Every site, blog, vlog, author, agent and publisher says that authors need a platform. It makes sense. Build your audience. Tell folks when your books are coming out… I feel strongly against it.
I’m boring, at least to myself. I am like a platypus, neat, but I don’t really do much. I have secrets and quirks and problems… But I am average. I’m not even the hero of my own story.
I like my imaginary friends better. They are full of piss and vinegar. They say what’s on their minds, they do things I can’t, wouldn’t and shouldn’t. Their pasts are rife with weirdness, wonder and tragedy.
I’ve written worlds full of monsters, fairies, love, hate and chocolate. I’ve written about characters coming out to their parents and being accepted. Children being abused. Cutters, drug addicts, stick thin cheerleader stereotypes. I like them much better. They amaze and excite me. They help me deal with everything and nothing.
Their stories tie up in to neat (or slightly disheveled) bows. Mine, I won’t even get to see. I won’t have foreshadowing necessarily, or a moment of true happiness before death knocks on my door.
My characters look at my flaws and judge me harshly or they offer their support in my struggles. Real, living breathing people are unpredictable and I am a control freak.
Thank you to all ya’ll who read this…
Part of a platform is consistency, so from here on out, I will post every Thursday. I might sprinkle in some more, if I’m not off on an adventure with my imaginary friends. 😀