Save Your Writing Life: How NOT to Let Social Media Take Over—Part II

Part II --  Asking for help and making my biggest mistake,

sort of 

As you know from my last blog post, I was drunk with social media.

You know. Picture any Western where the cowgirl is stumbling from the saloon, looking happy as hell, yelling “Yippee!” and shooting off her gun. Too many saloons, too many drinks, too much time playing poker and having fun.

We all know what happens to her. She takes a header and lands face first in the dirt.

That’s what I did.

I felt foolish, stupid, out of control. Social Media was running my life, not vice versa. Kind of like when I was a smoker. The cigarettes controlled me, not the other way around.

More important, my writing suffered. I was writing maybe half the amount of time I had before, and I was finding it harder and harder to focus. I felt out of control. I felt like a failure.

But I don’t stay down long. I dusted myself off, sobered up and asked myself, “What do I need? How am I going to get out of all these saloons and get to work? What had other writers done?”

Asking for Help

I decided to call on members of my posse. They had to have made decisions about social media, hadn’t they? They had to have a plan? Or even if they didn’t have a plan, they had to have figured it out by now, right?

And it wasn’t as if I could drop it altogether. To have a career as an author, a writer has to have a presence on the web to build a readership and connect with those who will love the work. After landing a major agent, one of my critique group members was told by the agent she had to be at least on Facebook, Twitter, and have a website. She was told she needed to make herself known online—and that was before the agent went out with the novel. The agent even assigned an intern to help.

This is not a choice unless you want your book to die right after publication.

My Posse

I emailed four members of my posse for their advice:  Cheryl Strayed, Christina Katz, L.J. Sellers and Jennie Shortridge.

Cheryl writes novels and memoir, and if I have to tell you who she is, you’ve probably been living in the woods with Bigfoot.

Christina does just about everything and publishes helpful books for writers and mama-writers.

L.J. is a self-published mystery writer with amazing marketing chutzpah (and now has a big publishing deal with Amazon).

Jennie is a four-time novelist, queen of marketing (one of brains who created the Seattle7Writers), and her next novel will be out in 2013 in hardback, a triumph in the publishing world.

I asked them, What do you do online to give yourself a presence and why? Here’s what they emailed back:

Photo by Mr. Sugar

Cheryl Strayed, author of the novel Torch, her memoir and Oprah pick Wild, and Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Life and Love from Dear Sugar

            Here's what I do: I work the hell out of my Facebook page. It takes very little time to post links, comments, little bits of stuff here and there. I get tons of traffic on my page. I'm guessing most of those people, like me, have little time to read blogs or email newsletters. I think having a solid, active Facebook page does more for me than a blog or newsletter would.

Cristina Katz, author of Writer Mama, Get Known Before the Book Deal, and The Writer’s Workout.

            I do pretty much everything and update/upgrade every six months to keep up.

            I recommend creating a Wordpress.org blog that can serve as blog and a website. Go Daddy offers hosting for them.

            Typepad also can work as a blog/wesbite and would be simpler but I didn't care for their interface.

            I've posted a list on my blog of the things authors can do:  http://christinakatz.com/publishers-online-tools-every-author-can-should-master/

Jennie Shortridge, author of Riding with the Queen, Eating Heaven, Love and Biology and When She Flew

            With any kind of marketing, it's really helpful to see what other authors do, and decide which things you like or don't like. You'll only be successful doing those things you like doing, so choose for your own personality. Most marketing these days happens online, so check out authors' websites, Facebook pages, etc. With websites, you need a few key elements: about the author, about the book, order the book, events, contact/join mailing list, and of course links to social media and blogs. Readers really like having more detailed information, too, a "behind the scenes" look at the author and/or book they can't get anywhere else. I try to include some kind of background information about each book, and/or things inspired by it, like music or recipes. A lot of authors do contests and things like that to get repeat visitors, but I don't like doing that. To make my site more “sticky,” I put news and my blog on the home page, so that the content changes frequently.

           I use Maddee at Xuni.com to design and update my website. I provide her with the raw material: copy, photos, whatever. She works with my input, and I choose imagery from dreamstime.com, where you can download free images in the public domain. It's a great resource. I now send images I find there to my publisher to “show” my ideas for each new cover.  

            In addition to Facebook and (begrudgingly, Twitter) I have a presence on Red Room (which is really great) and to a lesser extent, Good Reads. I do more when I'm in promotion mode than when I’m between cycles, of course, but I try to keep somewhat current, just by posting something here and there or commenting on others’ posts. There is an old adage that if someone gets seven impressions of, say, a book (1. a review, 2. see it in store, 3. hear about from friend, 4. see author on TV, etc.) they will be more likely to want/purchase that thing. So it can’t hurt if they see you on Facebook here and there, or a review you wrote on Good Reads, or a blog you posted to Red Room. Speaking of blogging, book blog tours are wonderful. One good company doing that (among many) is TLC Tours.

            The other promotional methods that work well for me are reading events (not only the reading itself, necessarily, but also the promotion that goes into it, the stack of books that sits at the front of the store for an extra couple of weeks, and getting to know the bookseller personally), occasional email newsletters, and attending regional bookseller trade shows to meet lots of booksellers. Throw in a little radio here and there, a few reviews and profiles, some fundraiser appearances or writing conferences . . . it’s just really a big mix, and I’m always trying to think up new things, inside and outside the box.

L.J. Sellers

Author of provocative mysteries and thrillers and her latest Detective Jackson mystery Liars, Cheaters and Thieves.

When she started:

            The great thing about blogs now is that they’re so easy to set up, and both Blogger and WordPress let you create pages on your blog so that it has some depth like a website. And with sidebars you can create a newsletter look.

            I do e-zines only when I have a new release. But a lot of writers do them more frequently.

            Blogger is a good (easy) place to start if you just want to have a website presence and a place to express yourself and draw readers. Then see how it goes. Have fun with it.

Now:

            I’m on my third website design and I paid different designers for each version, spending more each time. But as my readership grew, so did the importance of looking professional and making a good impression. My website is set up in Wordpress and incorporates my blog, which is pretty common now. It’s so easy to update.

            I’m also part of a group blog, Crime Fiction Collective. And of course, I have several Facebook pages, and I’m on Twitter and Google+.

My Take on All of This

That was a lot to chew on. I liked what Cheryl did and would love to just work the heck out of Facebook. She went stratospheric with Wild so entered entirely different territory. But I didn’t have a novel to push, so I needed more of a presence online to show my chops as a writer.

Christina had great ideas, too, because she’s a writer’s writer, trying to help other writers with their marketing and management. She, however, markets non-fiction to writers, and that’s a specific niche. I read one of her books, Get Known Before the Book Deal, and used a few of her ideas, but I can't do them all, so I need to make choices based on my needs.

Jennie reminded me to do what I thought I’d like to do, not what I’m supposed to do. I loved all her advice. Jennie’s a wrangler; she could move a whole town from one place to another. I’m not like that. I need eight hours sleep, and I’m a slow writer. Her specific, helpful ideas made me think seriously about a blog.

L.J.’s another marketing maven and her best advice was “Have fun with it.” Her enthusiasm for a blog made me see how a blog would really help me as a writer of fiction.

My Analysis

These four authors were doing everything they could to connect with their readers. That meant they were doing everything I was doing and much more.

With their input and what I knew, I analyzed my situation:

·      First, why was I doing social media at all if I didn’t have a novel out?

o   To begin building my readership and get known online.

·      I had very good pieces in two anthologies, so could I direct readers there?

o   Yes, I needed a place to talk about them and start attracting readers.

·      I was on too many social media sites that were repetitive with business related info about publishing, agents, e-publishing, etc. Could I drop one or two of those?

o   Yes. There are only so many articles I need to read about those subjects.

·      If I wanted to reach readers, where could I go that would be better than just the blogs and groups that dealt with the craft of writing or how to get published?

o   I needed to be more focused on being active in reader communities such as Goodreads and Shelfari.

·      What overwhelms me?

o   My email inbox. Three of my social media sites have groups specific to a subject.

o   Much of my email was coming from those. I needed to unsubscribe.

·      What is the most important thing I should be doing?

o   Finishing a novel and getting it to my agent. Writing.

·      What would be most beneficial right now for me as an unpublished novelist?

o   Creating readers. Giving them a taste of my writing. Giving them stories.

·      What could create readers? How could I give readers a sample of my writing?

o   A blog.

That sounded like the best choice. And, because I was editing and revising two novels, the idea of writing something new and short excited me. Okay. All I needed was an idea for a blog and a focus, a blog name, and a schedule.

Soon I had my blog up and running.

My Mistake

Call me a nitwit. Call me dunderhead. Call me whatever.

I had added yet another social media item to maintain, and this one demanded not only daily maintenance, but creativity. (See Why I Haven’t Blogged in Over Two Months)

I did give myself credit for not working LinkedIn, dropping group emails, reducing my email inbox, and establishing a writing schedule, never mind restraining myself from reading everyone else’s blog and following every cool site they posted.

But now what? What could I do? I couldn’t just drop my blog. I enjoyed hearing from my readers. I enjoyed writing the blog posts most of the time. Plus, once I publish a novel, I’ll already be up and running and won’t have that to do.

But, everything goes back to that: finishing a novel and getting it published.

Again, the trick is to do the most important thing first—write.

The best way I can help myself do that is to keep social media sane and manage it. And I have found a way. I’ve developed a strategy.

For the next post, I’ll tell you what that strategy is and it's not necessarily about fixing my use of social media. Intrigued? Stop in for Part III.

How about you? Have you made mistakes and how did you fix them? Or if you haven’t fixed them, want some ideas on how to fix them? Do you have a social media strategy?

Leave me a comment, and I’ll even do a little counseling on your particular problem. Or if you prefer, we can brainstorm privately. I would love to hear outrageous ideas for managing social media. We’re creative aren’t we? Let’s blue sky!

Thanks for being there!

Val

Special thanks to my posse, Cheryl, Jennie, Christina and L.J. Plus, a big howdy do and thanks to Becky Green Aaronson who likened social media to The Wild West in a comment on Part I.

A few links to other good posts about this topic:

My Love / Hate Relationship with Social Media by Literary Agent Rachelle Gardner

Do Unpublished Writers Have to Blog? By Mary Kole of kidlit.com & Movable Type Management

COMING UP AFTER Part III:

Where I work. A photographic peek into my writing spaces.

A confession: What happened after my six readers responded to my novel.

Save Your Writing Life: How NOT to Let Social Media Take Over—Part I

... Or How to Make Choices about Social Media

A few weeks ago, I rode up to the Portland Art Museum to see a David Hockney exhibit with my pal Jan Eliot.

I confessed how life lately felt overwhelming, and I couldn’t seem to accomplish the simple tasks on my list.

As all good pals do, she reminded me that I’d just finished a novel and was revising my last one and with all the work I’d been doing, never mind juggling family and a part-time job, it was understandable that I was a little “fried.”

Don’t you just love best pals?

I was also in the waiting game—six readers had my manuscript and I was waiting for their feedback. Waiting always weighs on me psychologically even though I try not to think about what the readers will say. Did they love my characters? Will they love the story? Did I miss something? How huge will the changes be? Did I blow it somehow? Would they buy this novel as a book? A dump truck of doubts will unload in my mind without permission.

So back to my pal Jan and our conversation.

My dumb luck was to actually have good timing. Jan had recently returned from L.A. and a visit to her brother-in-law and his wife who just happened to be reading The Now Habit, first published in 1989 and recently updated.

Jan said, “After talking about the book, I came away with one great rule for getting things done—do the most important thing on your list first.”

For a minute, that sounded so obvious that I was about to dismiss it. Do the most important thing first. Hmm.

Then I had to admit something to myself—I usually did just the opposite. I took care of little tasks first so I felt that I’d accomplished something right away.

A follow-up to an email. Accepting a friend request. Sending a pdf of the notes to a meeting.

I should know that little trap. A few hours later, I’ve gone from email, to the web because I just have to respond to one of my social media pals because I’m a responsible human being. Or I need to post something so important. If I’m really sucked in (and my mind has been taken over by future tripping), I watch a TED talk on book cover design because, of course, that will be important in the future if I decide to self publish.

(Ha! Admit it. Right now you’re thinking, What TED talk on book cover design?)

Jan and I talked about this big aha moment, how such a simple bit of advice seemed so important. Don’t we always have to be reminded of the obvious? Then we arrived at the museum, and we surrendered to Hockney and art.

The next day, I remembered our discussion and downloaded a sample of The Now Habit onto my Kindle. This paragraph grabbed my attention; the bold highlights are mine:

“Surfing the Internet, instant messaging, e-mailing, and the use of cell phones have added to the number of distractions that can seduce us away from our mission of starting on a major project that could change our lives. Because these new devices give us an immediate response, they have an unfair competitive edge over activities that will not be rewarded until the end of the month or—as in the case of finishing school, writing a book, or learning to play the piano—until after one to four years of intensive work. All the more reason to use the tools offered you by The Now Habit.”

Bingo. I had a new rule—do the most important task on your list first.

One of his points is about procrastination, and I’m guessing here that this has to do with fiddling around with small chores before doing the most demanding because, well, it’s the most demanding. The other, I’ll bet, is about breaking habits that let us believe we’re being productive when, in fact, they’re not.

So how do I change the habit of going for the immediate reward?

(Well, not exactly)

Back to my beginnings

To answer that question (and while I read the book), I decided to go back to the beginning of my own experience in social media to understand what I’ve done, why I made my choices, and where I’m at now.

As a writer, I’m always reading about why I must be a social media expert in order to be successful. Articles abound about the topic, but I have not found many that help a writer make personal decisions about the social media that will work for them and how to manage it along with writing a novel, memoir or anything else.

I decided to approach such a big subject by breaking it down into three blog posts, kind of like a three-act structure--beginning, middle and end:

Part I (below) – Back to my beginnings. How I chose the social media that I thought fit my personality and needs, and my major screw ups.

Part II –Asking for help and making my biggest mistake. How four of my writer friends responded when I asked what they chose to do and why (Jennie Shortridge, LJ Sellers, Cheryl Strayed and Christina Katz), followed by my doozy decision.

Part III – What I’m doing to save myself, plus a few hardcore ways to manage social media and put writing time first. Ideas to vanquish demons, break a habit, and not feel guilty, plus a few tools for your toolbox for retraining purposes.

PART I

How did I begin? The usual. I just dove in.

I joined Facebook on November 23, 2007. How do I know this? Facebook’s Timeline. Great for keeping track of yourself.

From the beginning, I wanted the FB page to focus on writing. I’m not one for needing to know if a friend had just kissed a walrus or ate a nouvelle cuisine worm pie. (Sorry, but sometimes posts do seem this ridiculous.)

At the time, I was at a month-long writer’s residency at Vermont Studio Center. Two friends, Randy Sue Coburn and Cheryl Strayed, posted on my page. I think I had six friends in all. I started out with the right intention, to make Facebook focus on my writing. My first “like” was PBS. Good start.

But then came the social media gurus, the people who tell you that, as a writer, you need to build a platform, to “brand” yourself online so that you become known before you publish. Then that fan group will purchase your book.

I confess: my mom once said, “Valerie, you’re a good girl who wants to be a bad girl.” I think she meant I do what I’m supposed to do until I smack my forehead and say, “This isn’t working for me, People!”

Years went by and, like a good girl, I joined Twitter, two Yahoo groups, and LinkedIn. I joined groups within those social networks and the next thing I knew, my email box was flooded. I was following blogs, I’m clicking on links that have to do with how to encourage followers, how to e-publish, the pros and cons of self-publishing, how to use key words, etc. ad nauseum.

 If I were still a pirate, I would be yelling, “Arrrrrgh!”

Oh, what the hell. “Arrrrrgh!”

Soon, I was creating folders for articles I needed to read but didn’t have time for. Soon, I was dreading my email because I felt guilty because I couldn’t keep up. Then I received two abusive responses on LinkedIn for a post of an article about Amazon.

What in heck was I doing?

None of it helped the writing. None of it gave me that gorgeous imaginative space for creation. None of it inspired me.

I was fractured.

What happened next?

Tune in for Part II, next week, when I do something really stupid.

Until then, walk around a new neighborhood, fill your lungs with fresh air, clear your head, and escape into that magical zone of daydreaming.

And if you, too, have something to confess or can guess where this is going, leave a comment. I’d love to hear what you’ve been through, how you began.

Let your naked thoughts and confessions find respite here.

Hugs,

Val

COMING UP AFTER Part II & III:

Where I work. A photographic peek into my writing spaces.

A confession: What happened after my six readers responded to my novel.

And thanks, Jan, for your fun comic strips about the 40th Birthday of Title IX! Check it out:

Stone Soup Cartoons

WILD by Cheryl Strayed--WINNER of First Edition Hardback!

Hi All,

Yes, it's been awhile and as promised in my April blog post, I am giving away a first edition hardback of Cheryl Strayed's Wild and have selected the winner from everyone who commented in April, both on my blog and via email or SheWrites.

I have a regular blog post coming soon, but news about Cheryl has catapulted me onto the internet (and out of working on two novels) to celebrate her news and give away this amazing memoir.


Yesterday, Oprah announced a new book club, saying she decided to revive the book club after reading Wild. She said, "I was like, 'where is the Oprah Winfrey show when you need to announce and tell everybody about his book?' I need the book club."

Here's the video announcement:

So without further fuss and champagne drinking, congrats to one of my SheWrites peeps in winning the book and maybe now joining Oprah's new book club to discuss Cheryl's Amazing Adventure.

JANNETTE ENG

Congrats, Jannette! I'm sure you'll love it. 

And thanks to all who commented on my blog post. I promised to follow up with constructive ideas on how to not get derailed by social media and I will, with a two-part post coming soon, the first one with advice by authors who have different ways of dealing with this, and the second part a compendium of hardcore tools, suggestions, advice and resources for anyone else who feels the pinch of social media on their time and creativity. Many of the tools are ones I've heard of or created for myself and can be adapted immediately. The last thing I want to do is take up your time in figuring out ways to gain time. Seems a little counterproductive, doesn't it?

Hope you're enjoying your life and being "wild" every so often!
Val



For the curious who love to read about people who have struggled and overcome some "big thing," whatever it is, in their life, I'm loving this new blog, "Re-inventing Karla." Check it out!

Re-inventing Karla

The Day My Dad Died

            The day my dad died I was one month shy of my nineteenth birthday and six months pregnant. I’d spent the day with my husband, whom I would divorce three years later, driving around Lake Winnisquam, looking for a place to rent so we wouldn’t be stuck in our second floor, two-room stuffy apartment in Laconia. I’d grown up on Lake Winnisquam and needed a place with fresh air where I could walk outside with my baby, barefoot, maybe even see the lake shimmer in the distance. If really lucky, we’d find a place where I could sit under a tree by the water and wade in to cool off on hot muggy days.

My brother and I at the lake

            We drove all afternoon and found a place, a small two-room cabin just down the road from my parents on Hill Road, across from the right-of-way that gave everyone on the opposite side of the road access to a swimming spot. The right-of-way, as we always called it, held memories of neighborhood swims and my first kiss from an out-of-town boy called Punk. When I needed space from my family or a retreat from a fight with my dad, I’d slip down to the right-of-way and sit under a big pine to daydream, cry or cool off.

            The day my dad died, we rented that cabin, relieved to find a place we could afford. I thought how lucky I was to be near my lake when the baby came. As we drove down Hill Road and approached my parent’s house, something happened that I’ve only been able to describe as a flash of light, as if an old-fashioned camera bulb had popped in my face and blinded me for a moment. I clutched at my rounded belly and said, “We have to stop. I need to see Dad.”

            I’d been taking Dad to the VA hospital in Vermont, checking on him for my mom when she was at work, but being so wrapped up in new-found love and baby making made me blind to how ill my dad was.

Dad, me and my brother Kent picking beans

            My husband didn’t like my father, so he drove past the salmon-colored ranch-style house that my father spent years remodeling, my life-long home only six months earlier. As we pulled out onto the Route 3, I glanced back at the house where my dad had tended his garden and raspberry bushes, a house that he insisted was “salmon-colored” not pink. The tiny porch wasn’t big enough for a chair, but it was a good place to get out of the weather and take off boots, to greet guests, to sit on the steps as a little kid with a friend or my brother or sister. I remember window boxes, having always had a soft spot for them, but I’m not sure they existed.

Kent, our Beagle King, Wendy & I

 Aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends, and co-workers would pass through that front door for parties, holidays, and summer gatherings. Christmas was our favorite holiday because mom always over did it with presents and Dad would complain that she was driving him to the poor house. When I think of my dad, I picture him sitting in his recliner, smoking Winstons, eating his Bridgemix and reading a book, if he wasn’t watching our new color television, the cause of one of my parents’ biggest arguments that left them not speaking for days and put us three kids on our best behavior because one thing we never doubted, even through the bad times was the great love our parents had for each other. I may have doubted my dad’s love for me at times, but I never doubted that my parents were in love.

Me with my mom and her sister Vera on our "porch"

            When my fights with Dad started, it was normal teenage fare, the whole unfairness of life. Why couldn’t I ride in cars with my friends? Why did I need to be home at that hour? Why couldn’t I hang out at the Tony’s Pizza Parlor? That’s when I became the cause of their arguments. Mom wanted to give me more freedom; Dad didn’t. Mom said the reason Dad and I fought was because we were too much alike. Dad said it wasn’t me he didn’t trust; it was boys.

            After leaving Hill Road, after deciding not to fight with my husband about stopping at my parents’ house, we drove in silence and when we reached our two-room apartment in Laconia, I trudged up the outside stairs, wanting to go back. We had just entered the apartment when the phone rang. My husband answered it, then handed the receiver to me.

            “Valerie, this is Dr. Robinson. I’m sorry. Your dad is dead. He shot himself.”

            I screamed and dropped the phone.

My son Jason was born three months later. I never doubted I was having a boy, even from the beginning. After Dad died, I was even more convinced it would be boy. I don’t remember picking out a girl’s name, although I know we did.

            Jason looks uncannily like his grandfather and has his wicked sense of humor and wit, his mannerisms, his work ethic, his sense of responsibility, but thankfully no health problems. I think my dad would have loved him. Or, would the two of them been too much alike and rubbed each other the wrong way? I don’t know.

Mom and Dad

            My dad was responsible right up to the end. On the day he died, he bought a new license and tags for the dog, made sure there was enough paint for one of us kids to finish the garage, and went to the barber for a haircut. He told mom all this in a letter he left, including letting mom know was no suicide clause in the insurance policy. The letter glows with his great love and adoration for my mom. He didn’t want to be a burden on the family and knew the way it was going, he would be. He included a p.s. to me, saying he was sorry he wouldn’t be there to see his first grandchild and, to the end, tried for humor by writing he hoped we wouldn’t give our baby his middle name, Horace.

            Our family still carries on his insistence of having manners, table manners being high on his list: elbows off the table, sit up straight, slow down. Dad would often say, “Don’t eat like your mother,” meaning the English way with knife and fork reversed and fork piled high.

            But this is also a man who sometimes did not eat what mom served for dinner, instead breaking Saltines into a bowl of milk after a day of working outside in the heat and humidity. He ate slowly, chewed each bite over and over, driving us kids crazy. This kind of control extended to the way he raised us. When he couldn’t control us and we fought him, he’d punish. “You might not love me,” he said once, “but one day you’ll respect me.” He was wrong. All I really wanted was to love him and be loved back, but he was a hard man to please and he took my rebellion personally.

            I have grandchildren now and, if I lavish them with love, it’s because sometimes all a teen needs is a hug and a “It will be okay. You’ll get through this.” Many times my fights with my dad might not have happened if I hadn’t felt judged and shamed, if I hadn’t felt my emotions being negated by a parental need to be perceived as in control and being seen as a perfect family.

            Don’t get me wrong. I’m not kidding myself here. Teens have their emotional needs and drives that often supersede anything parents can provide. Guiding teens through their teens is probably the hardest job there is as a parent because they’re competing with peers and hormones. Dad had two more children coming up fast behind me and I’m sure that crossed his mind as we battled and he grew more ill.

Dad

            And he was ill, more than I knew. He battled rheumatoid arthritis and prescription pills, and was unable to work toward the end. The only way out for him, as he concluded, was suicide. He did what he thought was the responsible thing, plus it would end his pain and sense of powerless. In his besieged mine, the only way our family would survive would be if he didn’t become a bigger financial and medical burden. I don't doubt that that indeed would have happened.

            Yet on the day he died, he didn’t realize he exchanged those possible burdens on us for bigger, emotional ones.

            Time has given me perspective and knowledge of suicide. Time has given me an understanding of how a need for control can also cause a loss of control. Some have said to me that suicide is the ultimate show of control, but I don't believe that in my dad's case that's true. If he hadn't been ill, he would have never given up. But when he couldn't be the husband and father he wanted to be, needed to be, he couldn't fake it anymore.

            Time has also, above all, shown me that perception should never overshadow love. I don’t care what others think about what my family goes through. We all have problems and I choose to be friends with people who share them and exchange knowledge so we can help out each other. The generation of our parents living in a “keeping up with the Joneses” and “what will the neighbors think” culture better be over because they’re faulty paradigms and destructive on so many levels, especially for a writer like myself who was conditioned to keep a lid on everything of importance and has had to fight to be free and express myself truthfully.

Kent and I in snow

            A few days ago, Mom said to me on the phone, “I wonder what our life would have been like if your dad had lived.” I couldn’t say. I couldn’t imagine it. I hope she visualized something sweet and carefree, something that, like in an act of creating fiction, she formed in her mind while erasing sickness, lack of money, a crazy political world that would have turned my dad apoplectic. I hope she saw her and Dad, retired by the lake, him fishing, her reading or talking on the phone. Maybe they even hold hands while sitting in chairs on the dock. 

Poppy day or Memorial Day around 1961

But maybe they would still be attending their American Legion activities, maybe still dancing as they always did so beautifully. I think she can create that in her mind, create her own story for a life they'd live now. I doubt very much that they would have ended up in Florida where she now lives. I think he’d had enough of hot and humid. But maybe, after shoveling snow one hard winter, he'd have been happy to join the snowbirds. Why not?

* * * * *

            I remember one winter day after a storm had dumped a foot or more of snow. Dad was out shoveling the walkway and I was playing on one of those high snow mounds the snowplow had left along the road. I dug a hole, probably one of those “digging to China” holes, and I dug it so deep, I couldn’t get out. When I realized this, I yelled over and over, “Dad! Dad!”

            When he finally heard me, he walked up the mound, looked down, shook his head and laughed. Then he reached down for my hand and lifted me out.

Dad, my mom's mom Nannie Smith holding me, and Mom

 

In Loving Memory

Albert Horace Brooks ~ April 3, 1916 to April 30, 1970.

Why I Haven’t Blogged in Over Two Months

            First, my heartfelt thanks to all of you who responded to my last post, “Being Cheryl Strayed.” You energized me. You made me believe in myself again and my writing. When I read your comments, I wanted to reach out and hug you all and let you know how much I believe in you.

I hope you’re all still digging deep for that authentic self, the one you always carry, the one that sometimes gets layered over with other people’s expectations, perceptions, and needs. The one that gets lost in our modern world, the world that keeps us so distracted we forget who we are and what makes us powerful creative beings. A toast to all of us.

            Now to tell you what happened after I wrote my last post. And it wasn’t what I expected, not by a long shot.

I truly expected to have a mega burst of creative energy. I was raw, open, and a little scared, but raring to go, especially to finish my novel.

            Instead, I found myself drop kicked to the ground. I just couldn’t get up. I couldn’t find the energy to write, to keep up with my responsibilities, to even be excited about the novel. What was wrong? What was happening? When I finally dragged myself to my feet and examined myself, I had a whole new problem to figure out and another layer to dig through.

            It was morning, a few weeks after the last blog post when I dragged myself out of bed and realized I was anxious and depressed. I’m not one to be depressed. It’s just not me. I took my usual half hour to wake up, my usual easing into the day. Dan was downstairs, drinking his coffee and reading the paper. He knows not to talk to me first thing and woe is he who asks, “What should we have for dinner tonight?”

            I stumbled around, heated water for tea, and tried to remember what my last thoughts were before I fell asleep and what I’d dreamed about. I often use sleep and dreams to solve problems. When I’m fully in tune with myself (happy, excited, adventurous, expectant), I go to bed with a story problem and sometimes wake up with a solution. My dreams are vivid, Technicolor, intense, full story dreams with a beginning, middle and end. Sometimes they are simply stories. Sometimes they are a collage of recent personal events and fears, or my fears for the world. Before 911, I had, like many people did, dreams of being in a tall building that was crumbling around me.

            But that morning I couldn’t remember anything about my dreams or what I’d wanted to process before I fell asleep.

While my tea brewed, I wiped down the sink, put dishes away from the night before, and read part of the paper standing up at the counter. I grabbed pencil and paper and wrote down a few groceries we needed. My fuzzy morning brain was waking up, but I wasn’t happy. I plunked down on the kitchen stool. When was the last time I was happy in the morning? When had I last woke up feeling excited, adventurous, expectant? I couldn’t remember.

Okay, the best way to push through all this was to prepare for the day. I flipped to a new sheet of paper and decided to write down what I would do that day. I started a list:

Write a blog post.

Then it came back to me, what I’d gone to bed mulling over and worrying about—I could not come up with a subject to blog about.

I’d never had a problem writing this blog. Never. I did think about what my readers would find interesting, but for the most part, my topics came from what I found interesting. Readers would find it worth reading or not. Sure, I worried about execution, the old “Can I pull this off? Or will I sound like an idiot?” I didn’t worry too much about the last part. I’ve sounded like an idiot before and it didn’t kill me.

Okay. So the problem was a topic for the blog. Easy then. Quit trying so hard. I could do a follow up to the reader comments from the last entry. I’d take the “Being Cheryl Strayed” to another level. I wrote that down on my list. I could write about my decision to drop the pirate persona, how I now found it tedious, and I’d explain why.

Nah, that wasn’t even interesting.

I took a deep breath. My mind was all over the place with ideas but I just couldn’t get excited about any of them. Okay, don’t panic. I’d set that aside for the moment. I would make a list of everything I needed to do and start working on that. Crossing things off a list was always therapeutic. I wrote:

Check your Facebook page because you’ve let that go.

You forgot to check ValinParis account for comments.

Post the Cheryl Strayed piece to Women Writing the West Yahoo users group.

Set up Hootsuite; need to follow hashtag groups.

Goodreads—woefully out of date!

Go through all your email; needs attention!

Respond to SheWrites messages and post to groups.

Write the column for Books By the Bed.

I set the pencil down. I felt a little sick. I stared at the list.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

I took my now cold tea to my writing room and stood there, looking at my library of novels and reference books, the stacks of literary magazines and the binders full of research. A partial manuscript was tucked in my laptop bag with all my revision notes.

Reading area in my writing room

What used to make me happy, excited, adventurous, expectant was writing. Writing fiction. Why wasn’t I devoting every waking—and sleeping—moment to finishing my novel? That’s what I used to fall asleep with—characters, story, plot problems, structure possibilities. I know I can’t do that all the time, but I remember when I’d wake up in that fuzzy first hour, noodling ideas and excited about perhaps a scene I needed to finish.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

Internet.

That’s why I couldn’t move, couldn’t be excited, was depressed. I’d been letting all this online networking and social media—creating a web presence, as they call it—take over. What was the use of having all this “presence” if I didn’t have a finished novel? What good did it do anyway? Who were these people who said you had to have a web presence if you wanted to be an author? Who were these gurus who insisted that this new world of publishing demanded an author FB/Tweet/blog/Google+/Klout/Pinterest, etc.?

I drank my cold tea and pushed away that old Puritan who said, “How dare you question authority.” What authority, I asked? I used to work in advertising and marketing. I understood the old caveat emptor warning. So I asked myself, Who is selling us on the idea of all this social media and internet marketing?

I don’t begrudge anyone the opportunity to recognize a need and create a service to fill that need. They have to make a living and they do give away lots of good info before asking you to buy something. I subscribe to three of these social media gurus e-newsletters, so I asked myself, What roped me in?

 Use of their urgent language? Use of their authoritative tone? The fear of not doing it?

“If you don’t do this, you won’t succeed.”

Well, maybe. But does anyone have the numbers to prove this? Sure, I want to be successful. I want to be ready for the moment when my book is published. But what price am I paying?

            If I’m sacrificing my happiness, my creativity, the immersion time I need to write, if I don’t have time anymore to read other novels, why bother? I’d even dragged these demands to Colonyhouse retreats because when you’re on that many sites, you have to keep up on a daily basis. You have to get online and be “present.”

            No, I said to myself that morning. Not if it means you can’t be fully present in your writing. In that wonderful creative half-awake state that morning, not once had I thought about my novel.

            Not once.

I had to do something drastic.

So I did. I dropped all my social media activities and went on a blog hiatus. Just like that.

Once again, I was back in the land of the writer. I went to bed with my novel, woke up with it, noodled it in the car, devoted myself to it for a month, and fell in love again. The novel grew stronger and deeper with this immersion; the writing was some of my best.

I finished April 1, the deadline I’d first set for myself, and that’s not an April Fool’s joke. The novel is now out with five readers and I’m happier than I’ve been in … damn, I can’t remember when. Probably sometime before I dove into the social media. Even Dan has commented on how much happier I seem.

            I've heard the argument for balancing both, limiting my time online, giving myself one hour in the evening, etc. etc. But let’s be honest. How many of you have been online for an hour? It’s more along the lines of look at the clock and gasp because three hours have gone by. And never mind trying to return to your writing, fully present in that. No, you’re concentration, that precious immersion in story, has been infected. With internet.

            As many of you know, the gift of being a writer is the joy of noodling an idea, slurping it around the mouth, playing with the creative food. It’s about immersion. When I’m writing, even the bad days are good. Even when I’m writing drivel, the days are better than anything else.

            I did have pangs of guilt for not being on all those internet sites I’d joined. But it didn’t depress me or make me anxious. After the novel was done, I decided to clear up my writing room, weed out saved articles and old magazines. Spring was in the air and I like order. As I went through articles I had saved, I came across one that took away any residual guilt about my dropping out from the internet.

The article, “Inner Space: Clearing Some Room for Inspiration,” by Frank Bures examines the same problem I’d been dealing with and that many creative people face. When I was online every day to do my social media, I had what Bures admitted he developed, what researcher Linda Stone calls “continuous partial attention.”

Continuous partial attention.

Lake Winnisquam

Ping! I couldn’t stay in the story or daydream or be in the warm fuzzy creative space upon waking. My focus was chopped up into too many small bites. I yearned for my childhood days when I would spend hours sitting under a tree beside Lake Winnisquam, making up stories that I’d spin into words later on paper.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m organized. I have systems. I keep great files. I’m pretty good at time management.

This, however, is something entirely different. Overuse of the internet slices and dices your brain. It damages your focus, your creative headspace.

So here we are in this modern tech age when we are expected to be online every day to create a presence and it’s rupturing the connection to our creativity? And what of our writerly isolation and prolonged sitting? (Lots of new info on how dangerous that is.) I know I have even more reason to limit that “online presence.”

I do love my online communities, the amazing, helpful, wonderful people, the great resources. But I will from now on be absent when writing and promise to give you a heads up.

And yes, I finished my novel. Relief! Happiness! Fulfillment!

For fun—after the novel was done—I ran the first page of it through the website “I Write Like …” and came up with David Foster Wallace. Yes, go ahead and play with the site. Drop a chunk of your writing into the box and see who pops up. I wanted my writing to be like Margaret Atwood’s, but David’s would definitely do.

I’m celebrating, both the finish of my novel and my new freedom. You’ve been with me for almost a year and a half, given me support and courage, and for that I’m giving away a copy of Cheryl’s memoir Wild. If you leave a comment, your name goes into the hat. Either use the comment box or send to the ValinParis email.

Also, I would love to have your reactions to my story. Do you have similar stories and concerns? What are they? Have you experienced a negative effect on your writing from being on the internet? Or not? I’m really curious. I know we have to market our books once they’re published, but is all this social media necessary and does it work? What do you refuse to do? What do you think is really necessary? How do you make those decisions?

Thanks again for being there, for reading this. Please join the conversation. In the meantime, ask yourself this: what is running around inside your head when you wake up? Does it make you happy or anxious? Why?

And for your information, I won’t be blogging weekly. I’ll blog when I’m inspired and want to reach out to you.

Until then, hugs all ‘round.

Val

p.s. If anyone heard the NPR Morning Edition story about this same subject/issue, please let me know when you heard it and if there's a link to it. I didn't hear it, but was told about it. Thanks!

Also, if you're interested, check out the books I'm reading, Books Beside the Bed, at We Wanted to Be Writers.