Being a Snowflake for Better or Worse

What makes you unique? The ultimate question in life. And in marketing. Because it's not enough to be good anymore, no. Now, we either have to the BEST or WORST versions of ourselves 100% of the time.

Live up to those public expectations, amiright?

Blogs offering the perfect advice for a perfect life or career. YouTube videos one-upping each other on challenges of perfect stupidity. Filtered Instagrams to let everyone know we are a perfect, unique snowflake. Just like everyone else.

Ugh.

I literally can’t stand it. The way people act to get attention. The way it seems a person has to act just so they can sell – a book, movie, album, out, their soul. I hate that it’s come to this point in history where writers have to pretend just to make some sales.

Become extroverts. Be all bold and big. Film videos of ourselves doing whatever furthers our message, like we aren’t more comfortable behind the camera.

(Side note: Yes, I know some writers are all about connecting with people, or, by some miracle of chance and luck, the opposite of introverted, it’s just, the majority of my colleagues aren’t those people.)

Thing is, I'm not supposed to sit here on this blog and tell you how much I loathe the market. Because when it comes down to it I don’t expect to write a book then magically become this rich and famous person overnight without trying at all.

I’m not that implanted in my fantasy world.

What I despise is what seems to be the only way to get stuff seen for all the effort.

Or, rather, the way the market forces us to be either shiny, happy, or straight up disaster in order for anyone to pay attention to what we do. Especially considering I’ve decided to insert myself into the machine of the modern world of entertainment production.

It’s like that quote from Practical Magic:

You can’t practice witchcraft while you look down your nose at it.

I know. Really, I do. And, it obviously doesn’t help to lament the long lost days of writing a good book, landing an agent, publisher, and having a career sprout from the effort.

But I want to wax nostalgic about that life. Because I’m seriously struggling to fit into either of the definitions of greatness in this new one.

<Insert whiny inflection of a pouty teenager who coulda/woulda/shoulda, here>

I want to figure out how to get my stuff seen by a wider audience, but I refuse to become what I hate most just to do it. What do I mean? I mean the five minutes of fame bitch who nobody remembers in a year. But, damn, did she sure sell out everything during those five minutes!

I’m more about the slow burn.

Unfortunately, nobody else is these days which leaves me in a slight jam.

People care about people who seemingly have it all. They also care about train wrecks. But what about the rest of us?

The "good enough" people.

If you've been with me for a while over here you know I'm not exactly shiny happy. One of my blog tags is "yeah I guess I am moderately fucked up after all" for God's sake. But I'm not a train wreck of a person either, hence, the 'moderately' in 'moderately fucked up'. My life is somewhat together in many respects.

And I refuse to fake it either way. I refuse to act like I'm totally perfect or totally jacked just to gain an audience. Some days are great, some suck. That's life.

Which, admitting to, makes me the most average of humans. A girl who fits in just enough to get by. And that sucks as a person with a product to sell because, these days, you better be a hot mess or otherworldly (or both) for anyone to talk about you and your shit.

How can we sell if nobody buys because they don't know who we are? And that's when we come back to the hook.

The unique snowflake inside that makes us different. The thing that sells your work by not even selling at all. The mystical alleged thing these gurus of whatever-the-fuck seem to have in droves.

What is it, that thing that makes some people rise to the forefront, makes them an authority? Special.

It's something I've thought about, more than I should have to, over the past few years. Because my real profession is thinking about how to market my work 24/7/365. How to make it stand out as unique in a mountain of others.

And that's how we circle back to disdain for what drives the market. And my lack of a hook. AKA: my inability to stand out enough to sell in the market despite my constant banging on the door, unwavering dedication to doing this fucking job.

And, breathe.

Because, I write cute stories about average people.

I'm not a politically, controversially, socially motivated writer. The themes in my books all revolve around family, friends, lovers, and how those relationships help shape the main character's world.

I like stories about everyday people who face obstacles in love and career and, though they deal with challenges to get there, they usually get there in the end. I'm all about writing the metaphorical pretty pink bow.

HEA, bitch.

So, how is that supposed to stand out? When there's an ever rising tide of words out there about Mr. Perfect or Ms. Train Wreck. It's tough not to get discouraged, I can tell you that.

And, yet, I keep doing it. Writing. Releasing books. Publishing words for the world to read. Whether 5 or 5 million read them, those books are forever.

Maybe I'll never find the hook, land the whale so to speak.

Guess I'm just average. And that's good enough for me. Because I’ll never fake it just to get where I want to go.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Daydreaming is a Contact Sport

Lately I’ve been longing for the good old days. When a girl only needed her pen, journal, and a daydream to write a story. During those days she could sit and write for hours. A time before she put a whole bunch of pressure on herself to try to make a living from her book sales.

Back in the days when authors at traditional publishing houses got an editor, book tour, paychecks. Because, back then, published Authors – the writers who were really, really, good at crafting a story - also ended up making a living.

It was hard to break in back then, but getting paid to be an author was a viable dream. Especially if you had talent.

That dream was mine.

I honed my skills. Worked on the art and technical aspects of writing, being a writer. Learned to spell. Typed while looking down at the keyboard because I never learned how to do it while looking up. Learned to craft a lead-in for a fiction story from every conversation I ever had. Used those lead-in writing prompts to spin out some short or long tale that I worked to edit numerous times before I ever considered putting it out into the world. Read books for inspiration and used my imagination to craft something that people wanted to read.

Then there was someone else’s dream – the internet.

Digital content.

Talent had to shift. It wasn’t about the story anymore. Writing a book took on a new meaning. It wasn’t about entertainment. If you released a book it became a companion piece for the other thing you wanted to sell.

Books suddenly became just another form of marketing.

Stories faded away. Fiction became passé.

If you weren’t giving away free books you could never grow your email list. And without your precious email list, nobody would ever know when you released another book.

The book you’d use to sell other things. The book itself was irrelevant, see.

The big circle of marketing. There are no corners.

And I don’t care if you have 10 Doctorates in marketing, nobody knows how it all really works. Because as soon as you pick a platform or a brand type or anything else that “helps sell your work”, you find out you did it wrong. You should have done this or that instead.

Everything current is already yesterday’s news. That article written yesterday is an old strategy. Time to learn something new, written by all the people who sold you books to learn about how they wrote books and sold them yesterday.

More circles.

Authors like me, who originated back in the days when you could identify a writer by the blob of ink on the first knuckle of their middle finger, are in competition with a whole bunch of people who have been working at this writing thing since all the way back in 2008.

Those people who sat around and said “I’ll get rich by writing books!”

And then they did.

Because those people apparently had their PhD in how to work a system they don’t even know. Or had tons of money to invest into their advertising efforts.

Or were just really, really lucky.

Get-rich-quick digital writers figured out how to make the internet and all the people who go along with it, to do their work for them and sell their books.

But not the books that were all the rage when I was just starting to form my daydream team. Not those well-crafted fiction stories of yore.

Because imagination is apparently dead. And if not dead, at least punched in the face to the point of bloody unconsciousness.

Someone took her out back and completely jacked her up with a syringe full of words like content, affiliate, click-through, backlink, SEO, page rank, impressions, keywords…

How many authors write without all of that spinning around their head anymore? Seriously. I need to understand how many writers are simply writing, sharing the imaginative worlds they craft despite everything already being done?

How many authors get to tell stories anymore and, if they do, can they possibly live on income from those stories?

Or, better yet, does anyone care about those stories enough to want to read them anymore or is it all just 800 word articles about what color your aura would be underwater?

Approximately 105,120 books are published on Amazon every single year so I suppose there has to be something to the whole book writing craze.

I just wish all those writers who used to say “everyone has at least one book inside them” would have shut their damn mouths. Because doing this job is about more than having an idea for a book. Being an author is about more than having that MA in marketing.

An author in this age of literature also has to know all of the following:

• School is irrelevant, spelling isn’t really a thing anymore. (Don’t believe me? This being defined in the Oxford dictionary might change your mind.)
• Plot is thin and wearing away because nobody cares.
• Most characters have the exact same voice, inflections, dialect.
• Books with a lack of shock and awe won’t sell.
• If you want to sell fiction it better have some graphic sex, violence, or both by page 5 or don’t bother writing it.
• Graphic sex scenes are written so often and in so many genres now the word “smut” should be revised in the dictionary.

But probably the most important point to remember is that everything I just said is wrong. There’s already a new strategy where some author in some desolate corner of the internet just made a six-figure income.

You can read all about it in the book they release next week telling you how you can do it too.

Look, I know I’m just whining here. And without the current way of things I couldn’t call myself a published author of fiction books. Ah, irony. Believe me, I don’t want to look the gift horse in the mouth.

However, while I don’t want you to think I’ve got this overly inflated ego, I know I have talent for fiction writing. For crafting a story based on characters. Plus, I know I have the dedication to keep doing this because I’ve been writing for almost three decades and don’t plan to stop.

So, I also know that if the internet never became a thing where I could share my work, I would have eventually persevered into published regardless.

It just sucks that what they tell you is to write more titles, release more books so your name can be seen from space. Better known as page 1 on amazon. Write more books simply so people find your titles, not because you want to tell a story.

And the merry-go-round marketing circle continues.

But I’m jumping off. I’m writing and releasing fiction no matter what the experts try to tell me is in or out. I never really cared about all of that popularity shit to begin with. And I can’t be the only one who thinks this way.

There must be some kind of audience out there for the work I do. People who are still interested in characters. In imagination.

I’m leaving the circle behind and getting my shit together in a straight line. Putting all that daydreaming to good use.

Finally.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Apparently I Must Have Vision

Because about 3 days after I wrote my post called If The Voice Existed for Writers what would we call it? I discovered that a brand new contest akin to The Voice (or American Idol as the case may be) is on, and geared toward Writers of fiction.

How much more can fate intervene before I finally take it seriously? A real reality contest for Writers? I mean, I have a story within the word requirements (2500-5000) that’s fiction. I’m ready to rock and roll! Holy crap, sign me up!

Well…hold on just a second Miss Quick-on-the-Draw; maybe read the rules first?

So I did. And here’s something I’m not very sure about:

“…You also grant us the right to edit the formatting and display of your Entry, and to create literary or any other types of effects in respect to your Entry without compensation or approval…”

 

Formatting and display edits I can certainly understand. The entries should all have similar structure and style in order to remain vanilla enough for the voting public to not adopt any sort of bias toward one story or another. But that bit about creating literary effects without approval? Yeah, what does that even mean?

Literary by definition means: pertaining to or of the nature of books and writings, especially those classed as literature

Now perhaps I’m just being paranoid here but to me this reads like the content could be altered without my prior approval. That’s not okay. Anyone in law care to weigh in on this?

I kept reading and couldn’t seem to find the words ‘Author will retain all rights to their work’ anywhere in the first three-quarters of the lengthy rules. Another thing that’s a bit unsettling to say the least. But I kept reading anyway. And then I came across this:

“13. GOVERNING LAW/DISPUTES. This Contest is governed by the laws of Curaçao. As a condition of participating in this Contest, you agree, to the extent permitted by law, that any and all disputes which cannot be resolved between the parties, and causes of action arising out of or in connection with this Contest, will be resolved individually, without resort to any form of class action, exclusively before a court located in Curaçao.”

 

Wait, what? Curaçao? Where the hell is that?

So I did a little digging and it turns out it is an island located off the coast of Venezuela and is a Netherland/Dutch nation. And Hofstra Law School has an entire course dedicated to the study of International Law in this nation.

Impressive. But equally unsettling.

I’m not entirely sure how comfortable I am entering a contest where the governing law over the subsequent use of my intellectual property is located in International waters. I would have a leg to stand on if the contest originated out of the United States because that’s where I’m from and where my copyright is held. But I know nothing about anything related to the laws in Curaçao and frankly I don’t want to have to earn a degree from Hofstra just to find out if I’d be protected should someone steal my work and make millions of dollars or defame my name, etc.

It does make me a little sad because I felt as if I almost dreamed this contest into life after pretty much asking for it to be hand delivered to my door. But you know how they say to be careful what you wish for? I never understood just why you should protect yourself from those wishes or why it's important to clarify the specifics of the wish in question until this very moment.

Hopefully this shows I’m smarter than I look and not that I blew a golden opportunity at fame and fortune ($5000 grand prize). But like I always say, I live with no regrets so unless my lawyer type friends weigh in and tell me I shouldn’t be afraid, I think this is one contest I’m letting pass by after all.

Why Is It No Longer Okay to Say I Want to Make Money?

Does everyone remember the 1980’s? When movies like Wall Street gave us heroes like Gordon Gekko and songs like “Material Girl” were topping the charts; infiltrating the consciousness of every consumer who held a card regardless if it was gold, platinum, or basic plastic. The word of the day was “excess” back then. The more you could get your hands on the better. And if that ‘more’ was associated with money, well, there was literally no shame present in anyone who had it. They loved it.

Or as Gekko would say “The point is, ladies and gentleman, that greed, for lack of a better word, is good.”

So when did it become okay to remember the 1980’s as a time when we used AquaNet to kill the ozone (and how great it is that we all care so much now that we’ll never do that again), but not the money we made to buy those superfluous neon pink shoe laces?

When did it become chic to start saying “Money? Oh I hate money.” Because, quite honestly, I will be the first to admit that I don’t.

Okay, I should maybe back up here before all the people with homemade solar powered torches come and hunt me down to (slowly) burn me in effigy. Because it’s not that I want to run out and get a bad perm then don one of the 14 different acid washed jean jackets in my closet while I roll around in a pile of money screaming “ITS ALL MINE MWAH HAHAHA!”

All I’m looking for is to make a living from what I do.

Why is that suddenly a taboo subject? Why is it okay to talk ad infinitum about what we do, but when the topic of how much we make comes up, we all just smile and say “do what you love and the money will come.” Because no matter what the crunchy-crunchy movies and suddenly-rich motivational speakers try to feed you, they all got rich before they were asked to be in that movie.

Hello? Am I the only one picking up on this? Am I the only one who realizes that it’s the rich people telling us not to be bothered with money? That we should just keep piddling away doing things that don’t make us any but for $24.95 you too can have their hardcover book telling you how to live a simple life.

I’ll tell you right now for free.  Sell out.  Sell out and then start selling your book to thousands of people for $24.95 and that’s how you too can live a simple life free of greed. Fucking hypocrites.

Well I’m not a hypocrite. I’ve finally admitted what every single entrepreneur in the world is too shy to admit – that I actually enjoy working for a living it’s just that there’s way too much working and not enough making a living right now, if you catch my drift.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure you do.

Can’t there be a balance? I mean I’m not trying to say I want to make millions of dollars that I intend to throw away on useless crap like hundreds of bracelets made out of rubber. But I’d love to be able to afford that organic hoo-ha. You know, the one that helps out another entrepreneurial type person. Sadly, if we’re not allowed to say we want to sell our products to make money well we’ll never get our hands on that hoo-ha; they don’t come cheap.

But if the local type person can sell an organic hoo-ha to me, proudly and without shame, at their Farmer’s Market booth for about three times the cost of picking it up at some big box conglomerate (READ: 1980’s throw back shop, shop, shop!) then why am I not allowed to start running around saying that I’d like to sell hundreds (millions!) of my hoobie-doos?

Thing is that old sly bitch known as the Catch-22 rears its ugly head. Unless you buy mine I can’t afford to buy yours. The real trick is that the Organic hoo-ha purveyor is saying the same thing as me. So neither of us can afford to buy each other’s thing and we both suffer.

Well I’m here today to say I’m tired of all the polite smiles and hopeful glances. I want to sell my hoobie-doos and I plan to share that with every single person I meet.

People talk about Artists selling out like it’s a bad thing – oh the horror! – but selling out means nothing more than actually selling whatever it is you’ve got to a much wider audience. And who freaking cares? I sure wouldn’t care. I’m more than willing to “sell out” if it means more people are enjoying my hoobie-doos and that I’m able to afford the basic necessities of life like Organic hoo-has and a roof over my head.

Because every cliché in the world can sell you on the concept that money doesn’t buy happiness but what no one ever says is that there’s a strong possibility you’ll be very un-happy if you don’t have enough to maintain even the simplest of lifestyles.

And I’m really quite tired of being the happiest broke-as-a-joke person on the planet.

Is This Good For the Company?

It’s been a handful of years since I worked in the business world but last night while Matt and I talked about work and companies in general it hit me. There are solid reasons why I left the rat race to pursue the life of a starving artist but none are clearer than the way business is done in Corporate American society.

Last weekend we tossed on a classic favorite, Office Space, and although we laughed, that might have just been the five bottles of sake rearing their head because the real comedy, is that it’s serious (thanks Jason).

When Matt and I started broaching the subject about the life of a corporate sheep, er, uh, I mean, employee last night it hit me that, no matter what, every single boss everywhere is Lumberg. I suddenly realized that I never wanted to be Lumberg and that’s essentially the main reason I work alone. But it really doesn’t exempt me from anything.

I got to talking about just why every single boss is like Lumberg and realized that in all companies, yes mine included, there are really only ever three questions that need answering.

1. Can I do this?
2. How long ago can it be completed?
3. How much am I going to make?

Truthfully we talked through the entire Bruins game last night and no matter what "yeah, but[s]" we tried to throw out there, every single issue, success, question, and model in business ended up coming back to nothing more than answering those three questions.

I’m certainly guilty of it, even as an artist running my finishing business, because I need to be sure that it’s a job I can actually complete before I agree to doing it (#1), that I work quickly and efficiently so the homeowner can get their space back again (#2) and of course that I make enough to cover materials plus my time and labor (and a profit never hurts of course) (#3). Anything else discussed with a homeowner or other industry professional will always go back to those three question’s answers.

For me that’s fine because I have no one to answer to other than myself and my clients right? If they see #3 and its too high a price #’s 1 & 2 don’t really matter anymore because I’m not doing the job. Period. Not to mention, because I work solo, I don’t have eight different bosses coming by to tell me about mistakes I made (#1) that are sure to cost the company time (#2) and money (#3).

But Matt does.

Matt has someone he needs to answer to at all times in his job. Well, he has only one boss, but sometimes with the pressure it sounds like he is under on a daily basis it might as well be eight.

So what does that mean for Matt? I suppose that if he goes into his job with the knowledge that, no matter what, his boss, co-workers, employees (and even himself!), are trying to answer those questions at every turn he might be able to approach work from a different angle. Maybe not but at least he can try to laugh about any and all situations that arise because regardless of the drama, it’s always all about three little answers.

He said he wants to get the questions printed as a poster. I can only assume he would like to hang it in his office in an attempt to passive-aggressively annoy his boss.

Of course by doing that he could get fired and then he’s certainly not making very much is he (#3)?

Then again, it would mean channeling his inner Peter (the character in the movie that every employee longs to be at one time or another) and then he might just not care anymore (bye-bye #'s 1 & 2!).

I’m thinking of getting it printed up on a tee shirt for him for Valentine’s Day. I’m just trying to figure out the best header to go above the questions, for descriptive purposes of course.

Luckily my printing it isn’t a business or else I’d have to answer those three questions before I could even come up with a header.

Law & Order: PTU

{Deep throaty voice of Narrator}

In Cambridge, Massachusetts, the battle on parking violators is enforced by a super ninja troop known as the Parking Ticket Unit. This is just one of their many, many, many stories.

{Cue the widely recognized double note}

Boom -- Boom

{As the scene opens we see Jenn & Matt getting out of their vehicle on Mass Ave in Cambridge one sunny Saturday afternoon. It is winter, let’s just say early February. They have parked almost directly in front of the hardware store which they intend on patronizing momentarily. Jenn walks a few cars down the block to locate a path leading up onto the sidewalk; Matt traverses the two foot high snow mound on the side of the road and goes directly to the meter to insert the four quarters which will buy them an hour in the store.

The couple enters the store and improvisational conversation with the clerk ensues regarding the most efficient and financially viable solution for hinges for their newly constructed entertainment center doors. They acquire the items and make their way back to their vehicle only to find a ticket on the windshield.}

Jenn: What the fuck?

Matt: Oh crap, here we go.

Jenn: Tell me we ran out of time?? Just try to! I know we put in enough money and this ticket was left almost ten minutes ago. Freaking give me a break!

{Matt exits vehicle to look at meter as Jenn continues to scream obscenities inside the car}

Matt: Yeah there’s three minutes left.

{Jenn takes the camera she always carries out of her purse and hands it to Matt}

Jenn: Here, take a freaking picture. I am so fighting this. Like it’s my problem the freaking Meter Maid couldn’t climb over the snow bank to see there was still time left. Whatever…..

{The following Monday morning we see Jenn completing the form on the City of Cambridge website to fight her ticket.

Cut scene to three weeks later at the mailbox when Jenn retrieves the notice indicating that although they have received her reasons they are continuing to enforce said ticket.}

Jenn: Improvisational cursing for upwards of five minutes. Light under breath mumbling having something to do with “But I FED the meter!”

{A montage of images ensue (to speed through time), while “Everybody Hurts” by REM plays in the background -- we see Jenn sign the notice to request a hearing, receipt of the Hearing date notification, the printing of proof photographs, selection of her most responsible looking outfit, ironing of her shirt on the morning of the hearing and placing enough quarters in her pocket to feed the meter for three hours as she slips on her sun glasses and walks out the door}

Jenn: I don’t want to do this. Is it too late to just pay the twenty five dollars?

Matt: Yeah.

Jenn: It hit me in the shower this morning, although I have bailed friends out of jail on numerous occasions, I have never once stepped foot inside an actual courtroom. What if it is nothing like they make you believe it is? Am I going to have to talk to a judge way up on some freakishly high throne? What if it’s a dude and I call him Sir instead of Your Honor? Can they just throw me in jail for that? I’m very nervous. Why shouldn’t I change my mind and just pay the stupid money to not go through all this nerve wracking stress?

Matt: {Attempting to hide his amusement at Jenn’s recoculous rant but only moderately succeeding} Because if this was me you would never let me get away with not fighting it.

Jenn: {An audible sigh can be heard} You’re right.

{The camera cuts to the Cambridge City Hall Annex building. The scene is filmed from way low to the ground looking up the side of the red brick structure giving the appearance of a giant, imposing building. As the camera pans out we see it is only two stories and looks like nothing more than an old time school house.

The couple enters the building; Jenn continues to ramble on in a nervous blubbering rant about filling the meter outside this building. Matt remains almost uncharacteristically quiet. They approach the man behind the numbered windows.}

Jenn: {In a tone of a question as if it is still unbelievable to imagine what is about to occur} I have a hearing scheduled.
Man: Just stand over by that water fountain and she will come out and get you.

{Jenn is called to enter the Hearing Office and as she enters we see it is nothing more than a booth with a door; the space is smaller than a cubicle. One seat is provided and we are looking at the back of a monitor but there is nothing else in the space other than stark white walls, a counter top with an embedded pen and the PTU Official}

PTU: Please sign your name on this sheet. {Passes sheet} Now what is the reason you are fighting this ticket?

Jenn: Well I put money in the meter but got a ticket anyway. Here are the pictures showing I still had three minutes left.

PTU: Was there any discrepancy between the meter you put money in and the meter on the ticket?

Jenn: No, not that I was aware of.

PTU: Is this your car in the picture.

Jenn: Yup, that’s me.

PTU: OK see it is supposed to line up with your front bumper, not the rear bumper because it’s a single meter. See here in the system {spins the monitor outward} the Ticketing Official made a note that money was put into the meter at the same time the ticket was being issued. I think you were putting money into the meter for the person behind you and someone came and parked in front of you then made the same mistake while she was ticketing you.

Jenn: {A genuine look of shock passes across her face and we see her shoulders sag ever so slightly as she realizes she will be giving up twenty five dollars in a matter of minutes} Oh.

PTU: Just so you know for the future really. Don’t worry, I’ll dismiss this one, you’re all set.

Jenn: {contemplating requesting a hug} Oh, my, oh really? Thank you so very much!

PTU: No problem, have a nice day.

Jenn: {still in shock} Absolutely, you too. Thank you again!

PTU: {sensing there might be a request for a hug} Can you tell the next person to come in here now?

{Cut to a close up shot of Jenn and Matt bursting through the revolving door; they have huge smiles. The camera pans out from an across the street view and we see leaping dancers, ribbons wildly being shaken in the sunshine, ballerinas spinning, a big huge rainbow, the words “JOY” and “HAPPINESS” being painted on a huge canvas in the background of puppies, laughing babies and the sounds of “Come On, Get Happy” by The Partridge Family plays in the background.

The final shot is Jenn looking at the car parked right out front with thirty five minutes left on the meter and turning to give a thumbs up to Matt.}