Authors and Arachnids

I’m thinking about doing a series of blogs on all the sleazy predators out there who have no particular talent themselves beyond the ability to zero in on their preferred victim: an up-and-coming hopeful with wishes and dreams, someone who possesses a sacred, God-given gift to write or paint or sing or act, but more importantly, possesses a wallet. I've heard those predators referred to as sharks, snakes, vultures, leaches, creatures lower than whale dung, but in my mind’s eye, I see a being whose body is dominated by one simple body part: the open hand. And who’s got more hands than a spider?

If you think about it, the arachnid really does conjure up the perfect image. It can sit down beside you, cross its legs and still have six appendages available to dangle carrots, rifle your belongings, stroke your ego and feel around in your pockets all at the same time — and still have two hands left-over: one proffering the pen with which to sign on the dotted line, the other covering its mouth so it can simultaneously hide the drool and the gluttonous smile.

And where’s the harm? After all, it’s not asking you for all of your life savings, just a portion of it — in advance, please. But it’s okay, it croons, as it begins spewing platitudes and sugar-coated venom, it’s such a pittance in comparison with the jewels I will one day lay at your feet: ten minutes on Oprah, sixteen column inches in the New York Times, a Hollywood contract, the Nobel Peace Prize and, on your way to the Pearly Gates, nothing short of canonization.

Now I want to ask you a question: has the following ever happened to you?

You go to the dentist and he informs you that you need a lengthy, expensive, invasive procedure known as a root canal. You’re in pain so, obviously, you agree to go ahead with it, but you’re apprehensive. You’ve never had one, you don’t know what it’s going to be like, you don’t know what you’re going to feel like. Of course you’re going to do it, you’re just nervous. And then it happens.

Every Tom, Dick and Harry, every butcher, baker and candlestick maker in your life and dozens of them who are not in your life are suddenly in your face telling you that they, too, had a similar experience. When you got out of bed that morning, you didn’t know anyone who’d ever had a root canal but by suppertime dental patients were crawling out of the woodwork.

You know what I mean. Even if it’s not about the dentist, it’s still happened to you, right? An insurance claim, a car accident, a delayed flight, a bad meal at a good restaurant. Whatever the circumstances, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. We’ve all experienced the same phenomenon: If it’s happened to you, it’s happened to a dozen others who never once thought to mentioned it before, but suddenly have an overwhelming need to tell you all about it now.

That’s how I know I’m not alone when I say I spend a good portion of my time dodging the sharks and the snakes and the vultures. In fact, I’m in very good company. “Everywhere you turn,” sings Sarah McLachlan, “there's vultures and thieves at your back.” Wannabe’s — people who wannabe nothing more than in my checkbook.

And it really is a shame. It’s a sad commentary on humanity that no matter how much we evolve, we will always be divided up between the predator and the prey; we will always have to contend with shallow, hollow, miserable leaches who have nothing to give and therefore nothing to lose and therefore no problem devastating the dreams of the talented, the dedicated, the idealistic — as long as they get to line their pockets.

I've been up most of the night thinking about one such predator in particular, a person working overtime to ooze their way into my life with brazen demands of unfettered access and dubious promises of silver and gold and riches beyond imagining. I’m grateful I've been blessed with this gift worth coveting, and I’m equally grateful I've been blessed with the wherewithal to recognize a well-disguised arachnid when I see one, and I know that I will, along with the rest of us who have something of value to offer the world, spend the rest of my life en guard. I just can’t help but sigh in frustration when I think about it. Such a waste of good energy.

Oh, one final thing: Yes, I know — the way an arachnid’s body is structured, it cannot actually sit like humans do, but it makes a heck of a good image, doesn’t it?

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