That Awkward Moment – Writing A Blog Post Then Promoting It.

PERFECTION IS A FANTASY

Once you finish writing a blog post and then publish it, you panic.

You see a word or two you want to change, a sentence that could be phrased differently.

And you think. Who would want to read this? It’s crap! It needs another revision. Then you backslide into “this isn’t good enough syndrome,” and get stuck in the weeds.

Literally and figuratively.

Writing IS like weeding. You’ll always find something you want to pull and toss.

Stop oppressive gardeningAfter bagging hundreds of dandelions you caught choking the life from your somewhat greenish lawn, you’re ready to drag the bag to the curb. You grab it, then stop.

You spot a dandelion at two o’clock. It taunts you. “Come and get me, plucker!”

“Me, too!” another one screams.

“And me!” laughs Dandelion #3.

You drop to your knees and continue yanking and bagging. Every time you think you’re done, more dandelions appear.

The same is true with writing. You’ll always find a weedy word you want to extricate from the page.

But don’t let your proclivity for perfection paralyze you.

Your post may not be perfect. But, Damn it! It’s close enough.

Restrain the obsessive beast in your brain by setting a deadline before you start to write. When you reach the deadline, stop and say, “I’m done! Really done. Now, what?”

It’s time to promote your post.

CLIMB OUT OF YOUR SHELF

The brain

The brain (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How does a writer reprogram their brain from writing to promoting?

For a writer who’s thrilled when anyone reads her work, the thought of promoting it can be terrifying.

But don’t give in to your fears. Push past that fluttery feeling in your gut and seek out other like-minded souls on the Internet.

Join Twitter, FacebookPininterest and other social media sites.

Find your tribe: people you want to hangout with. Join a writer’s group on Facebook.

After you find your tribe, don’t bore them by only talking about your writing. Join the conversation.

Just like at a cocktail party, if you meet someone who talks at you, not with you, you make excuses and walk away. You avoid self-absorbed people who tell you how great they are. The same is true with social media.

Don’t monopolize your tribe mate’s time by promoting your work. Promotion is NOT one-sided. Promotion IS interactive. Make friends. Say hello. Share a post. Ask them about their day.

Then something amazing happens. Your tribe mate cracks a joke. You LOL. And someone shares your post.

The more you meet people and engage them, the more comfortable you’ll become with social media. After a while it will be fun… maybe too much fun, maybe a bit addictive. That’s when you need to take a breath.

Learn to manage your time, so you don’t stay online for hours, or days, and lose focus of your passion. Take a break. Quit the Internet. Reboot your brain and write!

 

This post is based upon the recent Twitter chat, “How to Overcome Self-Promotion Anxiety As A Writer,” hosted by Amanda Chiu of Atomic Reach #AtomicChat.

Thanks again for inviting me to be a guest on the last chat of the year.

You Don’t Know Jack Schmidt!

Jack W. Schmidt was born on September 19, 1927 and died on July 25, 2015 at age 88.

The world seems a bit off without him in it… this Jack of all trades who was an actor, writer, cryptologist and a financial analyst for the aerospace industry.

In Jack’s career as an actor, he appeared on Broadway in a short-lived musical spoof of Agatha Christie’s “Ten Little Indians,” and off-Broadway in “Little Shop of Horrors” as well as “The Fantasticks.” In film, he was an extra in the bank heist scene in Woody Allen’s “Take the Money & Run.”

A two-time winner of the “Bad Hemingway Contest” with wife Liz, Jack also won the hearts of the writers in the Ridgefield Writers Guild, a group he was a member of for 12 plus years.w-OBT-Schmidt

Jack was a formidable man, in spirit and stature. He was tall, but thin and frail in recent years and walked with a cane. His frailties were the antitheses of the strength he wielded in his voice and stories. The timbre of his voice resonated in a room when he read aloud and commanded the attention of those who had the pleasure of hearing him speak.

The stories Jack wrote were as much about his life and travels as they were about the people in his stories who shared his experiences. From his time spent in Mexico with literary peers, to witnessing H-Bomb blasts in the New Mexico desert, which he chronicled for the Air Force, and then later wrote about in story form — I was there with him, a passenger on his journeys, seeing the world as he did through his eyes and his words.

Jack was a gentle giant of a man and had a heart as large as Mexico. He was an inspiration to our writing group and always supportive. His talent and kindness will forever remain in our hearts.

In July, we lost an elegant writer, speaker and friend. A selfless man who lived big and dreamed bigger.

Carpe diem. Seize the day -Love Jack, he wrote in a 2009 email, a phrase that captures the way in which he lived his life.

We miss you, Jack!

RIP…

What Kind Of Thinker Are You?

 

The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris

The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve been thinking about thinking a lot and the different ways people use their brains, or don’t use them.

I recently wrote a post about the subject at Huffington Post and would like to expand upon it here.

As an “outside the lines” thinker, I’ve been listening to this thought rattle around in my head:

Can a “within the lines” thinker let his mind wander beyond the perimeter outside conventional thought?

Specifically speaking, can a rigid-thinking mathematician who values the orderly nature of numbers use his thoughts as a flotation device? — In one-tenth percent of a moment, can he disavow digits and embrace escape?

I think Mr. Numbers can if he’d be willing to take his thoughts out for a spin on the far side — a magical place to visit whenever life broadsides your brain.

Just two words can take you there: “What if?” A game writers love to play.

“What if my house is really a spaceship that landed in my yard while I was asleep in a coma tube?”

“What if the universe is really a diorama in an alien museum?”

Try to prove or disprove that theory my “within the lines” thinking friend.

Perhaps, rigid thinkers, like Mr. Numbers, are a necessity for those of us who landed on Earth in a coma tube. We need practical thinkers to counteract wily thinkers like us.

Rigid types create structure that prevents wily thought travelers from disappearing into a virtual vortex of vex.

Perhaps, one structural creation device is a pharma helper called Concerta for attention drifters whose thought migration patterns follow the sparkles in shiny things.

As an attention drifter myself, Concerta helps me travel round trip from left-brain to right. Now when I clock in at work, my mind clocks in, too. Concerta keeps my thoughts on a leash inside the perimeter in which I sit. If I’m not busy, I find work to occupy my time to prevent my thoughts from taking a sudden trip to Imagination Island.

Mr. Numbers has a problem that’s 180-degrees from mine. He’s a “within the lines thinker” and could benefit from a pharma helper with a psychedelic twist. Not that I condone taking “under the counter” drugs. I don’t. In many cases, even “over the counter” drugs aren’t the best way to fix an anomaly in the brain.

Let’s take the natural route, instead, and ask Mr. Numbers to try meditating once a day without clutching his calculator.

I only use a calculator when adding or subtracting, which consumes most of the focus in my focus meds.

By the time I get home, my mind is in a hibernation state. All I’m capable of is staring at the brain-suck box in my living room. It whites out lingering dark figures that prowl the corridors in my head searching for answers to sum up their existence.

I wonder if things ever add up for them.

What sums up the kind of thinker you are?

Disclaimer: This is not an endorsement of Concerta. I am no fan of pharmaceutical ads and their side-effect warnings — especially, the latest ad on Shingles that shows gruesome pictures without a warning beforehand of the PTSD side effects of viewing red oozing back sores. Somebody please get Shingle ads off my TV.

Do You Feel Like You’re Blogging In An Evening Gown?

That’s how it feels when I write a post on WordPress. I need to put on an evening gown to write, unlike Blogger, which has a casual dress code.

English: Geraldine Farrar in evening gown

English: Geraldine Farrar in evening gown (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In September Ron, head writer of the fabulous blog Being Ron, wrote a post asking which blogging platform we preferred WordPress or Blogger?

I responded with this comment:

If I could do it all over again, I probably would have stuck with Blogger. For some reason, I had more fun when I had a Blogger blog. I think upgrading to a “professional” site has taken the fun out of blogging. It’s more formal. It’s like typing in an evening gown. I’d rather write in jeans…I miss Blogger. I upgraded my site for my writing platform. But, what’s the point of upgrading for your writing if you end up writing less?

I then told Ron that I would eventually write a post about the subject, citing him as my inspiration.

Well, I did write that post and called it Blogging In An Evening Gown. It was published yesterday at Huffington Post.

Thank you for starting the conversation, Ron.

Since upgrading my blog to WordPress, I’ve had to deal with many technical issues that were far above my pay grade. I’ve spent hours searching for answers online that I never found. Finally, I hired a tech-savvy avatar to fix all the problems that pissed off Google — who gave me a timeout.

For writers who blog, it’s difficult enough switching between writing in the sky and writing on earth. (It’s a different mindset.) Add tech issues to the mix and blogging/writing becomes toxic. That’s why I stopped messing with stuff in the dashboard I should have left alone. — I was ground zero. — I am my own worst enemy in the sky and on earth.

Shortly after being released by the CDC (Centers for Disease Control), I learned how to achieve a fragile balance between blogging and writing. The result: I blog less but write more. It was the only way I could remain almost sane.

Thank you for reading the words of a somewhat sane madwoman.

I hope you’ll stop by Huffington Post and read my post that was inspired by Ron. And please stop by Ron’s place for some great stories and photos.

 

Office Deja Vu: A Shoeless Tuesday Ago

 

A flash of memory pops into my head, illuminating a moment I try to forget.

Sounds of summer in the office: copiers chirping, papers flapping in the breeze and the intoxicating scent of Wite-Out — always helps me through the day. I need my Wite-Out fix to escape V.P. sales hysteria, the cause of office chaos.

Six sales people, each with their own personality quirks, try to burst into my office every day of the week. They try, because I keep the door locked.

On the other side of my door, the sales staff wanders in a fog. I am the traffic controller, the manager of the office. On most days, they can’t function without direction from me.

While their heads bobble on their shoulders outside my door, I work on an excuse for locking my door today. Luckily, my silence is interpreted as hyperfocus. I know this because they yell when they talk.

SALES GUY 1
What’s Lauren doing in there?

SALES GUY 2
Hyper-focusing. She’s swamped.

I laugh. I’m playing FreeCell. But the jokes on me because I’m stuck. I study the screen, eyes glazed like a donut.

My problem-solving process ends abruptly at the shrill ring of the phone. I awaken from my FreeCell coma, hand shaking as I answer the phone.

ME
Hello.

MOIRA
Lauren, is that you?

ME
Who else would it be? This is my extension.

MOIRA
Oh, good.

ME
Why are you whispering? This is Moira, right?

MOIRA
Yes. I don’t want anyone to hear me. I’m in my car.

ME
Are the windows open?

MOIRA
No.

ME
Then how can anyone hear you?

MOIRA
No, no…It’s more of…if anyone can hear YOU talking to me.

ME
They’re yelling out there. I’m in my office with the door locked.

MOIRA
What are they yelling about?

ME
The usual — holes in pages in the magazine. Lou’s yelling about the lack of ads. It’s hell out there.

MOIRA
I’ve got problems, too.

ME
Where are you calling from?

MOIRA
The garage. I’m downstairs in the garage.

Scratching head.

ME
Why don’t you park and come upstairs?

MOIRA
I can’t!

ME
Why?

MOIRA
It’s embarrassing.

ME
Moira, please tell me. I think ten calls just went into voice mail.

MOIRA
Uh, well…The thing is…I drove to work without my shoes.

ME
I think we have a bad connection. Did you say you drove to work without your shoes?

MOIRA
Yes.

ME
How is that possible?

MOIRA
I always drive barefoot and keep a spare pair of shoes in the car. I must have left the spare at home.

ME
Jesus. It’s not like keeping a pair of bowling shoes in your car, though it would have solved your problem.

MOIRA
Christ, Lauren. I don’t bowl. It’s also why I don’t type — fingernail polish. Let’s move on. Do you have an extra pair of shoes?

ME
WTF? No. I don’t even have a pair of rain boots. We’re in the middle of a drought. I’ll check the shoe vending machine.

MOIRA
Thank God, there’s a shoe vending machine.

ME
Moira, I’m kidding. Though I’d be happy to get you a bag of chips. Hey, maybe you can eat the chips and use the empty bags as shoes.

Momentary silence. Moira likely deep in thought.

MOIRA
Sounds too messy.

ME
Maybe I can get two garbage bags from the cafe upstairs.

MOIRA
I’m not walking around with garbage bags on my feet. That’s too weird.

ME
And not having shoes isn’t?

MOIRA
Please don’t judge me. I’m having an anxiety attack.

ME
Do you have a paper bag? Put it over your head and breathe slowly. If you have two, you can use them as shoes.

MOIRA
You know how I feel about bags. I’m calming down. You obviously can’t help me. Thanks for trying. I’ll just go to the drug store and get a pair of flip-flops. No one will recognize me if I’m wearing sunglasses and a hat.

ME
Good luck! Are you coming back?

MOIRA
No, I can’t attend a meeting in flip-flops. I’ll call Lou from home.

Click

Back to FreeCell.

 

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