Letting Go of Social Media

Let go of social media?! Yes, I know. We can't do that. We're not allowed. As writers, we must be on all the social sites to build our platform and brand ourselves and whatnot. But I'm letting go. Does that mean I'll have less success? Maybe. Maybe not. Probably. I'll miss out on opportunities if nothing else.

I read this post by Lisa Reiter and it resonated with me. She talks about being busy and organizing her writing. Pfft. Who needs that? With two young kids, a husband, a house, a job, appointments, meetings, blah, blah, blah, I have all the time in the world to sit down (uninterrupted) and write.

As the saying goes, "If you do one thing, it'll be your best. If you do two things, they'll each have a bit of your intent to do your best but they won't be your best. If you do ten things, they'll suck." Okay, that's not at all how the saying goes and I'm not sure there's a saying even remotely like that but you get my point. Hopefully.

If I do those ten things with a bag full of the fifty things I'm not doing sitting on top of my head, the ten things are going to really suck and I'll wind up hurting my neck. Something's got to give. And, if I look back and realize I haven't sent anything in yet for my column this month or worked on my book or submitted anything to...anywhere, then social media has to go.

Okay, I'm not getting rid of social media entirely, I'm just attempting to stuff it into a box and shove it in the corner. Social media is a rope. (I'm going somewhere with this. I swear.) Instead of throwing the rope to the ground and leaving it unattended or allowing it to lasso me, I have to take control of it. "Letting go" of this rope means untangling myself from it so it doesn't choke the life out of me but making sure it doesn't get soaked and moldy in the rain. Hence, the box in the corner.

The rope of social media shouldn't be a noose, it should be a lifeline.
A connection to my audience, potential editors, agents, and other writers.

The Rope of Social Media
(AKA a ball of string I found around the house)

Lisa says in her post that she has set aside a day (one day!) a week that she calls her "Blog Admin Day". In the post, she uses words like "addictive" and "compelled". I feel like that sometimes. Technically, she's talking about blogging but I'm applying it to all social media. I don't know if I can set aside one day to write my blog, read other blogs, comment, read litmags, research submission guidelines, catch up on my Twitter account... Seems a tall order. But I'll try. Because I need the rest of the week to do that thing I love to do with words like putting them together and making cool sentences (and fragments). I need time to write. Also, I'm on call 24 hrs. a day as a mom so there's that.

I'm going to attempt to organize my own Social Media Admin Day. Let's be honest: Days. I think I need two. For now.


How do you manage your social media? How do you get any reading/commenting in during the week? How you do have time to write?

The Write Path is Here!

A few months ago, I wrote a letter to my younger self. So did many other bloggers. Remember that? "How I Found the Write Path"? Well, the book is here. A compilation of letters from over 60 fabulous writers collected and formatted into an eBook by the lovely Carrie Butler and PK Hrezo.  

It's out and it's available for purchase. And by that I mean you can spend your time going to any one of these sites and downloading all these fantastic letters full of advice for FREE.

AMAZON

NOOK

KOBO

iBOOKS

SMASHWORDS

'TXTR

SCRIBD

AMAZON UK

AMAZON AU  

The letters range from thoughtful to humorous (and everything in between) but all speak to the writer's younger, less experienced, self. The anthology gives advice while entertaining readers with the many different voices and takes on the prompt. A brilliant idea from PK and Carrie. A huge thank you to both of these amazing authors for taking the time to compile these letters. How I Found the Write Path is a must-read for all types of writers at all stages in their writing careers.

Writing, Venting, & Not Crying Over Spilled Milk

I love words. I eat them up. I've often compared reading to eating. Ooh! Speaking of breakfast, I have a story for you. Without further ado, of which there has not been much but I am now making more of, I will tell you the story.

My son spilled his juice at breakfast.

There. Don't you pity me? Poor mum! Her kid spilled his juice.

When you put words together to form sentences (and, is often the case on this blog, fragments) it is quite interesting. And sometimes, as in the above example, not. I was chatting with a friend and mentioned that my son spilled his juice. It wasn't a very interesting story. It wasn't a story at all, actually. This made me realize for the first time in my life how important words are. No, it didn't. I know that. But it did make me think about how I don't often get the whole story out when I'm talking. This is just another reason I love writing. And why you are about to be subjected to my morning. Here's what happened at breakfast.

I didn't get enough sleep last night. I just wanted some coffee. Really, that's all I wanted out of my morning. Just as I sat down, my son knocked his cup of juice over. A cup filled with dark, red Strawberry-Banana juice. And when I say "filled", I mean he hadn't taken a sip. And when I say "dark", I'm talking blood red. It was everywhere. There were puddles on the table, his chair, and the floor. His shirt, pants, and socks were soaked. There were splatters on the walls, my husband's computer, and my other son's chair (across the table). We're still finding spots. This kid is ten years old. We have been telling him for, oh, I don't know, five years, three times a day, not to put his cup near the edge of the table or next to his elbow. Why? So he doesn't spill the damn thing and turn the room into a crime scene. Let's round that number down and call it an even 5,400 times we've told him this. And here I am talking about another spill. Needless to say, I didn't get my coffee until after I had sopped up lakes of juice and scrubbed spots off the walls. 

See what words do? If you don't pity me now, I'm not sure what to say. Except that maybe you are too busy laughing at me. Or that you think I should get over this instead of blogging about it. I know I should get over this instead of blogging about it. I'm venting, dammit! Let me vent. Why is it that these little things dig their way into my nervous system and make me feel like I've just had an electric shock? Don't cry over spilled milk echoes in my head as I fume about this "accident". Yet, I want to scream that, although he didn't do it on purpose, he also doesn't listen and has these types of accidents often. And, suddenly, it becomes something more than spilled juice.

I recently wrote a post about why I write and included that I need to vent and writing is a superb way to do it. This is one of those times. If you've made it this far, huzzah! Now you can stop reading about my kid and his juice and say to yourself, "Self, this post was boring and ridiculous. I could have written it better. Hey, maybe I will. Why just this morning..."

What happened that you want to vent about? Instead of reaching for the phone, write it down. Try it. You might like it.

Tiny Bubbles, Timing, and Asperger's

We went to a small café. My husband and I, with our two kids, walked in, ordered, and stepped out onto the front porch of the place to find a table. There were none.

Just as we were about to head back inside, an older man stood up, smiled, grabbed his coffee cup, and said, "It's getting hot out here. I'm going to finish this," he held up his coffee, "inside." He gestured to his table. We said no. He should finish his coffee. We were fine inside. And we thanked him. But he insisted it was just "good timing". 

My family enjoyed the gorgeous day in late August when it should have, indeed, been too hot but it wasn't. It was about 75 degrees, sunny, and breezy. Perfect. Partway through our meal, the man who gave up his table for us walked out of the café. I thanked him again. He said he saw a family of four walk in and he was taking up a whole table and wanted to move for us. He was only one person, after all, and his wife was in the hospital. Normally, since she was in a wheelchair, they would have taken up a lot more room. We chatted with this man about his life and where he lived and how often he visited the cafe (a lot) and when his wife was due home from the hospital (in a few days). 

Eventually, he said, "I'll let you all finish your lunch."

My husband and I said that it was nice talking with him and wished him and his wife well. 

My seven-year-old thanked him and smiled and waved. 

My ten-year-old Aspie said, "This cream soda is really fizzy."

Why I Write

This post is part of the series "Why I Write"

Thank you to Robin Flanigan for selecting me to participate in this blog hop.

Why do I write?

How do you answer this question? It's a conundrum. There are too many ways to answer this, and there are not enough. This is a question that requires a great deal of thought and soul-searching but also one that is easily answered because the reasons have been with you forever.

I write because I love to write.

I write because I need to write.

I'm certain that many bloggers who have participated in this series have said similar things. What can you do? It's true.

I love words. When I choose a book to read, I think about it in terms of whether I’ll munch on it like a Chips Ahoy cookie or savor it like a gourmet chocolate mousse. That determines when and where I’ll read it. Will I toss it in my beach bag, bring it with me to the dentist, or save it for when I have a large chunk of time and can curl up with a glass of wine or cup of tea? When I write, it’s the same way. I craft microfiction (in 140 characters or less), create flash fiction, twist fairy tales into humorous satire, and write lengthier pieces about parenting or my children’s disabilities for litmags and local newspapers. Whatever I’m writing at the time, I’m feeling the satisfaction of putting those words on paper. Whether I’m laughing about a silly dragon story or digging deeper and bleeding onto the page while I relive a family crisis, it’s all me. It's all writing. It’s all an amazing, indescribable feeling.

The statement "I need to write" may seem a bit dramatic but it stems from my inability to feel complete or content unless I am creating something with words. It's a restless, itchy sort of thing. I started journaling and jotting down short stories when I was about nine years old. I've been writing ever since. I wrote poems for my friends, book reviews of The Little Mermaid or Charlotte's Web, plays for my stuffed animals, and newsletters of my wildly exciting life as a 9-yr-old kid.

There is nothing else I’d rather do.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Although... There is one more reason I write. It's therapeutic. This is not something I just realized but more something I’ve rediscovered. Or maybe it’s been brought to my attention recently. I write because I need to vent. Sometimes I scribble in a journal, sometimes I type it out on my blog. (Lucky you.) Writing is a comfortable outlet. It's easy for me to rant on paper. And, when all is said and done, I have a story to keep or share.

I guess a short answer is I write because it is part of who I am. 

Why do you write?

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I'm tagging these three lovely ladies. Please check out the blogs and books of these wonderful writers and watch for their posts on why they write:

 
Loni Townsend

Wife. Mother. Writer. Ninja. Squirrel.

By day, she writes code. By predawn darkness, she writes fantasies. All other times, she writes in her head. People call her peculiar with a twisted sense of fashion, but don't let those understatements fool you. Her behavior is perfectly normal for a squirrel disguised as a human. That's part of being an epic ninja—blending in.

She makes her home in Idaho with her sadistically clever—yet often thwarted—husband, two frighteningly brilliant children, and three sneaky little shibas.

Loni blogs at Squirrel Talk. Her novel, Thanmir War, is available for purchase in both paperback and e-book here.



Georgia Bell  

Writer, reader, navel gazer. YA author. Mother of son. Drinker of wine and scotch. Eater of chocolate.

Georgia Bell was raised on a steady diet of science fiction and fantasy, courtesy of her father, a man who loved his family, fishing, scotch, and science (although not necessarily in that order). She is an avid reader of young adult fiction, and a lover of good wine, music, children, and cats (although not necessarily in that order). She is currently hard at work on Unknown, the second book in the All Good Things series.

Georgia blogs at Unbound: All Good Things. The first book in her series is available for purchase here.

 

Karen Faris

Writer of things large and small. Responsible government proponent and dessert advocate. Author of Grumbles the Novel Trilogy. 

As an advocate for responsible government, Karen Faris has been complaining for as long as anyone can remember. Rather than go live on a planet for one, she decided to write fiction about the things she thinks matter.

Her current projects include a time travel novel and Seasonal Adjustment, a story told in novellas.

She has a tendency to get silly because life is too short and too serious too much of the time. Grumbles the Novel is her antidote to that.

Karen resides in Rochester, New York with her husband and son. She enjoys swimming, biking along the Erie Canal, and running almost as fast as she can walk.
On her website, Grumbles the Novel, Karen blogged occastionally until her characters took over the site. Her characters now control their own destiny and are serializing their story. Read along here. 

The Grumbles trilogy is available for purchase in both paperback and e-book:

Grumbles: Take a Pill (Book 1)

Grumbles: Take Another Pill (Book 2)

Grumbles: How Many Pills Did You Take (Book 3)