Platform Blues

I’m one of those writers who’d rather be holed up in a garret staring at a blank page, than putting myself out in public to talk about my work. But MARULA RIDGE will not sell itself. It will sink deeper and deeper into the dusty oblivion of the abyss.

Well, not really, because they only print a copy when someone plunks down a credit card number and clicks the shopping cart icon. But how do you let those prospective plunkers know that a pile of naked sheets is lying expectantly below the laser printer -- like a patient holding his breath in an X-ray machine -- just waiting to be transformed into a brand new, shining copy of my book. Did I mention it’s called MARULA RIDGE?

Step 1. You have to have a Platform. The word conjures up train stations, echoing announcements, cold concrete and railroad tracks. But no, it’s another of those annoying modern words like paradigm. A platform is the method by which you intend to toot your own horn. Period.

So here are my first tentative steps into the terrifying world of Platforms. I have a new website: And that wasn’t so painful because someone else did the technical stuff.

Then there’s Facebook. Actually I’ve had a Facebook page for quite a while. But the only things on there are my friends’ posts that I “liked” or “shared” or whatever. That will have to change. I will have to start tooting my own horn and hope my friends will “like” or “share” it. Doubtful.

Twitter? Sorry. I might force myself to toot, but I draw the line at tweeting.