Stalker writers must be stopped.
How many times can one hear, "Go ahead and write something up on that, tell me what you're thinking about, here are some topics I think would match up well, send it in and it's likely to be printed, we can work on it from there," and still say annoying things like, "I really want to meet you?"
So far, five times over as many months. I don't care if we are geographically proximate. I know that the changing times must be a bore to those who cherish the face-to-face, but the rest of us are happy that technology has provided a wondrous crutch for the demure, a useful tool for the diffident, a time-management panacea for the non-circadian.
Stalkers in general are annoying.
I once busted up a whole friendship by being honest about Relationships 101: if someone doesn't respond to something, it usually means something and you should quit trying.
Oh, lamentations and histrionics, said the wanna-be urban shut-in with 17 parrots, the backyard gardener on 50 acres with a herd of goats, the seaside writer isolated in Ilium — wishing away all social requests, even as related to "work."
Someday, she will be lonely — and then she'll be sorry!
I do see plenty of people on a professional and sometimes personal basis. Lunches and coffees, etc. add up week after week. Rather than view these occasions as unmitigated highlights in a dull series of computer-sitting and wordsearching (not crossword puzzles, no), I tend to weigh them as Anubus would in the Hall of Maat.
Blessed are those who find limits.
So, in this case, writer keeps asking and not getting way — means something. Writer keeps trying to get way — means something. I'm not getting my way, no "proof that's in the pudding," no product — means something.
Semes mostly to be a power struggle now. Writer requests face-to-face time-sharing preceed submission of written content. Perhaps does not like act of submission? I didn't make the rules.
I only govern my time.
One must, after all, have enough left for wasting it one's own way.