A long time ago, a commentator came to our blog with a cheerful greeting. She popped up one day out of the blue, new and innocent to this world called blogging. She was perky. She was fun and inquisitive. She was adorable.
She came back the next day, and the next after that, and I soon found myself looking forward to her impromptu visits, drawn to the vivacious presence that made my day better. She was witty and fun, she was inquisitive and she was eager to learn.
I thought she was fantastic.
The acerbic, witty repartee she brought to the world was sharp and cunning. With blinding intelligence, she could turn a phrase with lightening speed, flicking her mental epée to slice language open in the blink of an eye. She stood up to me, daring to stare me in the eye while she challenged, contested and called me out.
She was adorable.
I had to know more. We began emailing back and forth, and I was more besotted with each passing day. We spent long hours discussing the philosophies of life and love. We debated the virtues of guns versus swords. We extolled the virtues of fine company and good attitude.
She had roguish charm. She could swagger with the best and soothe my inner beast. My tantrums never phased her and my moments of sunshine pleased her to no end. She pleased me, too. She was confident and casual, classy and professional. She was dazzling. She drew me in like a bug zapper draws in a fly.
She even wrote me a love letter.
Like two teenagers head over heels for each other, we chatted and talked for hours. She discovered my soul, and I discovered her incredibly ability to make me want to tear out my hair in utter frustration. (Women.) I would valiantly argue with her (as all good men do) and eventually succumb to her charming point of view (as all good men do).
Fickle female that she was, she would scorn my affection with one hand while drawing me in with the other, giggling with delight the more calf-eyed I became. She could see through all my swaggering charm and picked apart the protection of my cocky demeanor to expose all my faults and quirks.
She knew me.
We spent stolen afternoons together, and it was bliss. She could cook. She could clean. She tickled my curiosity and I made her laugh. She would shower me with praise and bolster my pride, and I would admit that I was really nothing that special at all. She agreed, but she loved me anyway.
She was adorable.
Of course, every good love story has a poignant conflict, this tale deserves no less.
I was torn by my loyalty to my fellow brethren. I had made vows, nay, pledges to remain faithful! Now I struggled, tempted by an alluring pixie. You see, I already had a relationship – two, in fact, having declared undying devotion more than once. How could I now betray what I swore to uphold, all for this cheeky creature? It was a trial of the soul.
Could I stay true? Was I strong enough to resist? I needed a plan.
A plan I found, because every good schemer gets what he wants. I wooed her slowly, worming my way into her heart. I didn’t want a tryst – I wanted a long-term relationship, one born of common dreams and ambitions. I tested her devotion in subtle ways, making sure her heart was true. I lured her in as she’d lured me and then one day…
Her eyes flew open. She sat up straight in her chair, knocking over the cup on the table. She caught it halfway to the floor with a rogue’s backhand, laughed aloud, and proclaimed, “Hells , YEAH!”
Hells yeah, indeed.
Without further ado (because there’s certainly been enough already), may I introduce you to the newest addition in our Men with Pens family, Ms. Taylor Lindstrom, a most excellent copywriter and journalist. She even has a degree.
Taylor (or Tei, as we call her) comes to us from Good Ink (where she behaves) and Rogue Ink (where she doesn’t). A strategic secret weapon, her addition to our shameless group only enhances our arsenal’s strength. As James’ right-hand man (or woman), Taylor’s talents include:
- Website content
- Editing services
- Sales and marketing copy
- Ebook content
- SEO and keyword articles
As usual, we were too cheap for a wedding (and shacking up is way cheaper), but we know that every happy ending means someone cues the music. Maestro?