it later; he’d have to finesse that. Or maybe something for Tumblr?
He grinned fiendishly. This was all manner of wrong. He was being terrible, awful – diabolical, practically.
But he was having such fun!