Today I’m looking at writing and platform building through a
Horton Hears a Who lens.
If you’ve read the Dr. Seuss classic or have seen the movie
you might imagine where I’m headed.
I’m a Who. A Who writer. Without a bestseller, not selling
millions, no lines waiting for me at book signings.
Years ago I asked myself what’s a Who to do in the megaphone
world of broadcast yourself until your fingers ache from tweeting and posting?
And naturally I concluded…
Make noise of course.
A constant tension exists in the publishing industry. Pour
yourself into your craft. Don’t get distracted. But as you improve your craft and
ward off distractions, build a rock solid platform.
In recent years, my inner introvert has endured
Olympic-equivalent training while exercising extroverted skills.
And at some point I became immersed in the tension, wading,
then dogpaddling, until I dove deep enough all sound began to mimic the murmuring
Charlie Brown waa waa—that under water half-registered reception of everything communicated
above the water’s surface.
I grappled with the fear that if I didn’t make noise I’d be
blown by the wind, disappearing altogether. Would anyone care about a Who?
Would I exist as a writer? Tree falls in the forest kind of thoughts.
Gradually, I’ve grown to embrace that being a Who isn’t
about the clatter. Surviving + thriving in this industry require me to trust
there are folks out there who believe in me. I believe in me.
~
I told myself to write this post as I would my last. Not
because that’s what it is—a finale but because sometimes I think about it…hitting
publish on my last post. I envision the exit from social media much like Jim
Carrey stepping off stage in The Truman
Show. No more tweeting, status updates, dipping my toe in or swan diving in
the social media pool. I’m not anti social media. Absolutely not. In fact,
while I was visiting my mom in Florida last week I missed connecting online.
However, it’s proven invaluable for me to evaluate how my
experience online has influenced me, and what the concept of platform building has
done to my passion for writing. For me, platform building has a tendency to
feel like blowing down a deck of cards only to rebuild it again.
During my time of reflection I slid inside Horton’s skin, took
a step back to watch Wendy Who blowing trumpets, smashing drums, while stomping
all over the Internet. I connected alright. I connected with such fervor there
were times I lost my voice in the process.
When I quieted I was surprised to learn a thing or two about
myself. My writing didn’t crumble. The seeds where I’d rooted myself weren’t
sent sailing haphazardly on the wind. Instead, I regained an appreciation of what
I value about social media. I also took an honest look at all the noise I was
making, measuring it, sampling it, and spitting out what was unnecessary.
I realized what I’m made of—the fight in me still strong.
One more thing settled into my Wendy Who bones. I don’t have
to scream for survival in publishing. People believe in both me and my writing.
My words speak loud enough on their own.
I need not worry whether or not people are promoting or
talking about Wendy Who. Because I know what it feels like to holler with such
throat-scratching intensity my blowfish cheeks redden and my purpose stretches
to the point it can get diluted and muddled. And thankfully, I’ve learned what
it feels like to float along content on the winds of change.
This Who has resolved to enjoy the process while letting my
writing reverberate noise. I’m reenergized to focus on my craft as I trust in
what’s to come.
Have you ever thought
about the influence social media (and/or platform building) has had on your
life? Ever feel like a Who, either afraid of being unheard or as though you could
be blown away to nothingness? What helps you to feel reaffirmed in your most
valued roles?
Thank you for
being a Horton in my life—for hearing me!
*photos by stock.XCHNG