I'm so tired from everything today, that I made my post and went back to bed. I was knee-deep into a nap when a crash awakened me. My dog had broken the keyboard shelf off my computer desk. I'm taking that as an indication that I must proceed with this, even tho it means the keyboard has to sit on my knees.

Pacione's first day on the hwa boards included shilling for self published and vantity authors, general bragging about his brilliance, and a nearly innocuous post about this story he was so proud of "a cautionary tale of plagerism." Then the emails started up again.

I was online chatting with an editor friend a few days later, telling her about the emails, when she says to me, "Have you seen this?"

That was revelation time for me. He had used my name as that of the plagerist and was touting all over the net that he had written it about me (he would later say that it was about Poppy Z. Brite as well as Karen E. Taylor). He was also sending various female (why pick on the women?) emails bragging about how he had used this story to teach me a lesson and that it was a "diss" story. Which made it libel.

I started hunting the story down, and demanding that it be removed. Several sites did so. Pacione, himself, changed the name where he had it up in a couple of places and demanded to know why I kept trying to ruin his career.

I also discovered during my searches for that story, that during those (what I thought were) peaceful interims, they had actually not been peaceful at all. Because I wasn't surfing the net and reading most boards, I had no idea that he had been busy sullying my name across the boards for six months. Ignorance had been bliss.

The "Fandom Writer" War isn't over. I request that anyone who finds it up immediately alert the people at whatever site it is currently on that it is libel.

Needless to say I finally and permanently lost my temper. Action for me is a three step process: 1) I feel hurt and sometimes cry; 2) I get angry; 3) I get even. However, once I reach step two I never go back to step one unless an outside force intervenes and eventually I will get to the outside force.

I went after him. Everyplace he bragged about the story and its connection with me I responded. Every time he posted about his stories, I critted them. Every time he sent me an email, I posted it on my journal.

Then he took a different tack, he began singling out everyone who posted on my journals for abuse, especially the women. I told a lot of my friends, "keep your heads down, post only anonymously, and let me handle this."

I grew up as a battler. It happens when you're a small white female clunking around in a leg brace in a black ghetto of Los Angeles: Fight or die. Simple.

To Be Continued.