Full disclosure

So, if you know me, which I think most of you will, then you'll know that discretion isn't exactly a strong point of mine. At school, there was a rather unflattering mantra bandied about, namely: 'Don't tell Ducky secrets'. It's quite shameful, but I'd like to defend myself here by saying, I am actually capable of keeping secrets if I really believe it necessary. Honest. Like the one about my friend and our Economics teacher... ;)

I jest.

There's a reason for my openness, though. I think secrets have the power to damage and destroy relationships. In my first novel (don't worry, I'm not going to go *too* deep and meaningful on you) the MC has to make a decision: whether or not to tell her mother something that will hurt her, but that morally, she has a right to know. My agent, and several of my friends who read the book said 'What's the point? What will it achieve?'. I considered changing it, but put my foot down in a most-uncharacteristic diva-like fashion and kept my ending. Because I wanted to make the point that the emotional drain of trying to keep some secrets can be damaging in itself.

I'm a great advocator of honesty. I want people to be honest with me more than anything else, no matter how much it hurts. I've never believed that ignorance leads to bliss. People have told me this makes me strong - I'm not sure if I agree. It's more a matter of pride, and pride is really a weakness. But I can't bear the idea of being left in the dark, of making decisions based on an inaccurate version of reality.

So in the interests of full disclosure (yes these ramblings do have a point), I've decided to share something with you, my mysterious readers.

I have webstats.

Put more simply: I know you're reading this.

And if you have a static IP address, god help you, I know who you are!

My blogger friends are to blame - they're the ones that introduced me to the concept of spying on the people who are spying on you.

And, my, isn't it fascinating and addictive?

In my daily visit to www.statcounter.com, I see the IP addresses of the people I expect to check out my blog and my site: my agent, my writer friends, my sister, some of my Facebook friends.

But then, there's this great mysterious load of people who find my site through alternative means: like Googling my name. Who are you? Why have you Googled me?

Not that I haven't done more than my fair share of cyber-stalking in my time, but I'm intrigued. I'm really not that interesting a person and I find your attentions rather flattering, if I'm honest.

So, for one post only, I'm going interactive. Here are some messages for you:

1) To the person in Manchester who checks out my blog up to four times a day.

Please stop. You're freaking me out. I wrote a few posts ago that I wasn't going to be blogging very often, yet still you return, every four hours or so. Tis just weird. I know so few people in Manchester, and cannot think of anyone who would have such a sustained interest in me. Make yourself known by leaving a comment or something, cos I'm beginning to feel stalked!

2) To the person at Imperial College, who spent an hour one Sunday searching my blog for the name of a bloke I made a brief mistake with in my second term of uni.

Who are you?! And why on earth did you think I would have blogged about him? I have barely spoken to/heard from him for the past five years!

If you're his girlfriend, let me assure you, I have had nothing, and want nothing to do with this guy. I have nothing against him either, but he's certainly not on my radar enough for me to blog about him. Wrong tree barking there.

3) To the person at my work who looks at my site.

Eeek, I really hope you're not my boss. If you are, please let me reassure you, I never blog during working hours!

4) To the ex-boyfriend of one of my friends.

Why are you bothering? I know it's you checking out my site, because you work for a very distinctive, small company. I'm sure you're frustrated by her lack of web-presence, but please let me assure you I'm not going to write anything about her. And also, I really think it's time you moved on. She has, and she's happier without you. So if you really care, leave her alone.

5) And to all the people who stumble across my humble offerings while looking for Duckworth's Grill and Bar (aka Duckworth's Cheesesteakery apparently - what the hell is a cheesesteakery when it's at home?!) in Charlotte, NC, USA, here's the site you really want: www.duckworthsgrillandbar.com.

Anyway, I'm well aware of the inevitable back-firing that will result from this post. I'll check tomorrow and it'll be tumbleweed all over the stat graphs. That's the downside to being too honest. When I started seeing Mr X again for the second time this year, back in May, after deciding that his repeated hits on my site/blog were a clear indication he was missing me as much as I was missing him, I stupidly ended up telling him, and now he won't ever look at my blog again.

(Which is very frustrating, as I was rather enjoying all the subliminal messages I was able to give, and now all the colourful, 'I'm-getting-over-you-just-fine-and-being-a-right-party-animal' posts serve little purpose, except for making look like a self-absorbed pratt.)

So please I implore you, legitimate-non-weirdo readers, don't let this stop you checking out my humble blog! It's great to have your interest. And if you'd like to leave more comments, that'd be lovely too.

Let me just finish by saying, I am under no illusions that my ramblings here are special or unique or worthy (hence the inconsequential), and if the majority of you didn't bother to read, I'd have no reason to blog at all. So at the risk of turning this into a very-undeserved-Gwyneth-Paltrow-like moment, thank you.