Okay, so back in the days of heavy blogging (remember those? Before other social media swallowed blogging whole), my blogging friends were like family. We shared poems, triumphant (and not so triumphant) entrances into the publishing world, our lives, our environments, our art. Though I was an early entry into the Twittersphere, I’m just now warming up to the site (I know, right?), and I’m still holding out on not doing Facebook (despite the persistence of some of my marketing guru clients). I have stayed in contact with many Vortexers via Twitter and LinkedIn. Some have stopped blogging altogether. Some have kept the blog fires burning.
When I sit down at my laptop, I’m far, far more likely to be all business. Freelancer girl. This is my chair of productivity, which is why I needed to set up my social interactions through my phone. I downloaded three feed-reading apps, decided on one, and entered all my old blogging friends into it. My hope is that I won’t lose touch when I take down my old Blogger site for good this week.
I don’t blog as much as I used to, but I do recognize the power of a blog – even now. Posts from years ago helped me to secure one of my many awesome clients. He said he felt like he knew me when he hired me. I guess Fabio and Dean Butler jokes will do that. I won’t post as often as those heavy blogging days, but I hope you’ll subscribe or drag me into your reader so that we might keep in touch. Sign up for my newsletter. Find me on Twitter. Leave me a comment every so often. Keep blogging if it still rocks your world. It still rocks a tiny corner of mine.
I have a lamb I wish to sacrifice to the web. This lamb, heretofore dubbed “Shorty T” because it is a short story and it involves time travel-GET OUT! I know, right?-will be given away for free. Shorty T has been previously published. Some of you may be well acquainted with Shorty T, and for that may I be the first to offer you this Etsy item of win as a token of my undying gratitude:
Does the very nature of the story lend itself better to some forms of web publishing over others? Would it be better to lay a short story out in its entirety than to serialize? Does the ease of smartphones make listening to a podcast more appealing? Would anyone really want to listen to my voice?
Recently, I talked about my serialized fiction attempt-how it became so enormously successful it took on a life of its own. Some of you may even remember my attempt on Blogger early on to serialize a romance novel with co-writers from my critique group. Good luck reading it. No really. Blogger is set up to follow a calendar dynamic, not a serialized fiction dynamic. First installment is here if you’re masochistic. Why do I keep making the roundabout back to this idea? I can’t deny the serialized nature of delivering stories in the nineteenth and early twentieth century has infinite appeal to me, especially when married to the time travel angle.
I’m realistic about Shorty T. He has a crooked nose and, sure, he has his stinky moments, but I still love him and I think others might, too. Because of his very cross-genre nature I cannot narrow his appeal to one publication, one print stream of revenue in a dying short story print market. My goal is that his freedom will bring others. Give it away and an audience will grow.
So my question to you, faithful Vortexers, is in what form do you like your free reads? Podcast? Serialized Podcast? An interactive experience this story would lend itself to and, perhaps, develop beyond? A self-published read on Kindle or Nook? Serialized and delivered via RSS? You Tube? Twitter? I’m in the early stages of conceptualizing Shorty T’s exit, so any and all suggestions are welcome.
There is so much I want to share this week; but, alas, Casa Mitchell is under heavy quarantine. I have managed to swerve free of strep and H1N1, but I developed a wicked nasty eye infection yesterday like I’ve never had before: half arrrg pirate wench, half MMA blow to the lids, and collateral ick Fabio could, no doubt, identify with. So until we turn this fort ship-shape, we’ll just have to make this week’s posts quick and potent.
Vortexer Erin is keeping it real regarding our resident creepy dentist. She writes:
I wish Garmin gave me options. Why can’t my GPS voice seduce me into keeping right or entering roundabouts? Make it a man with a slight accent, like a spy or a butter spokesman, so it feels like an intimate encounter each time he leads me astray. Then I’d be less likely to curse him when he drags me under Boston Harbor and abandons me like a mangy stray or has me making donuts in Providence that would put the fifteen million Dunkin Donut franchises in New England to shame.
For once, I was ahead of the buzz, right? The I Write Like…thing exploded last week and everyone from Curtis Brown agent Nathan Bransford to the Associated Press had something to say about it. Margaret Atwood writes like Stephen King! Who knew? Not wanting to leave well enough alone, and knowing that Fabio adoration is never far from our hearts here at the Vortex, I bit off the big fat assumption that Fabio crafted the words to his romantic ditties and plugged his words into I Write Like‘s text analysis. Commence guessing fun.
What have I been doing? Streaming Netflix movies through my Wii, reading the fabulous literary novel A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick, and deep editing on my spanking new laptop…whoot. No more jockeying for coffee shop outlets. No more viral leprosy. No more stalled production.
Let me say straight out of today’s gate that I adore Fabio Lanzoni and all his broken English, bird-catching, smack-talking-George-Clooney, stallion-esque awesomeness. The man has made a career out of playing into women’s fantasies about butter and love, a mere stones-throw from what we romance writers do. Okay, maybe not the butter part. Is he an easy target for something besides birds? Definitely. Sadly, today’s offering does little to advance his fabulocity campaign beyond fans of romance, but it is a steamy hot serving of fun.
Fabio’s After Dark album came onto the music scene-and I do use the term music loosely-in 1993. Think of it more as a hybrid between the internet vids the guy in the next cubicle sneaks at lunchtime and the hot Italian waiter rambling off the specials at your favorite bistro. Sprinkled with tracks from Billy Ocean and Barry White in an attempt to disguise the hideousness of the woo-music beneath Fabio’s sultry seduction tips, After Dark is a major win for a hump day break. Treat yourself. Or as Fabio would say, “Thhat special lady in your liiife.”
Okay, so I’d really only want to visit it, not own it, but I can completely picture it. A pub in some trendy arts district called “Time Out” where moonshine in Civil War flasks is served alongside a Genghis Khan-worthy concoction in a gold stemmed Mongolian goblet. Where patrons could match their mood to the period in history saturating alternate nooks and come away with a different experience each time. The focal point would be the bar, the epicenter tying it all together with some kind of Timeline-esque, hollographic glass construction where drinks were served on a raised hydraulic platform instead of sloshed out from the meaty hand of a bartender. I’d SO go there.
Incidently, thanks to the Smart Bitches, my new favorite reward for hitting my daily page count is to flood Fabio with the names and phone numbers of those who need the special kind of message that can only come from the buttery Italian. I’m sure their fondness for me only grows when Fabio interrupts a board meeting, calls them by name to cite Elizabeth Barrett Browning and jokes about what he’d like to do on a bear skin rug. Could technology of the future get any better?
“I can’t believe it’s time to write.”
I know, I know. I’m going…
Name a drink for my time travel pub.
Oh, and let me know how the calls go. You know you want to send them.