The Chronicles of Crosarth – A Steampunk Adventure

So there’s a thing that happens when you make stuff and post it to the internet — people who’ve never directly interacted with you before feel like they know you. I don’t mean like your beloved social media mutual who you’ve had online conversations with, but instead people who really have never said word one to you to begin with.

I’m far from the first person to point out the existence of this kind of parasociality, but I’ve had several weird experiences with it this month which has left me either scratching my head or oddly angry. Because I think it’s important to remember to the vast majority of people who consume the stuff I make I am stranger. Statistically, if you’re reading this, we’ve never had a conversation, and you’re only familiar with the public image I project on social media and the various works of commentary, podcasts, and fiction I produce.

And you know what? I’m glad you’re here! I have real world friends I’ve made who’s first exposure to me is something I’ve made and tossed online. Heck, technically my wife watched one of my YouTube videos long before we met. She’d totally forgotten about it by the time we were actually introduced, but it still counts! I, frankly, want you here. I’m making this stuff so someone will look at it after all.

But, like, again — I’m a stranger to most of you. And while most of you seem to keep that in mind, sometimes an occasional person will talk to me in a way that is really fuckin’ weird.

Like on TikTok a few weeks ago, someone who clearly thought they were teasing me like we were friends made an offhand joke that was, honestly, deeply offensive to me. I’m not going to repeat it, but if you follow me on TikTok, Tumblr, or Bluesky you probably saw my follow up videos about it. The person who posted the comment has apologized, but the important thing is it never clicked in their brain that we did not have the kind of relationship where they could make that kind of joke with me.

Because, again, I’m a stranger.

Now I’m going to mention that this commenter was from Minnesota. This wasn’t really important to the original story, but is for what happened next. You see, a random passerby decided that I was a horrible person for my angry response I recorded and posted on January 6th.

Because we all know what happened in Minnesota on January 7th.

This random dude, who had nothing to do with the original conversation, made a video calling me all sorts of names because I was *checks notes* “mean to someone from Minnesota.” Now, let’s be clear: Fuck ICE and Renee Good was murdered in cold blood by Jonathan Ross. I don’t want there to be any confusion. I talk to people in Minneapolis and Saint Paul pretty regularly, and I know how bad things are right now.

But first off, like, I can think that while also having a problem with something someone from Minnesota did that’s completely independent of the awfulness that’s happening right now. A thing that, again, the person who said it has since apologized for.

And secondly, linear fucking time exists as the entire interaction was done twenty-four hours before the awful, unrelated tragedy. Like I’m struggling to figure out why this lunatic was trying to connect a random person from Minnesota and I having a little bit of an issue with each other and fucking that.

But this weirdo who, to the best of my knowledge, has never interacted with me or my content before, made a whole call out video about it. Dude makes a lot of assumptions about me, and it’s insane.

Because I’m a stranger.

And he doesn’t know the first thing about me.

Look, I’m just going to be real with you. You should talk to creators on the internet like a stranger you’re standing in line behind at the supermarket. Maybe you’ve overheard them say some stuff. Maybe you’ve learned a few things about them by seeing what’s in their cart. It’s not insane to say something to them if it’s applicable to the situation you’re in, but not everything is appropriate. If it’d creep out, bother, or insult that stranger in line, it’s going to creep out, bother, or insult the creator you’re saying it to.

I hope that made at least a little bit of sense.

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As you may have noticed, I say book 5, The Perfect Host, should be out later this year. I’m deep into writing it, and I am determined to have this finished, edited, and ready this year. After book five, I’m probably going to take a break from the series to write some other stuff. It’s going to mark kind of a good breaking point — a satisfying place for the series to end, but I do have ideas for more books in the series if I want to pick the ball back up again.

And anyone who knows me knows I’m not going to leave characters I like this much alone for long.

Honestly, I genuinely love writing these books. I know it took me longer than normal to get Buried Memories out the door, but overall it’s fun getting into the heads of these characters. I don’t know how many I’ll write in the end, but as long as there are more stories to tell in Parrish Mills, I’m going to keep doing them.

I just want to write some other stuff too.

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As the year comes to an end yet again, I’ve ended up reflecting a lot not just on the last twelve months, but my past in general. Who I am, where I’ve been, and who I’ve brought with me.

When we were down in Milwaukee for Christmas, Crysta and I got dinner with Chris and his partner Sarah. I haven’t seen Chris in years, and it was the first time meeting someone that important in his life. It was nice — and frankly it’s been too long since we got together. Chris is arguably my oldest friend, he was the best man at my wedding, and even though it had been ages since we got together, talking to him always feels like no time has passed. We’re both awful at keeping in touch, so it’s nice to be reminded that the connection we have is still there and easily rekindled.

And we’re both going to try to be better about, like, actually talking to each other.

Coincidentally, I separately ended up in a conversation with another good friend about a person we used to both be close to the other night. I could have sworn that I wrote a blog post about this at some point, but for the life of me I can’t find it. Maybe it was on a social media platform, but it doesn’t matter really. The friend I was talking to the other day was talking about how she wanted to reconnect with this person who is now far removed from both of our lives.

She in part removed him by choice, but me not so much.

This person had been a close creative collaborator with me, and how he chose to make his exit from my life has always been something of a sore spot. My friend wanted to reconnect with him because she missed him though, but apparently he doesn’t want to talk to her.

For like the dumbest, most childish fucking reason I’ve ever heard.

So finally, after learning some more details about what happened between those two, with over fifteen years in the rear view, I’m finally at peace with what happened. Frankly I think I might significantly better off to not have had this person in my life, and maybe I should count my blessings that things ended when they did. Who knows what passive aggressive landmines I narrowly avoided.

There’s also a lesson here I think. If someone is important to you, and they reach out, you’ll answer. Distance and time don’t matter when people decide they want to reconnect, and when both people value a relationship it’s as easy as sitting down together again and sharing a meal.

We have limited time on this planet. My grandmother died earlier this year, and my cousin just a few weeks ago. There is a finite amount of moments we’ll spend with the people we care about, and we should value each one we get to share. If someone doesn’t value making a connection with you, then maybe they weren’t worthy of your time to begin with. I don’t know. It made sense to me at the time.

Oh, and you can go fuck yourself, Matt.

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