But at least I got my stolen bike back.
Will Varner / BuzzFeed
This is the absolutely true story of how I lost my bike, found my bike, got internet fame, and then watched it fade away — all in three days.
It happened in 2009, during August, when New York City is hot, empty, and often unbearable. I was a struggling writer. I'd had three books come out that no one had bought, and I was broke. A friend offered me free tickets to an Arcade Fire/Spoon show at Madison Square Garden. I rode my bike, a yellow Schwinn with a basket, to the subway. I locked it to a street sign post and then took the train into the city. Arcade Fire was awesome, as was Spoon. I came back late, and found that my bike had been stolen. I kicked the curb, sad and dejected. Goddamn, I had loved that bike. Also, now I had to buy a new bike. With all my imaginary money.
The next morning I woke up and got on Craigslist. In 10 minutes I found an ad for the perfect bike. It looked just like mine… because it was. An hour later, with the help of my friend Maura, we ascertained that the bike thief lived just blocks from my house. An hour after that I called the cops and convinced them to help me bust the guy. By noon, we had organized a sting and caught the thief, a tall, skinny, white junkie with dreads.
I came home and documented the events of the previous few hours on my blog. I wrote breathlessly, sloppily, but with a pure fire. I tweeted the link. People instantly started forwarding the story. I had 5,000 hits within the first hour; 50,000 within five. Some people cheered me on because they, too, had had bikes stolen, and they related to my story. Others cheered me on because they were just grateful for a happy ending. Everyone else was just bored: It was August, after all.
Will Varner / BuzzFeed
As someone who had published books, it was an interesting moment for me, this sudden attention. It was never fame that I wanted. I don't know too many writers who care about fame. It's an elusive idea in the literary world anyway. Our dreams are simpler. We just want to be heard; we just want to be read. And here I was, being read. And the emails and comments I got were so lovely and thrilling. I had made so many strangers' days a little better.
Still, it felt bittersweet. I had dashed off the blog post, been careless with my writing. Even if the passion showed through, it was certainly not my best work. I had spent years and years working on my novels, agonizing over sentences, characters, themes, and my big message to the world. But in one day more people had read this simple post than all of my books combined — times five.
I pulled myself away from the computer that night to see a friend visiting from out of town. I met her at a nearby restaurant, where we sat outside and enjoyed the cooling off of the day. "I think I'm going viral," I said, and I laughed nervously. "What does it feel like?" she said. "Ridiculous," I said. "And kind of great?" Later we sat on the roof of my building and caught the breeze off the East River. We talked about books. It felt good to talk about books. And it felt good to be away from the computer, to be free of the obsessive refreshing of my hit count.
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