Twitter Me This

Okay, it’s time to enter the wonderful world of blogging. But, alas, I’m late, I’m late, I’m late. Blogging has been around for how many years? Hmmm. To Wikipedia! Looks like ten for blogging as we know it. I blame my father. He dragged his feet on new technology, too. They still have an eight-track player in their house. I kid you not.

So the blogging of yesteryear is passé and all the cool kids are tweeting their little hearts out and following the Jonas Brother’s every sneeze. Oh hand me a barf bag will ya? How am I supposed to get jazzed about writing a—what is it—a one hundred and forty character burst of inconsequential information? And that’s their definition, not mine. Thanks Wiki, I know, I owe you.

Forget cute little bluebirds tweeting in an apple tree. Give me an animal that suits my purposes. Something like a hoary old elephant seal drunk on three-bean enchiladas blowing out long, sonorous gasses from both ends. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. BULAAWWWWWG!

I know I’ll crumble, eventually. Last fall I swore not to get sucked into online query critique circles. Now I can’t stop frolicking through Nathan Bransford’s forums like a mother of six given a dependable babysitter and set loose in a spa. It’s got to stop.

I can see the writing on the chat room walls. The chirping is thunderous. Don’t depend on your agent or publisher to sell your book! Have a strong online presence! Self-promotion or self-immolation – it’s up to you!

What's a Luddite to do? Oh give me a flute. Or better yet, a tuba. BULAWWWG!