Creepy Otherworldly Feelings

The other night, I had the notion to look myself up on the internet. Simply type in first name, last name, and see what happens. Wondering if Anything... will come up. What I found was unexpected.

I'm there. Or rather, my doppelganger is there.

David Mitchell. The author of Ghostwritten, which I find chillingly appropriate.

Review after review. Raving. Glorious.

He stole my name. He stole my name. He has the career I wanted.

He lives in Japan. Teaches university. He is THIN. I hate him.

So I did what any sane-minded internet user and reader would do: Went to BN to look this infidel up.

I found his book in the literature section. Was fully prepared to read a few pages, and rest easy in the knowledge that he was mediocre. I read the first few pages, then a few more, then skipped to the middle.

He's wonderful. He's a wonderful writer. Dammit. I actually verbally swore as I was reading it. I was that upset.

I'll have to go by my full name when I finally publish. But I will forever be plagued by the inevitable questions:
Reader One: "Have you read Dave Mitchell?"
Reader Two: "The guy who wrote Ghostwritten?"
Reader One: "No, the other one."

The other one. Dammit.