As you may have suspected, I get a lot of emails. Particularly, fan mail. So much so that I actually have a special folder in which my email server automatically funnels these types of correspondence. I thought today it might be fun to share some of these missives with you.
 
Dear Ms. Luongo,
I am Shamash Din Choudry, British citizen and second in line to ascend to the throne of Nigeria. I find myself trapped in Zimbabwe without my passport. If you could wire me $5,000 cash immediately, I will pay you back as soon as I get home, tenfold. Would you prefer reimbursement in jewels or gold?
Also, I am not a criminal.
Thank you,
Shamash

Of course, I was immediately suspicious. I can’t tell you how many Nigerian princes have emailed me over the years, some proposing marriage, all wanting money. Here’s what they don’t know in Nigeria: being a writer is a terrible way to make a living. Also, what’s going on in the Nigerian economy that they’re all so broke? But then I read that last line, assuring me he was not a criminal. Clearly, a real criminal would never make such a statement.

He sounded like a nice guy. I sent him five dollars and a signed copy of Ordinary Boy.
__________________________________________________

Dear Stacey,
Go longer and stronger tonight! Introducing the new d*ck drug that is sweeping the nation! Improve your libido! Monster erections! CLICK HERE

One of the problems with being a visible celebrity figure is that you get this kind of mail all the time: creepy strangers propositioning you. I always try to be polite when I respond, though.

Dear Dick,
Thank you so much for your kind encouragement to go “longer and stronger” with my next novel. However, your email was a tad inappropriate, and I am not that kind of girl. However, if you send me your address, I would be happy to send you a signed copy of Ordinary Boy.
Hugs,
Stacey
__________________________________________________

Dear recipient,
Avangar Technologies is exploding growth and would like offer you opportunity to earn extra money working with Avangar Technologies. druggists blame classy gentry Aladdin. We are looking honest, hard-working people to working 2 – 4 hours week from home and earn $3000  –  $5000 weekly. lovelies hockey meager bespeak.
Please respond with your banking information, credit card number, and mother’s maiden name.

Okay, I’m not sure how this one was sent to my “fan mail” folder, because clearly, this person needs an editor. And they were willing to pay—a lot. $3,000 to $5,000 a week? Even though the estimation of two to four hours was ridiculous—if the rest of his manuscript looked like this email, it was going to take a lot longer than four hours to fix—it was still a lot of money.

I sent him my banking routing number and account number, my mother’s maiden name, and a signed copy of Ordinary Boy. But not my credit card number. I’m not stupid.
__________________________________________________
 
Dear Ms. Longo,
I just finished reading Ordinary Boy and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. Curtis immediately drew me in, and I loved reading his life’s jorney. I cried through the last three chapters.
You truly have a gift. Thank you for sharing this incredible story.
Sincerely,
J. Hamhock

This email is FULL of red flags. First off, “journey” is spelled wrong, so clearly she didn’t mean it. Secondly, “J. Hamhock” couldn’t possibly be any faker of a name. Clearly this is just someone trying to get a free signed copy of Ordinary Boy. I immediately hit delete.
 __________________________________________________

To those of you out there who are thinking about writing to your favorite author, I’d urge you to do so, because it’s always nice to hear from one’s fans, especially when they’re encouraging you to go longer and stronger. Sometimes we need to hear these things. But please, stop asking for free stuff and money.

Unless you’re from Nigeria. I get that. Seriously, your whole country seems to be broke.

Looking your best can be hard (I hear). Maybe you’re a busy woman; perhaps you just don’t see the point in waking up early to put on your face and curl and tease your hair. Personally, if I have a choice between sleeping later or putting on makeup, sleep will win every time, hands down. This might be why nobody ever says, "Hey, you're looking your best today!" when they see me, but no matter. I'm well-rested. Here are a few beauty shortcuts I’ve taken over the years:

Hair: The first step is to tell your hairdresser you want a low-maintenance cut. When she asks how low maintenance we’re talking here, be honest. “I want to be able to dampen it a little and leave the house,” I always say. “Seriously? Do you even run a comb through it?” he or she will usually respond. “Does it look like I comb my hair?” I’ll ask, and then they shake their heads sadly in defeat.

Luckily, I have curly hair. My hair is cut in layers, so “dampen and go” usually works fine. If you have long hair, straight hair, or wavy hair that takes primping, I have one word for you: ponytail.

Eyebrows: I’ll confess nobody ever taught me how to pluck my eyebrows. My mother doesn’t pluck hers, and my sister must’ve learned how to do it from one of her friends or a fashion magazine, and never shared the details. Before embarking on an eyebrow-plucking session, study someone close to you who plucks theirs. I’ll often study my sister’s shapely brows and think, Okay, the arch is probably important. Where in the heck did she learn to do that? Why has she never taught me how to do it? Is it because I hit her with a tap shoe that one time? Followed by That looks like a lot of work. I find it then helps to Google “natural eyebrows in style.” Scroll through the results and decide your unibrow is fashionable right now. (Visit unibrowdorks.com for confirmation and affirmation.) Leave 'em alone.

Makeup: When you’re in your twenties, maybe you feel like you can’t even leave the house without foundation, blush, eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow, lip liner, lipstick, and finishing shimmery powder in place. As you get older, you’ll realize a universal truth: If I wear something low cut, nobody will even be looking at my face. Trust me on this. If you show off the girls, you’ll never have to buy mascara again.

Perfume: Finding your signature scent can be harder than you might think. Perfumes will react with your natural body chemistry and change, and you may find that Chanel No. 5 smells like Septic System No. 1 when spritzed on your skin. Also, spray lightly: if people start gagging and choking when you get on an elevator, you might want to lay off the perfume.
​
I’ve found that it’s best to go with a light, airy fragrance. This is why I wear Febreze Air Effects Air Freshener, Meadows and Rain. One quick fwoosh and I’m ready to face the world. Also, it makes the car smell nice.

I could give you a hundred more tips, but some things ("waterproof" mascara is a bald-faced lie) you just have to learn on your own.
 
Picture: Hair by indoor plumbing. Eyebrows by God. Shirt by Forest Haunts, and I promise you, nobody is looking at my face.

This week, a friend sent me a picture of a diorama his son had done for a school project. It showed a scene from one of this writer friend’s short stories. Now, I don’t have to tell you the cuteness that this exudes. I’m pretty sure neither of my sister’s boys has ever done a diorama from one of my stories. It almost makes me want to have kids just to make them do a report on one of my books. (Almost.)

“That story seems so long ago,” my friend texted.
I tried to do the math. “When did you write that? Seven years ago?”
He confirmed it had been published in 2011, which to me means that yes, he must’ve written it in 2010. Seven years. It seems to be such a short time—and yet eons.

Seven years ago, my nephews were ten and seven, respectively. The younger was playing baseball and basketball every weekend, and that hasn’t changed much—he just does it while standing over six feet tall now. My sister-in-law’s kids were just moving out of the toddler stage, not even in school yet. They had yet to develop their Minecraft-loving, arts-and-crafts making personalities. Seven years ago: I’m not even sure I knew who my niece and nephews were at that point. Their identities hadn’t quite started to shine.

Seven years ago, I was at a crossroads in my writing career, my humor columnist days at an end, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue pursuing humor or maybe switch to a different genre. I was dabbling in scary short stories, occasionally selling a few, wondering if this was where my future lay. (Seven years later, I still can’t be sure.) It was around this time that I listened to an author I respected immensely talk about buying his domain name: his advice was to buy it before you established your career, because it would be harder and more expensive down the road. I trusted him and took his advice, purchasing this very website the next day. I remember thinking, So what the heck do I do with this now?  Because I had no other content to fall back on, I started writing a weekly humor blog to fill the web pages.

Over time, I’ve met a lot of authors, but seven years ago, I knew none of the writers that I consider my closest friends now. I can’t imagine my life without them—touching base, throwing a story their way for feedback and doing the same for them in return, phone conversations lamenting and laughing over this crazy, frustrating, wonderful business. My writer friends keep me sane. How lonely I must’ve been seven years ago!

 And finally, there’s the everyday things. I’m pretty sure I was plucking my eyebrows back then, but I don’t think I was eyeballing and plucking my chin yet. I think I was still dyeing my hair for fun—highlights are cool!—and not out of necessity. Let me go back even further in time. I have a clear memory of coming home after my first semester of college, and being stunned at my father’s hair: he’d gone almost completely white in the course of three months. He’d been forty-four. Last week, I was in a public bathroom with alarmingly bright fluorescence, and swept my fingers through my bangs, gasping. I had a shock of white peeking out. Once I dried my tears and made a mental note to buy better hair dye, I realized how powerful genetics really are: I was three months into my forty-fourth year. I’d turned into my dad. (Then I checked my teeth in the mirror, thus simultaneously turning into my mother at the exact same time.)

So yeah, my friend there whose son did the diorama is right: seven years does seem like so long ago. I can barely remember life back then. (I remember my naturally golden curls, and FYI, I miss you.) But here’s the nice thing: with time, you forget. Life may well have been pretty darn wonderful back then. But I can’t quite remember. And that makes me appreciate now even more.
​
Side note to my niece and nephew on Jason’s side: My Mom, MS, and a Sixth-Grade Mess would make a GREAT diorama. Just saying.