Oh Blogger, Where Art Thou?

Yes, it's been over six months since my last post. And here I sit, yet again, wondering what I have to say to anonymous people who may or may not read this. I think that's the biggest barrier for me in writing a blog: Who is my audience?

If I were a published author, the answer would be easy. I would have a group of people who were interested in my work and might come here to find out how I went about creating my story's world, or to hear me expound on the philosophy of my magic system, or any number of topics regarding my book that I would love to talk about. But, as no one has read my book yet, such posts would be meaningless.

Then there's the thought that, hey, I don't think anyone is reading this anyway, so why not just write what I want? Well, then you get into the issue of maybe someone important might one day read it and you don't want to give them the impression that you are a raving lunatic, basically talking to yourself about work that only you and a lucky few have had the pleasure of reading.

I'm sure my way of thinking about this is completely skewed (such is often the case when I try to interface with reality). For some reason, I really have trouble getting into this, though. So, hey, why even have a blog at all?

Good question.

I can tell you the reason why I thought I should have a blog. At some point in my creative journey, I encountered a LOT of advice that as a hoping-to-be-published writer I should have one as part of my "author platform." It was the thing to do, and if you didn't do it, well, you were sailing your future as a writer into treacherous waters (or more likely, the doldrums).

I have a lot of trouble with anything that comes after the words "You should..." It never fails that the people who tell you this are already doing the thing that they claim YOU should do also. Like people who eat paleo and tell you that you SHOULD eat like a caveman. Then they go about saying that coffee is okay because coffee beans grow in the wild. Well, sugarcane also grows in the wild, but apparently cavemen didn't consume that. Apparently whoever came up with the paleo diet liked his coffee black.

The whole internet is like this. People yammering away about what they think others SHOULD do. Diets, exercise programs, makeup tips, hairstyles -- ADVICE FOR WRITERS. Seriously, I think that last category probably makes up about three-fifths of the internet. Another fifth is comprised of the blogs of writers, which I am convinced are read only by other writers.

So, I don't know. Should I keep going with this? Does the internet really need another blog of an aspiring writer?

The blog did serve one hugely great purpose: It helped me find my fantastic, talented, insightful critique group (well, it helped them find me). I did not know any of these people personally prior to being contacted to join. I had maybe tweeted with one guy (the group's organizer) a couple of times and he could see that I lived in Frisco. When he was looking around for people to invite, he remembered me and came here to check to see if I knew how to string two sentences together (you can never assume anything). He said he was pleasantly surprised and genuinely enjoyed my article about Morrowind.

I was pleasantly stunned to find out anyone had read my article about Morrowind. And it led to what was probably the best thing that happened to me in 2014. The best thing to happen to my writing in...well...ever! I had almost given up finding a group when out of the blue I got the call.

So, I guess the blog is good for something. Just maybe not what I was expecting it to be good for. I guess for now I'll keep it around, since it seems to have some sort of lucky charm about it. Maybe I just need to re-evaluate what I'm doing with it.

For one thing, I'm thinking that the huge elaborate posts of worlds that I deem worthy of visiting may need a retool. For one thing, I don't come across that many worlds that I honestly do feel are worth visiting. Shocking, I know! But that was one of the main reasons I started writing in the first place. I found myself slogging through book after book that did not interest me in the least, but felt an obligation to finish. Not anymore! Now if I am not hooked by at least page 100, I'm looking elsewhere. And looking, and looking, and looking...

It got to the point where I felt it would actually be more efficient (and more entertaining) to try and create my own story than keep up this constant, often fruitless, search. And it was, and is.

It's not that I think these books are terrible or that I think I'm the only person in the world who knows how to write a proper story. I'm just VERY picky about what really appeals to me. So, I was thinking of maybe sharing a few books that caused me to cut my visit to their worlds short and why. I do NOT want to be negative about other people's work. But I think that ultimately it might be more interesting to talk about than a lengthy gush about why I loved a certain world.

Plus, I will have a lot more material. For every one book that I love and finish to the last page, there are probably twenty that get abandoned. Maybe I could think of it as my contribution to the plethora of advice to writers. Perhaps something I say might resonate and steer an aspiring writer away from certain things that might cause a discerning reader's interest to wane.

Maybe if I start now there will be some books I like in twenty years!

Reflections On My 6-Month Twitter Anniversary

When I think back on when I first opened my Twitter account back in November 2013, and reflect on my attitude about it at that time, it went something like this:

You mean I've spent three years writing the epic novel that has captivated me heart and soul beyond all reason, given up nearly everything in my life, spent hundreds of dollars and thousands of hours learning the craft of writing, and now you're telling me it's all meaningless because I don't have 3000 Twitter followers???

This was in response to an article I read in Writer's Digest Magazine, something to the effect of "What Do Agents Look For In A Potential New Client?" I don't know which agent said it, but it went something like this:

I'd never take a look at a new author who had less than 3000 Twitter followers.

Disgusted, I tossed the magazine to the floor, stomped on it, cried, told my husband all was lost, researched if it was possible to actually purchase Twitter followers (it is, but knowing what I know now I'd never do that in a million years!).

In short, I freaked. This was mainly due to the many years I'd spent mingling around the people that I knew in my own "circle" (actually, more of a dented, bent polygon) of family, friends, clients and co-workers. My experiences with others of the human race had given me the impression that I was not particularly a "people" person. I've never felt reviled by people or repulsed by them, but I've never felt like I would have any hope of winning a popularity contest either, which was what the goal of 3000 Twitter followers sounded like to me.

To make it all even more tragically ironic, I'd kind of given up on popularity, and was in a good place about it. For years I had tried to be what I thought the world wanted of me: rich, successful, popular. Though I'd managed along pretty well, I wouldn't say I was winning any awards on any of those fronts. Plus, I felt uninspired by what I was doing. Nothing ever really fit right or even seemed particularly interesting to me in the "normal" world. Still, I soldiered on, unable to imagine doing it my way, going it alone.

I'd always known that I was really a creative type–an artist, if you will–and had gotten the impression that artists were loners. That had always been a scary thought for me, looming up over my shoulder. Like if I ever became who I really was, I'd end up like Emily Dickinson, sitting alone, lovelorn, corresponding with the outside world only through letters.

I'd decided I just had to accept that I was going to be a loner and get on with it. In my mind, I was making a sacrifice in order to create something beautiful and meaningful. The more I got into that mindset, the more I liked it. Especially when creating epic fantasy, it helps immensely to be able to disconnect from the real world. Gone went the meaningless arguments with my family about the pros and cons of Obamacare. Gone went the nightly news; the morning scroll through Facebook; the updates about Sally's Farmville achievements and the announcement that Jimbo was now mayor of Foursquare.

I thought that getting off the merry-go-round was a price that I was paying because I didn't belong on it. I wrote in solitude because I thought it was the only thing the world was willing to let me do.

I wrote three books over a period of three blissful years in which I was completely creative every day, unencumbered by petty thoughts of comparison to other people's successes, the number of Facebook friends I had accumulated, or whether or not my hairstyle was in vogue–all the while thinking I had really struck upon my essence and what was to be my contribution to the world.

Then I emerged from my cocoon and found that my personal catharsis was meaningless without that essential key ingredient: popularity.

Almost defiantly, I logged in and made a Twitter account. It all looked like gibberish for the first month or so. I had no idea of what any of the #hashtags and @accountnames meant and how they related to my general wellbeing. It felt like that scene in The Matrix, where Neo is sitting there staring at the screen full of binary code, stoically parsing it all with his mega-technical superbrain. Only mine was not that megatechnical or super. I was just confused. I hated it!

Time went on and I signed up to attend a writer's conference where there would be agents and editors circulating among the crowd. It was suggested that you could look these people up on Twitter to get an idea of what they were like and which ones you might want to meet. Finally, I had a goal! Finally I began to understand!

Flash forward to today, 6 months later  --

Today I logged in to find that I now have 500 (!!!) Twitter followers! And even more amazing than that is the fact that I quit even counting back at around 99. Because over time I have grown to truly and deeply love Twitter. I love hearing so many other people's perspectives on things and talking to people I've never met before. Through exposure to a much vaster ocean of people, I've come to understand that my own early experiences with the dented polygonish cluster who surrounded me on a daily basis was not in any way representative of the whole of mankind. Hallelujah!

I'm just saying all this to say this: If you feel like you don't fit in, or for some mysterious reason not very many people really dig you, it could be because you just simply do not know enough people yet. There are gobs and gobs and megagobs of people who are crazy and weird and gorgeously unique, just like you are!

Twitter helped me realize this.

I will be eternally grateful to that little blue bird. 

If you feel like giving it a try, I'm always happy to meet new tweeps! 
Follow me here: https://twitter.com/ad_dupont