Hidden

The details of my life seem to be reasonably well hidden — at least so far as Google is aware of them. All of which suits me very well, thank you.

Mind you, I'm not completely invisible, if you put enough effort into the endeavor, you could probably work out where I live, and find my small publishing business. But I've been careful to keep most of my interests and activities — good and somewhat less than good — separate from my name. Even this blog is written anonymously, though it wouldn't take much to put the pieces together.

And it turns out I have a surprisingly common name. I wouldn't have thought so, growing up — I never really liked my name, I always felt awkward about it, somehow. But it's turned out to be something I share with a marxist, a gun enthusiast, several authors, and someone with a Facebook page, none of whom are me. This quite nicely confuses the issue. (I was fifteen pages into a Google search of my name before I found a link that I spotted as recognizably mine.)

I enjoy my anonymity. I like being hidden. I don't want to be found so easily.