Tired of @tweeting, fed up with (n)Facebook and the hell with #hashtags. I'd wrather be writing
OK, alliteration may not be my strong suit (My motto: if it doesn't work, FORCE it), but you get my drift.
Before I starting writing mysteries, I worked in corporate PR so I guess it's not surprising that when I have some down-time I try to promote my work. In fact, way back in 2004 when my first book, Uncommon Grounds, came out, I found myself being sucked into what I thought of as a "black-hole" of publicity. This was pre-social networking, at least for me, but I spent hours sending out scads of news releases, both snail-mail and e-mail, contacting coffeehouses across the country toward carrying my books (or book, singular, then), working with the coffee industry's trade press, and setting up signings.
Lots of good stuff, yet every time I finished with one promotion, another was waiting to seduce me. "Don't miss this opportunity," he''d say with a sleazy wink. "This one," with a thumb poking at his own inflated chest, "might be the real thing. This might be your ticket to the big time."
Now, fast-forward to 2012 and multiply the siren-song of "opportunity" by millions, tens of millions. Options, virtually, on every street corner . Social networking is word-of-mouth on steroids, calling through overblown lips as I pass by:
"You baby, you're going to be a star, I can tell. You just have to get out there. Have a presence. Facebook, Linked-In, Goodreads, Shelfari, LibraryThing. Get plenty of likes. And you're tweeting, right?" He's trailing after me now. "Meaningful stuff, you know. Like once or twice a day, minimum."
I keep right on walking.
"Let me ask you." Persistent bugger. "How many friends you got? Followers? Cuz if you want, I can get you more. Lots more, just say the word."
"Oh, yeah?" I swing around to face him. "And just how much will that cost me?"
"Cost you?" He looks surprised. "Not a thing, but time."
Time.
A writers life is, by nature, solitary. Social networks have been a godsend to people like me who spend more hours with make-believe friends than we do with real ones. But . . . like that black hole, it sucks you in. I check my email in the morning and maybe my sales numbers for the e- and audio books (it's like Googling yourself, but worse). Then on to Facebook and the like. Maybe hit the Kindle discussion boards and update the website. Write a blog. Tweet something. Meaningful, of course.
And, before I know it, the morning's gone without a word written on the books. A fundamental problem since, without them, I'll have nothing to post or blog or tweet about.
To work, to work.
Sandy
Karen Savage
