Coming Down with Contactitis

It’s a drag, but it can be cured

Geoff Dutton
The Story Hall
4 min readJun 6, 2019

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Photo by freezelight CC

Every website needs a way for visitors to send a message to its proprietors. Some sites provide an email address, but typically they have a form on a page that tends to be called Contact. That’s what I did when I set up a website for my publishing imprint, Perfidy Press. Having put together several sites already, I should have known better than to set up a contact page that wasn’t protected against robots, but gave it no thought. Naively, I presumed that only people who cared about my content would bother to contact me. That seems to have been the case for the first six months it was online, when one or two responses a week got dumped into my inbox, but in the last two months it’s been more like one or two a day, and they keep getting more bizarre.

They range from sales pitches about getting all the traffic my sites deserves, like this one:

… to illiterate phishing junk like this:

… or this. Like the above one, it seems to be auto-translated from some Asian language:

… and on to bogus criminality like this:

It took longer than it should have for me to react. But I finally did, and now my contact page has a new address and protection from bots. All I need now is for real people to make my day by getting in touch. Know any?

And in case you didn’t know, spamming web contact forms has become an industry. Here’s how it works, according to a helpful message from a company in Europe I received via my contact form:

Of course, there’s no reason I should be one of their contacts unless my contact page address was harvested by a bot, along with millions of others to be sold on the grey market by this upstanding business.

But still, this does seem like a great opportunity to leverage my brand. So what “commercial proposal” would I spam the globe with were I to take up their generous offer? All I have to peddle is a novel and my services as a writer. As spamming out special discounts for the book would betray my identity, how about:

That oughta do it.

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