Is it pathetic to check every say, five minutes or so, to see if anyone "likes" you?
I already know the answer, but that's where I'm at these days.
Now don't misunderstand, every time I get a new "like" on my author Facebook page I'm excited, grateful. Time is a precious commodity, so when someone chooses to spend some with me, however fleeting, it's a pretty big deal.
But, I wish it didn't have to go this way.
Getting a book published these days ain't what it used to be. Back in the day, writers wrote, agents found one of the six major publishers to take your book and publishers published...and then sold your hardback book to giant bookstores and distributors, then the paperback.
Now, a writer writes, an agent (that is, if you even have one) finds one of a kajillion publishers to take your book (after multiple rejections from the major six and most of the other kajillion) the publisher publishes in e-book and paperback only and the writer tries to sell their own book in cyber space cause there are no more giant bookstores and distributors.
So, here I am, in cyber space where it is surprisingly crowded...considering it's space and all. Throw in the self-published - who pretty much corner the market on outrageously successful self-promotion - and it's a free for all.
I feel like I've been thrown into the roller derby with one skate.
I'm getting killed.
I don't understand most of what's happening out here.
What the hell is this? TYSM @aWRITERchick Happy LOVE @Awannabeangel @BobbeBrooks_ @Angie_Mac @managementbrad @Etibom |||> Be a @JoYAmbassador
You probably recognize it as a tweet. A tweet with a bunch of hashtags.
Aren't hashtags what your mother warned would get left in your underwear if you didn't wipe? Did I miss something?
I don't understand that tweet. My eyes cross. I start to sweat. Worse, there's five hundred more where that came from. I simply can not read them.
What's a Vine?
Pinterest is what?
I've got to have a deep well filled with clever, timely, and hopefully illustrated "stuff" to post on my Facebook page. I've got to wrack my shrinking, overloaded brain for pithy, funny and wise observations to blog about.
Oh...and my second novel. I've gotta write that too.
I realize this all sounds ungrateful. Which is the exact opposite of what I am.
I just can't help but wish for a simpler time when writers shut themselves in their rooms with a bottle of whiskey, a carton of cigarettes and some aspirin.
Writers were read, not seen.
You could be a hugely successful writer and a complete recluse.
Then, I realized...
In order for anyone to know, or care, that you're a recluse - they've got to first know who you are.
And, we're back to square one.